The Rubicon

Gertrude and Reggie looked at each other, but acquiesced.

"Reggie, dear, give Gertrude my furs. She will be cold driving, and I sha'n't want them walking," said Mrs. Davenport, as the two started to go.

Reggie took them, and with those little attentions that a woman loves so much when they are offered by somebody, wrapped them closely round her.

"Well, I'm sure I ought to be warm enough," she said, as they left the door.

"Reggie will take off his coat if you're not, I daresay," murmured Mrs. Davenport, as she watched them start. "Dear boy, how happy he is."

"He hasn't got much to complain of," said his father. "How old it makes one feel."

He stretched out his hand to his wife, and she took it silently. Parents feel old and young when they see the young birds mate.

"Reggie was recommending me to fall in love as quickly as possible, last night," remarked Percy. "He said there was nothing like it."

Mr. Davenport laughed.

"Cheeky young brute," he said. "He gives himself the airs of an old married man. He quite patronised his uncle the other day, because he was a bachelor. He and Gertrude together don't make up more than forty-five years between them."

"Reggie's only just twenty-four," said Mrs. Davenport, "and she's barely twenty. How dreadfully funny their first attempt at housekeeping will be. Reggie never knows what he's eating, as long as there's plenty of it, and I don't think she does either."

"Ah! well, shoulder of mutton and love is a very good diet," said his father. "Are you ready, Percy? If so, we'll be off."

Mrs. Davenport sat a little longer over the fire before she set out on her homeward walk, and observed, with some annoyance, that it had begun to snow heavily, and half wished she had driven home with Reggie. The keeper's wife wanted to send a boy with her, as the short cut across country, which she meant to take, was hardly more than a sheep-track, running across a flat stretch of bleak moorland.

There is, perhaps, nothing so bewildering as a snow-storm. The thick net-work of falling flakes conceals all but the nearest objects; and the small, familiar landmarks of the path are soon lost under the white trouble. The consequence was that, half-an-hour after Mrs. Davenport had started, she was entirely at sea as to her position, and, after trying in vain to retrace her steps, she found herself, at the end of an hour's tedious tramp, at a little cottage some six miles from home. She was known to the labourer who lived there, but, as she was too tired to continue walking through the snow that was already beginning to lie somewhat thickly on the path, he sent out a lad to the neighbouring village to procure any sort of conveyance. All this took time, and Mrs. Davenport was impatient, for the sake of those at home, to get off as soon as possible. Her husband, she knew, would be very anxious; and there were people coming to dinner.

Meanwhile, Reggie and Gertrude had got safely home after a most satisfactory drive. In fact, they rather liked the snow, which compelled them to go slower, for the sake of that sense of extreme privacy – a sort of cutting off from the rest of the world – which it lent them. He had said once, "I am afraid mother will have a horrid walk," and Gertrude was filled with an evanescent compunction for having taken her furs, but no more allusion was made to it.

They reached home about half-past four, and, half-an-hour later, were joined by the shooters, who had given up when the snow began in earnest. They were sitting at tea in the dark, oak-panelled hall, by a splendid fire of logs when Mr. Davenport suddenly said —

"I suppose your mother is changing her things upstairs, Reggie?"

Reggie was sitting on the floor, with his long legs drawn up, and a tea-cup balanced somewhat precariously on his knees. His back was supported against the head of the sofa, on which Gertrude was sitting. She had put on an amazing tea-gown, of some dark, mazarine stuff, trimmed with large bunches of lace, and was feeling intensely happy and rather languid after the day in the cold air. She had just asked Reggie some question, and he did not hear, or, at any rate, did not fully take in his father's remark.

Ten minutes passed, and Mr. Davenport rose to go.

"You'd better ring the bell, Reggie," he said, "and get your mother's maid to take her some tea upstairs, or it will be getting cold. I am afraid she must have got very wet."

"I don't think mother's come in yet," said Reggie, placidly.

"Not in yet," he said quickly. "Why didn't you tell me? She must have lost her way over the High Croft."

The irrepressible satisfaction had died out of his face. He rang the bell sharply.

"Tell two men to go at once, with lanterns, over the High Croft. Mrs. Davenport must have lost her way."

Gertrude got up.

"You're not anxious about her, are you?"

"No, no, dear," said he, "but it's a horrid night. The snow may be lying very thick, and perhaps she has lost her path. There's no anxiety."

Gertrude looked down with a little impatience at her long-limbed lover.

"Reggie, you goose, why didn't you remember she hadn't come in?"

Reggie looked up.

"I thought nothing about it. There are lots of cottages about. It was stupid of me to forget. Can I do anything, father? Shall I go out with the men?"

He was perfectly willing to do quite cheerfully all that was required of him, and he would have got back into his damp shooting clothes, and left this comfortable hall and Gertrude without a murmur.

"No, never mind," said he. "I think I shall go with them, because I couldn't keep quiet at home. But I wish you'd remembered sooner."

Reggie had risen and was standing by the fireplace.

"I wish you'd let me go, instead of you," he said.

"No; there's no need whatever. I only go for my own sake."

Reggie was quite content. If he was not wanted to go, he was quite happy to stop. He was extremely fond of his mother, and the thought of her possible discomfort was most unpleasant to him, but what was the good of worrying? There was absolutely no danger. Mrs. Davenport was an eminently sensible person, and he could not lessen her discomfort by thinking about it. Let us be sensible by all means; let us take things as they come, without thinking about them when there is nothing to be done. Truly these boyish natures are a little irritating at times!

Mr. Davenport left the hall, and Reggie resumed his place on the floor, and had another cup of tea.

"Poor mother!" he said with sincerity; "how dreadfully wet and cold she will be."

Percy had retired to the smoking-room, and the two were alone.

"Your father was rather vexed," she said.

"I'm afraid he was," said Reggie. "I wish he'd let me go instead of him."

"Why don't you go with him?"

"That would do no good," said Reggie. "He's only going because he is anxious. I'm not the least anxious. Mother is sure to have turned in at some cottage to wait till the snow was over, or until she could get a carriage. If I could save her anything by going out, of course I'd go."

Gertrude was frowning at the fire.

"I think I'll ask him whether I may come with him," she said.

Reggie raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, nonsense," he said. "He wouldn't let you, anyhow. Sit down, Gerty, and talk."

"Oh, well," she said, "I suppose it's all right."

There was no need, however, for Mr. Davenport to go out, for before he came down again with thick boots, and rough clothes on, his wife had arrived.