III

The world, it seemed, was overfull of lamentable occasions; for while ploughs turned up the brown earth and page 328 white gulls followed the furrow, while kowhais shook their golden lace to the sweet winds and ladies walked like somewhat faded flower-gardens topped by absurd little fringed parasols in the Government House Gardens, the country daily blundered towards a fiercer war.

Gore Browne, frenziedly demanding reinforcements, got Sir George Grey instead, to take the reins out of his hands; and Grey, walking about Auckland again in a double-breasted black waistcoat and large blue bow-tie, was quite clearly prepared to be more autocratic than ever.

“Which he never shall be,” shouted Sir Winston, thumping his umbrella until clouds of dust flew through the Institute. “He'll have to reckon with responsible government now. ‘The sinking statesman's door Pours in the morning worshippers no more’—Sam Johnson.”

“Well, don't vote your responsible government out of office too often,” said Jermyn, rather sorry for Gore Browne, who was a most excellent and honest gentleman, if a thought too one-idea'd for a country with so many ideas.

The centre of the island (felt gentlemen, going gallantly to dinners and dances) was still a powder-magazine, since the Waikato had replied to Gore Browne's demand for submission by refusing the passage of pakeha boats on the rivers and by putting a large army into the most startling uniforms ever seen outside opéra bouffe. So Grey had to do what he could by temporizing, which never suited him.

“Can't the condemned fool realize what he's doin' in settin' soldiers to drive a road into the Waikato?” demanded Major Henry. “Expectin' the Maoris to believe his intentions peaceful, with that military encampment at Epsom growin' all the time and every Maori knowin' that Romans always began with roads when they meant to conquer a country. Thinks himself a Roman emperor, does he?”

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“Our respected Governor sees nothing black or white, but only Grey,” said Jermyn.

Sally sighed. Gore Browne had pervaded the soup, and Parliament the fish. Now here came Grey with the roast mutton, and gentlemen would never let him go again. She was missing Tiffany and Roddy; and Brian, returned at last, was too elegant to seem like a son, somehow … and so full of opinions.

Brian was blaming the newspapers. For Parliament, trying to help Grey with his temporizing, had found newspapers calling it the peace-at-any-price ministry so often that it had resigned in a pet, and the new one had suddenly become very high-handed along with Grey.

“Newspapers are far too ready to kick any dog that offers,” pronounced Brian, bending his black brows on Jermyn.

“Linda writes that the South Island wishes to secede,” remarked Caroline, very important with three tiers of coloured gauze instead of a cap. “It is Eldorado now and don't see why it should be taxed to pay for our wars. Linda don't neither,” ended Caroline; looking round impressively on the company.

“By God, ma'am,” burst out Major Henry, “the South Island's a renegade, and so you can tell it with my compliments. Why, the wretched place would never have been discovered but for us.”

“Possibly it would have been better if we had never discovered ourselves,” said Mr Pinshon gloomily. And no one contradicted him, which proved the state of mind the country was in.

“Well,” said Caroline, “I consider that a lady owes it to civilization—”

“Civilization is just as big a fight as savagery and not so different,” said Darien, who had ridden in for the monthly cattle sales. “You should know that, though nothing much seems to come of it,” she added, looking round on Sophia and Emily and Maria. She had been page 330 very pleased to have Tiffy instead of that little minx Lucilla, though all her sisters (who had such fingering minds) were most anxious to know the reason for the change. This virtuous and consequently suspicious family, she thought; feeling what a tattle there would be when Sackville came back.

He was so very long in coming that Tiffany, helping Darien with the sheep, walking with John behind the plough, began to be afraid to count the days. So long … so very long … then he came; tapping on the door one bright afternoon when Tiffany was busy in the kitchen and the others busy in the sheep-yards, and Tiffany, running to the door in her big apron, fell back against it because her heart seemed suddenly to have stopped.

“Can I see you alone?” he asked, not offering to touch her. She could not speak or see for this rush of abounding joy. Dick … Dick!

“I must speak to you alone,” he said more sharply.

She led the way to her bedroom, shut the door, and suddenly turned shy; waiting for his words, his arms, his kisses.

“I only got in yesterday. I have come at the first opportunity,” he said, and even through her daze of gladness she was conscious of sudden fear. “I … I have discovered that our … the marriage was not legal. I came to tell you at the first opportunity.”

She sat down suddenly on the bed, staring with her big brown eyes.

“Not legal,” she repeated dully.

“No. The priest was not fully licensed. He could only help officiate. I took the trouble to hunt him up afterwards, for I had my suspicions at the time.”

