IV

Since England, having descried a virgin upon the horizon, had sent out Hobson to mend that, New Zealand (thought Jermyn) had become any man's Moll, poor dear; with whites pushing in everywhere, to be pushed on by indignant chiefs, and all the English at tantivy among themselves, while keeping a more or less stout front against the natives. A tragic sweet bewildered country, this New Zealand … who should have been left to dream among her ancient murmuring trees, along her golden beaches, instead of becoming a stamping-ground for pirates.

Yet Official Bay, home of the gentry, had by now quite a sprinkling of fine houses among the fern and scrub, with the Bishop's palace and the Chief Justice's mansion down near the water-front—to stopper them all up from harm, said Jack O'Reilly, going down with Jermyn to the Chief Justice's rout through a windy night that set their cloaks a-blowing. Two gay young bucks, very lively in the hot night, sniffing delicately at wallflower and stocks standing in the garden to retrieve English minds from wild thoughts garnered among wild odours on the hills.

“Damn it, I am English,” said Jermyn as though just now he had been something else.

Now the gentlemen were hanging their cloaks like a black row of dreams in a side-room, hearing the brittle page 89 feminine twitter across the hall. How many of these fellows had (like O'Reilly) a wife in old England and made hay while the sun shone just the same?

And here they were shouldering into the long low room, so seductive in soft candle-light with the gleam of white arms and bosoms, the gloss of ringlets, the bright sharp colour of flowers, of scarves, the sly enticement of moving fans, the mysterious provocation of half-turned cheeks … in short, all the weapons of dear woman and be damned to her, thought impecunious officers, certain that they should not marry and equally certain that they would.

“The second is a quadrille,” said Jermyn, inspecting his programme. “But you'll give me a waltz too, Sally?”

Here was a Sally radiant in glimmering green and grey with a silver garland for the bright brown hair smoothly rolling away from white temples. Youth and better ease had triumphed over the weary slave of Kororareka. Jermyn, scribbling initials here and there, felt with a start how young Sally really was. He had never known the Sal-volatile that Darien had known…. But wasn't this she laughing her fresh little laugh at old Sir Winston Chard (damned raddled old dandy with his flowered waistcoat and yellow wig, a seasoned left-over from the Regency, ogling and bowing …); laughing at Jermyn, at everything, at nothing, for it was so wonderful of Jermyn to want all those dances though of course he couldn't have them.

“Two only, sir,” cried Sally, holding up slim white-gloved fingers as Peregrine (his eyes were still too close together) took her away. This is living, thought Sally, gyrating primly. Before her marriage she had been too young for parties, and at first in Auckland she had been too tied … and tired. But now … these last few months … her blood was running like a merry millstream. This, thought Sally, trying to keep step with Mr Lovel, is living.

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From the wall Jermyn watched. A monstrous number of pretty girls to-night, but Sally shone among them like white fire. And at fifteen she had been married to long dark Peregrine who was stiffish even in his cups. God help her, thought Jermyn, feeling a sudden rage of pity that persisted even when he led her out for the quadrille.

But Sally was wanting no pity to-night. She wanted to romp, to sing; and the wave of her hand, the gay glance she flung him as she floated to centre with the ladies was assuredly Sal-volatile, corked up for so long and now disseminating a wild tingling essence, a stinging delight that would turn any man's head. “Tutti-tutti-tutti” went the regimental band, but Jermyn's heart was going faster. Something he did not understand was happening to him while he waited for her to come again. And when she came it was like Life itself advancing, lifting him from his petty days into some high and glorious realm untrod before, bringing benison in both small outstretched hands.

He did not refuse it. One does not refuse such rich gifts at their moment. Bowing, turning her, advancing, retreating, he saw all in a golden haze; saw her silver circlet a halo round her head, heard the band rattling through Fra Diavolo as a conqueror's paean. Still held by the enchantment he took her presently with her warm fragrance and shining eyes to the couch behind the fern-tree screen in a corner.

“Oh, I feel as if I had really caroused at last,” said Sally, sinking on the bright cushions and shutting her eyes with the sheer joy of it. She felt him bending over her; started, then met his look in a long gazing that passed for ever through the veils for them both. Gravely he stooped lower; then suddenly caught her close, meeting her parted lips with his.

Major Henry, twirling his moustachios, making a leg to the ladies, visiting like some errant bee whist-tables page 91 and supper-rooms, presently discerned the unmistakable legs of a man, the unmistakable shadowy skirts of Sally behind the ferns and backed off, muttering profanely.

So this was what she would be at, the minx, and no more than he might have expected since he had always considered Sally's morals too good to last. Major Henry (having had so much experience) instantly feared the worst, and his leathery cheeks reddened. No scandal allowed among Lovels, egad, and this cursed little town was a perfect witches' brew of scandal, with everyone pilloried in the papers for the pleasure of clubs and kettledrums. “Oh, my dear … so shocking! Have you heard …?” “He'll never call the fellow out. I wager that Peregrine Lovel….”

