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<h3 id="id01453" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XXV</h3> At Westgate 'I've got to go up to town on special business,' said Bruce, one afternoon, after receiving a telegram which he had rather ostentatiously left about, hoping he would be questioned on the subject. It had, however, been persistently disregarded. 'Oh, have you?' 'Yes. Look at this wire.' He read aloud: 'Wish to see you at once if possible come up today M.' 'Who is 'M'?' 'Mitchell, of course. Who should it be?' He spoke aggressively, then softened down to explanation, 'Mitchell's in town a few days on business, too. I may be detained till Tuesday—or even Wednesday next.' Bruce had been to town so often lately, his manner was so vague, he seemed at once so happy and so preoccupied, so excited, so pleased, so worried, and yet so unnaturally good-tempered, that Edith had begun to suspect he was seeing Miss Townsend again. The suspicion hurt her, for he had given his word of honour, and had been nice to her ever since, and amiable (though rather absent and bored) with the children. She walked down to the station with him, though he wished to go in the cab which took his box and suit-case, but he did not resist her wish. On the way he said, looking round as if he had only just arrived and had never seen it before: 'This is a very nice little place. It's just the right place for you and the children. If I were you, I should stay on here.' It struck her he spoke in a very detached way, and some odd foreshadowing came to her. 'Why—aren't you coming back?' she asked jokingly. 'Me? What an idea! Yes, of course. But I've told you—this business of mine—well, it'll take a little time to arrange. Still, I expect to be back on Tuesday. Or quite on Wednesday—or sooner.' They walked on and had nearly reached the station. 'How funny you are, Bruce!' 'What do you mean? Are you angry with me for going up to see about important business? Why, here you've got Aylmer and his boy at the hotel, my mother and Vincy to stay with you. You've got plenty of companions. I don't suppose you'll miss me much. You see—a—this is a sort of business matter women don't understand. Women are incapable of understanding it.' 'Of what nature is it?' 'How do you mean, nature? It's not of any particular nature. Nature, indeed! How like a woman! It's just business.' He waited a minute. 'Stockbroking; that's what it is. Yes, it's stockbroking. I want to see a chap who's put me in to a good thing. A perfectly safe thing. No gambling. But one has to see into it, you see. Mitchell wants to see me at once, you see. Do you see? You saw his wire, didn't you? I've explained, haven't I? Aren't you satisfied with my explanation?' 'You appear to be—very. But I'm not asking you to tell me any details about the business, whatever it may be.' They arrived at the station, and Bruce gave her what she thought a very queer look. It was a mixture of fear, daring, caution and a sort of bravado. Anxiety was in it, as well as a pleased self-consciousness. 'Tell me, frankly, something I'd like to know, Bruce.' 'Are you getting suspicious of me, Edith? That's not like you. Mind you, it's a great mistake in a woman; women should always trust. Mistrust sometimes drives a man to—to—Oh, anyhow, it's a great mistake.' 'I only want you to tell me something, Bruce. I'll believe you implicitly if you'll answer…. Do you ever see Miss Townsend now?' 'Never, on my honour! I swear it.' He spoke with such genuine good faith that she believed him at once. 'Thanks. I'm glad. And—have you never since—' 'Never seen her, never written to her, never communicated with her since she left! Don't know where she is and don't care. Now you do believe me?' he asked, with all the earnestness and energy of truth. 'Absolutely. Forgive me for asking.' 'Oh, that's all right.' He was relieved, and smiled. 'All right, Bruce dear. I'm glad. It would have worried me.' 'Now go, Edith. Don't bother to wait till I get in. I'll write to you—I'll write to you soon.' She still lingered, seeing something odd in his manner. 'Give my love to my mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say—' Edith.' 'Yes, dear?' 'Oh, nothing.' She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his paper…. 'Well, what does it matter so long as he has gone!' exclaimed Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand, followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea. (Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she was perfection. She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet—something tugged at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy presentiment. But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe that 'M' was Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?… <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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