CHAPTER XV
An Amazing Suggestion
IT is extraordinary how important a part routine plays in this human life.
A week or more after Captain Castaigne’s installation at the American hospital his presence and condition came to be an accepted fact.
Mildred Thornton had taken charge of his case for Eugenia. Indeed, Eugenia had asked the favor of her and Mildred knew just how much faith and confidence such a request indicated.
However, at first her work was just to build up Captain Castaigne’s general health and to keep him amused and untroubled.
For this reason Eugenia did not see her husband very often, since her presence appeared always to disturb him. He did not know her, but he seemed to feel that he should know her and that he was wounding her or angering her by his stupidity. Neither did the old Countess Castaigne make an effort to visit her son. Eugenia wrote her of his condition, but taking the most cheerful view and saying that later, when Captain Castaigne was better, they would both feel happier in meeting.
Even Jeanne spent less time in the society of her Captain. Yet she was with him several hours each day, when they took walks together, or she merely sat talking quietly with him. But when there were other people about Jeanne would not remain. Neither would she live at the hospital. There was still a prejudice against Eugenia which Jeanne did not endeavor to conquer. But for Nona Davis and Barbara Thornton she felt an affection; it was as if she had adopted them as her first American friends.
Moreover, this friendliness she extended to include Lieutenant Martin and Lieutenant Kelley, whose acquaintance she had made on the same day.
But as a matter of fact, among the four, Lieutenant Martin was Jeanne’s closest friend. One would scarcely have suspected him of knowing how to make friends with a little girl; nevertheless, they were most devoted to each other.
Lieutenant Martin had recovered sufficiently to return to his quarters at camp and as Jeanne continued living with Madame Bonnèt and Berthe, they were able to meet frequently.
However, Jeanne had become a tremendous favorite with a large number of the American soldiers in camp, they insisting that she was their especial little French Jeanne and that her arrival at their camp and her presence among them must bring good luck both to them and to France.
So, by way of amusing themselves and her, Jeanne was taught to shoot and to ride horseback. She was even taken for short flights in American aeroplanes when the men in the nearby aviation practice fields were making unimportant ascensions near at home.
Guy Ellis wrote to his mother the entire romantic story of the appearance of Jeanne and her French Captain, and in response Mrs. Ellis sent Jeanne a trunk of clothes, with an outfit which included two khaki suits, with the riding trousers and coat, the skirt and hat.
So Jeanne became not the little daughter of this particular American division, but a kind of adopted sister. And it was small wonder that the little French girl did not find life at the hospital entertaining in the hours when she could not be with her Captain.
“Jeanne will have to go to school some day, but for the present let her be happy in her own way. Madame Bonnèt and Berthe will see that she does not get into mischief,” was Eugenia’s only comment.
Although no longer a patient, Lieutenant Martin came now and then to the hospital to call on his friends whenever he had leisure. But this was not often, as he had returned to the work at camp with all his former vigor and enthusiasm. It was rumored that a certain number of the American soldiers were soon to be chosen and sent to the trenches to have actual experience in fighting. There was no doubt that Lieutenant Martin hoped to be among the number.
As far as he could, Lieutenant Martin appeared to be trying to make amends for his bad temper during the early days of his illness. But no one of his nurses had paid any serious attention to this, knowing it to be a common masculine failing when a man is not dangerously ill. Courage and gayety come more often to the soldier when he is seriously hurt, when all his pluck, all his sporting blood must be called upon to help.
Personalty, Nona Davis, who had devoted more of her time than any one of the other nurses to Lieutenant Martin, felt nothing but friendliness toward him. Besides, she could not fail to admire the spirit in which he had received his injury. There had been never any resentment or bitterness against the man who must have intentionally wounded him, but only a determined effort not to allow a scandal to mar the fair name of his camp.
Moreover, Nona had not entirely forgotten Lieutenant Martin’s farewell to her, although she had made a determined effort to thrust his words out of her mind. He had thanked her, of course, for her care, and had then added with a determined expression in his gray eyes and a slight tightening of the muscles of his mouth which she had learned to recognize as concealing deep feeling,
“Please remember that I am not your patient any longer, Miss Davis, and therefore whatever I may say to you in the future will not be an illusion of illness. I know you do not care for me, do not even especially like me, but perhaps I may make you proud of me. In any case it may be worth while for you to remember some day that you are the only girl, and not only that, the only woman I have ever cared for in my life, or ever will.”
