Free Gates of Dawn by Susan Barrie Page A

white line of his cuff emerging from the effective contrast of his sombre sleeve. His wrists were very brown and strong-looking, and there was a neat wrist-watch encircling the left one, the plain leather strap gripping it closely. The hands of the watch indicated that it was a few minutes to eleven. Eleven o ’ clock was still very early for a man of his habits.
    “ Good night, ” he repeated gently, giving her fingers another very definite squeeze before ’ he dropped them. “ My aunt would consider it high time you were in bed. And I ’ m going home to work. ”
    “ Oh, are you? ” she said, and was amazed at her own pleasure because he had told her that.

 
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    HE saw them off at the station when they left for the north, and provided them with books and magazines for their journey. Their compartment was first-class, and he had arranged with the dining-car attendant to serve them the first lunch. Mrs. Abbie had gone on ahead of them by two days, taking with her a young under-housemaid, and so far it was possible the house would be in trim for their arrival. They were to take a taxi when they reached the junction at Haveringford, which would convey them the ten or twelve miles to Murchester.
    Melanie felt her hand gripped hard when she said goodbye to her employer. He was in one of his least distant moods, his grey eyes warm and encouraging, his voice brisk and cheerful. He had a smile which certainly made up for some of his past neglect for Noel Trenchard, his niece; but Melanie thought that just before the train pulled out the curve of his lips took on the faintest suggestion of a downward droop of envy as he peered into the comfort of their compartment.
    “ I almost wish I was coming with you, ” he said. “ But I ’ ll see you soon. And in the meantime I hope you ’ ll both behave yourselves! ”
    In her last glimpse of him, before the long stream of slowly moving carriages slid away from the platform, he was standing with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his fawn raincoat, a felt hat pulled rather well down over his eyes, which were no longer—she was almost certain—smiling. And the last he saw of her was a little hat with a tiny upstanding quill at one side of it, and dark curls which bobbed beneath it.
    Noel, who stood beside her at the open window, suddenly lifted her gloved hand and waved. Melanie waved, too, but by that time the train was gathering speed and he had turned away and was walking back along the platform.
    Noel gave vent to a curious little half-sigh.
    “ Sometimes I think that Uncle Richard is really nice, and then at others—I ’ m not so sure! ” she remarked oddly.
    “ You silly child, ” Melanie told her, smiling at her humorously. “ He ’ s doing rather a lot for you, and I think you ought to be really grateful. Look at that new dressing - case on the rack! It makes mine look like a poor relation! ”
    “ Which is exactly what I am, ” Noel murmured, staring out of the window at the depressing ugliness ‘ of London before it begins to merge itself with the suburbs. “ Do you know, ” she added, with a rather shame-faced laugh, “ when I was at school, and received a letter from him which was not quite as business-like and formal as some of his letters, I used to let my imagination run away with me and make plans. And the plans were that when the day came that I left school for good I would go and live with him and look after him and act as his housekeeper! You see, I hadn ’ t seen him since I was very tiny, and I had n o idea that Uncle Richard was—well, as Uncle Richard is! I pictured him much older, and not nearly so successful and prominent a person. ”
    “ Did you? ” Melanie looked at her gently. “ But there ’ s plenty of time yet for you to realize your ambition—if it is your ambition! It won ’ t be long before you ’ re quite a sophisticated young lady, and Mr. Trenchard has already bought a most attractive house for you