The Major could hear them at it, cap-lappets wagging and tea cooling; young bloods shouting with laughter, making their bets. Enraged for the first time at that generous licence which he so much enjoyed and aided, the Major anxiously patrolled the corner to keep invaders off and recalled the Maori proverb that all a man's troubles came from women and land. Good God, what a heritage that fool Adam had left his sons by his weak-kneed plea for a wife!

Behind the fern Jermyn sat with face hidden in his hands; but if Sally's face expressed what her heart felt he should have seen it shining through his fingers. So this was the interpretation of these last sweet months of secret joy, and now one deep kiss had declared the foolishness of secrets, the brevity of this little life of separation and pain. What were fifty or even sixty years of what Darien called virtuous promenade with Mr Lovel set against an eternity of bliss with Jermyn? Sally, who never saw life quite like other people (hadn't her first notion of the Annexation been England reaching out with a long toasting-fork?), flipped her fingers at sixty years.

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God, who had been wavering behind the inchoate gods for so long, returned triumphantly. Only God himself could have so blessed her. That kiss (thought Sally, conscious for the first time that real kisses are spiritual and not fleshly) came out of the immortal things; things so perfect and so stupendous that the few little years of Now could never have compassed it. It would not be so compassed. Out of the bright regions of Eternity it had come to seal her to Jermyn for ever.

Mr Lovel (one knew quite well) was for Now; but with For Ever ahead she could wait, thought Sally, so used to waiting. It would not be long, she thought, already flying to it, hearing the angels blow their welcoming trumpets…. “Fifty … or even sixty years isn't so very long, Jermyn,” she ventured. “Not compared with For Ever.”

“What are you talking about?” He raised his face, so suddenly gone haggard that she must be very gentle.

“I'm sure God wouldn't mind that one kiss, dear. It was only to explain. We can wait now we know we shall have Eternity. You see, Mr Lovel and I could never find each other in Eternity because we have no love to guide us. But you and I … it will be like a star, won't it? We'll find each other at once….”

“I don't know what the devil you're talking about.”

A frightening Jermyn, this; staring out of fierce eyes with his face so blotched with red, his elegance in such strange disarray. Sally stood up, grateful to her legs for bearing her since she had rather feared they wouldn't.

“I … I think you had better take me back to the others. Please don't feel we've been very wrong, Jermyn. I think God just wanted us to understand. Now we can wait, you see.”

He was swaying slightly as he stood. A big fellow, Jermyn, now that he had filled out. Well-made, said Major Henry, approving his narrow Lovel hips and broad shoulders.

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“You don't know much of men,” he said, very slowly. “For a married woman you don't know much of men.”

“I know you,” said Sally, feeling herself beginning to tremble.

“By God, you don't!” He gave a croak of a laugh, staring at her steadily with a bright flame in his eyes. Beyond the screen of leaves the band was reckless in a polka, languorous in a waltz. Light feet flew by, scattering jets of laughter, scraps of talk, perfume from roses, jasmine, lilies twined in gleaming floating hair. All so gay, thought Jermyn dazedly. All so gay … and here was a man for whom the solid ground had given way beneath his feet; an honest man who would not be honest any more.

“Hrumph,” coughed Major Henry, returning in a hurry as a couple approached the corner. “Sally! Are you there? Peregrine wants you,” he invented in a hurry. “Lost a button or something …” cried the Major to Sally coming out, fastening a glove with bent head. For Jermyn following he had only a “Good God!” of disgust. So he had put himself in all that fantique for Jermyn. “A pleasant evening, Major,” said Jermyn, going away.

“I have not found it so, sir,” snapped the Major, tucking Sally's hand under his arm and getting in a panic again to feel its trembling. She was looking … and Jermyn had looked … looked like…. And Jermyn was only a cousin of Peregrine's and a precious reckless fellow. And women were never any better than they should be. “For heaven's sake, don't sniff,” he said furiously, unaware that he was doing the sniffing. “I need a drink,” said Major Henry who usually did.

Getting ready for bed with Mr Lovel Sally still moved in the miracle. This bright revelation was yet too new to include the physical, and one man had already given her more than she wanted of that. Jermyn's kiss had been a pledge of something infinitely lovelier than marriage, page 94 and a woman needs a home for her heart as well as for her body. Much more, thought Sally, plaiting up the long brown ripples of her hair just as though everything had not a fairer colour, a sweeter sound … even Mr Lovel was a sweeter sound talking of Mrs Pinshon who had, it appeared, been particularly disagreeable tonight.

“An insufferable woman,” he said, poising the extinguisher above the candle, looking like an extinguished candle himself in his long nightshirt.

“She may get better when she's older,” suggested Sally, so sorry for a Mr Lovel who could be bothered by Mrs Pinshon.

“She will be worse,” said Mr Lovel, laying himself down like an oracle.

He slept, but Sally could not. The world seemed to have taken wings and flown right up to heaven. Heaven would be so full now, and she had always seen herself so lonely there. Darien and the children would (of course) have their own dear lovers and companions, but the best she had hoped for was to escape a Mr Lovel who would always be trying to improve the angels. Now she was rich. So rich that it was hard to lie still … hard to wait for those bounteous riches.

Oh, I'm afraid sixty years is going to be longer than I thought, whispered Sally, beginning to cry softly into her pillow.