Then, although Nona had replied as politely as she could to Lieutenant Martin that he was altogether mistaken and had afterwards said the same thing to herself, she was not entirety convinced.
However, the real truth was that she was having more enjoyment at the present time from her acquaintance with Philip Dawson than from any other source.
She had written to Sonya that she had never known so clever or so agreeable a fellow and that she was seeing him whenever either of them were free.
Something in the letter, Sonya could not have told just what, had conveyed the impression, made her a little anxious, so much so that she had even sent a short note to Eugenia, apologizing for taking her time, but inquiring just what Eugenia knew of Philip Dawson.
As Eugenia could imagine no reason for Sonya’s interest and did not take Nona’s friendship seriously, she had simply replied that she knew very little, except that Mr. Dawson was regarded as a brilliant newspaper correspondent, was very agreeable and had an excellent reputation in his profession. She also wrote that she considered Sonya need give the young man no especial consideration, as Nona was much more interested in her Red Cross nursing than in any other thing or any other person.
However, this had not persuaded Eugenia to interfere with Nona’s new friendship, nor to oppose Nona’s taking long walks with Philip Dawson two or three times a week.
Eugenia had so many cares, so many anxieties, she could not be a very watchful chaperon.
In coming abroad to do war nursing she felt that only American girls who knew enough of life to take care of themselves should be trusted with the experience.
But Eugenia was afterwards to be sorry she had not been more vigilant.
Philip Dawson and Nona in the weeks of late summer and early autumn had really explored the greater part of the nearby French countryside.
The two hours of freedom which she had each day from work, unless there was some unusual pressure, Nona liked best to spend outdoors. And never before had she known so delightful a companion.
There seemed to be endless subjects of conversation between them, of which neither grew weary. Yet now and then they would walk beside each other or in single file, not speaking for a quarter of an hour or more.
There was no suggestion of an emotion between them. Philip Dawson had never said anything which Nona could construe in any such fashion. He was the most restful and at the same time the most stimulating friend she had ever known. There was none of the restlessness and the changing tempers she had felt in her brief interest in Eugino Zoli.
It was only that if Nona had an idea, she was anxious to know if Mr. Dawson thought it worth while, or if she were ill or tired she wished to count upon his sympathy. But she was not selfish in this. She knew that Philip Dawson came to her as freely and that he insisted his talks with her inspired him to better work and to a wiser judgment of people and affairs.
However, on this particular afternoon when Nona had only two hours to give to their walk, he had kept her waiting for half an hour. In spite of her effort toward keeping a perfectly reasonable attitude in their friendship, Nona felt undeniably cross.
Moreover, when Philip Dawson arrived there was no pretense of an apology.
“We will not be able to walk any distance this afternoon, there is something very special I have to tell you. Only we must get away from the hospital and in some place where no one will be able to hear us,” he began at once in a rather business-like manner to which Nona was unaccustomed.
However, Nona immediately found herself in a properly humble and obedient state of mind, with none of the feeling of resentment or of opposition which Lieutenant Martin more often than not aroused in her.
Having come out to the hospital gate to wait for him in the fresh air, and being prepared to be politely reproachful, instead Nona made no reply except to walk quickly along beside her companion, wondering what possible serious thing he could have to tell her.
One of the great reliefs of their friendship had been that they were not often serious together for any great length of time. For, however serious the subject of their conversation might be for a few moments, there was soon the relief of a gently humorous point of view.
But today there was no suggestion of anything except gravity in Philip Dawson’s face and Nona felt slightly uneasy. But she did not feel deeply so; really there did not appear to be any cause that could seriously interfere with their understanding of each other, and this was, of course, the important thing. Neither did Nona realize that this was an unusual conviction on her part concerning a friend whom she had known so short a time, nor as a matter of fact did she really know anything of his personal history, except what he had told her himself.
The little French farmhouse with the peach orchard could be reached by strenuous walking in half an hour, although frequently Nona and Philip Dawson had taken an hour to arrive there. This would leave half an hour for their talk and nearly anything may be said in half an hour.
Besides, there really was no nearer place where one could feel safe from interruption. For anywhere in the neighborhood of the camp soldiers were apt to turn up at any moment.
“You look worried; I hope nothing has happened to annoy you,” Nona began, as soon as they had found their favorite resting place and she could recover her breath.