“You had your suspicions?” she said.

“Yes.” Damn it, those eyes were making him nervous. “You see, I happen to know French. He was juggling with both services … didn't dare give the whole of either. I wonder Lady Calthorpe didn't spot it. But she page 331 was making eyes at Flower. I … I'm monstrous sorry. Puts you in a hole.”

“You … didn't tell me … then.”

“Oh, my dear girl! Spoil our pleasant little party! I mean…. Tiffy, don't look like that. I wasn't certain. 'Pon honour I wasn't….”

“Dick….” This first stunned feeling was passing. “Dick, it isn't you speaking like this, is it? Not you? Oh, my poor poor boy, have you been fretting over it all this time? I … I don't really mind so much, dear. Papa wouldn't object now. He knows I'm married.” She held out her hands, beginning to smile. “Don't feel that you've been so very wicked.”

He fidgeted, not looking at her. Why had he been fool enough to come when he might have done it by writing? But then she would have probably gone rushing up to the barracks. Good Lord, if only women knew how they do for themselves when they chase a man!

“Can't any woman keep a secret?” he said sulkily. “You promised not to tell.”

“There were reasons,” said Tiffany, wondering where her words came from. She didn't seem to be here, somehow. Where was she? “I didn't give your name.”

“Eh? Well, that's all right. We sail in a week, you see.” Before her silence, her watching eyes he stumbled on: a soldier's life … so uncertain … couldn't take her with him … might be India next … all so uncertain.

“You couldn't take me? You mean … this is the end?”

“Well, my dear, if you'd look at it sensibly … I'm a poor man—”

“You mean … this … is the end?”

“Well, yes, if you will have it,” he said shortly. Confound his susceptible nature. Always getting him into trouble with women, and the getting out so damned difficult.

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Am I dead? thought Tiffany, looking at her hands. I can move my fingers.

“Since there's no harm done—” he began again, awkwardly.

Everything is dead, thought Tiffany. Yet something seemed to be burning in her although she did not know it for her pride. She stood up.

“Please go,” she said.

“'Pon my soul, I'm sorry, Tiffy. Such a mistake, your coming to Rotorua….”

“Please go.”

Curse it, he thought, trying to hide from himself, she had no right to come the tragedy queen over him who knew well enough that the chief fault was her own. If luck had not been with him he would have been caught instead of her, since he really had not been sure that night. If England and India hadn't been in the offing he might be caught again, for she was a handsome creature standing so still, with those great eyes, with that charming arrangement of her bright hair. He made a movement towards her; thought better of it. Then, since shame and remorse turn to spite in certain types, “Good-bye, Miss Lovel,” he said and went out.

Tiffany heard his feet echoing through the empty house, the slam of the door, the galloping hooves. How long she stood hearing them she did not know. She did not know anything until a sudden chilling shock told her that she was in the bath set there in readiness for morning, scrubbing herself with a fury that turned the white skin red. She dressed with quick hands that seemed to have a purpose of themselves, that dragged from under the bed the little box holding her sacred treasures, bundled them all together, wedding-gown and ring, the other clothes that she had worn….

Darien crossing the yard saw her coming through the back door with the white bundle, and called: “Wasn't page 333 that a horse I heard? Great Scott, Tiffy, what's happened?” she cried, rushing up.

“He came.” (Voice as well as hands and feet seemed to be doing things of their own volition.) “He says our marriage was not legal. He has gone.”

Then her feet took her running fast towards the bush, with Darien breathless after her.

“Tiffy … Tiffy … you're not going to kill yourself?”

“For that?”

The blaze of scorn leaping out of Tiffany almost scorched Darien. She stood, bewildered and rubbing her face, then set off again in the big boots after that flying figure. What the devil it was all about she couldn't yet make out, but since Tiffy had gone mad one must keep an eye on her.

By a little mossy stream in the bush Tiffany knelt down digging in the soft rich deposit of ages with frantic hands. When the hole was deep enough she flung the bundle in and covered it. Still on her knees she looked slowly round, clearing the loosened curls from her face with muddy fingers. Very quiet the bush with the evening light sifting through it, tenderly warm on the totara boles gilded on the edges of the great hinau flanges, faint and far and delicate where little ferns hung everywhere from boles and branches like a gentle rain. Up in the high dark canopy birds were going to bed with hushed sleepy calls. Tiffany laid her hand on the tall grey flange of a hinau that stood beside her like a bastion.

“Tane's trees,” she said softy—and fell forward on her face.