Philip Dawson stopped frowning and laughed.
“I am afraid I have tired you out; I did not think of it. But then so few girls really know how to walk. You did not at first, Miss Davis, but you are learning.”
Nona shook her head. “Don’t be tiresome, I am not going to argue that question with you now since we have discussed it so many times before. Besides, you scarcely ran me all the way out here to give me that valuable information.”
Nona laid her hand lightly on her companion’s.
“Don’t worry over what you must tell me and please don’t break it to me gently, I hate that method. Are you going away?”
“Not now. Would you care?” Philip Dawson answered, and then as if he wished to disregard both their speeches:
“No, I am not going to waste time and I am not going to talk of either of us this afternoon, fond as we are of talking about ourselves. I hope we may have a great many other chances. But today I want to talk to you about something in which, thank heaven, neither of us has any part, except as it may affect our friends. You know I told you some time ago that every effort was being quietly made to find out the soldier in camp who tried to get rid of Lieutenant Martin and just what his reason was for wishing to have him away from camp for a time. Well, the reason has been discovered. There was spying going on and it was reasonable to suppose that Martin, who was watching pretty closely, would have soon made the discovery. The man who is suspected is pretty close to him.”
“Yes,” Nona returned, “but whom do you mean? I know only a few men in camp at all intimately.”
“The man who is suspected is Lieutenant Kelley, Martin’s companion and intimate friend,” Philip Dawson answered dryly, “and the particularly ugly part of it is that there is a girl in the case, or perhaps I should say a woman, since she is married. I mean your friend Mrs. Richard Thornton.”
“That is the most ridiculous statement I ever heard in my life and one of the wickedest,” Nona responded instantly, wondering how she could ever have thought she had any faith in the man beside her and seeing another house of cards come tumbling down.
“As a matter of fact, I agree with you in part,” Philip Dawson answered, perfectly understanding Nona’s attitude, but showing no resentment. “I know nothing of your friend. I think if she is married she has been seeing Lieutenant Kelley too often for his good or hers. Oh, I don’t mean anything, except that they have taken walks together and gone in for this business of arranging entertainment for the soldiers and——. But I really don’t know anything of this at first hand, only what I have heard whispered recently. Nothing has yet been said openly, that is why I am telling you now, Nona. Perhaps you can help your friend, if she deserves your help. My own view is that Lieutenant Hugh Kelley is about as innocent of mischief as I am. He is only a kind of kid, if he is a West Point graduate, and even if he has been neglecting his work a little, he is utterly incapable of treachery. He has been homesick and I suppose he is a bit in love when he knows he has no right to be, which takes the edge off of things. But as for sending news to Germany about the American camp, it is the most preposterous idea I ever heard. No West Pointer was ever a traitor. But goodness, Nona, I did not mean to frighten you; please don’t look so wretched. The thing will have to be cleared up. Lieutenant Martin insists that Kelley had nothing on earth to do with the injury to him, nor to the fact that some American camp news has been getting to a source we would most of us give our lives to keep it away from. He wants Kelley told what the suspicion is against him. The mere fact that they happened to be together at the time of the injury and that Lieutenant Kelley had dropped behind and, oh, well, there are a few other peculiar circumstances which have been discovered since, but to my mind no circumstantial evidence is proof against a man’s clean record.”
“But it is not Lieutenant Kelley I am thinking of; it is Barbara,” Nona interrupted. “Of course Lieutenant Kelley is innocent; no one could look at him or talk to him five minutes and have any other conviction. The men in camp who are saying things against him are merely trying to shield themselves.”
Nona was unashamedly crying.
“But the dreadful thing to me is that you, or that anyone has dared to talk in an unkind way about Barbara Thornton, to feel that her name has even been discussed. Why she is younger than any one of us and Eugenia and Mildred and I should have taken better care of her. Oh, I do not know what to do or say, Barbara will be so heartbroken.”
“Nevertheless please do not talk of this with me, Nona,” Philip Dawson responded gently. “It has been difficult enough for me to tell you. Madame Castaigne and Mrs. Thornton are the persons with whom you must discuss it. I believe in any case Lieutenant Kelley will be entirely cleared. But it will be wiser for her sake and his if Mrs. Thornton gives up their friendship in the future.”
Philip Dawson had never spoken to her, calling her by her first name before this afternoon. But Nona was too engrossed to give the fact any particular attention.