Scales of Justice by Ngaio Marsh Read Free Book Online Page A

repeated. “Yes, well… yes, of course.” He stuck out the Lacklander jaw and knitted the Lacklander brows. “Look here, sir,” he said, “if my father welcomes our engagement… and I can’t conceive of his doing anything else… will you have any objection? I’d better tell you now that no objection on either side will make the smallest difference.”
    “In that case,” the Colonel said, “your question is academic. And now I’ll leave you to have a word with Rose before you go home.” He held out his hand. “Goodbye, Mark.”
    When the Colonel had gone, Mark turned to Rose and took her hands in his. “But how ridiculous,” he said. “How in the world could these old boys cook up anything that would upset
us
?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t know how they could, but it’s serious. He’s terribly worried, poor darling.”
    “Well,” Mark said, “it’s no good attempting a diagnosis before we’ve heard the history. I’ll go home, see what’s happened and ring you up in about fifteen minutes. The all-important, utterly bewildering and Heaven-sent joy is that you love me, Rose. Nothing,” Mark continued with an air of coining a brand-new phrase, “nothing can alter that. Au revoir, darling.”
    He kissed Rose in a business-like manner and was gone.
    She sat still for a time hugging to herself the knowledge of their feeling for each other. What had happened to all her scruples about leaving her father? She didn’t even feel properly upset by her father’s extraordinary behaviour, and when she realized this circumstance, she realized the extent of her exthrallment. She stood in the French window of the drawing-room and looked across the valley to Nunspardon. It was impossible to be anxious… her whole being ached with happiness. It was now and for the first time that Rose understood the completeness of love.
    Time went by without her taking thought for it. The gong sounded for dinner and at the same moment the telephone rang. She flew to it.
    “Rose,” Mark said. “Say at once that you love me. At once.”
    “I love you.”
    “And on your most sacred word of honour that you’ll marry me. Say it, Rose. Promise it. Solemnly promise.”
    “I solemnly promise.”
    “Good,” said Mark. “I’ll come back at nine.”
    “Do you know what’s wrong?”
    “Yes. It’s damn’ ticklish. Bless you, darling. Till nine.”
    “Till nine,” Rose said and in a state of enthrallment went in to dinner.
    By eight o’clock the evening depression had begun to settle over Commander Syce. At about five o’clock, when the sun was over the yard-arm, he had a brandy and soda. This raised his spirits. With its successors, up to the third or fourth, they rose still further. During this period he saw himself taking a job and making a howling success of it. From that emotional eminence he fell away with each succeeding dram, and it was during his decline that he usually took to archery. It had been in such a state of almost suicidal depression that he had suddenly shot an arrow over his coppice into Mr. Danberry-Phinn’s bottom meadow and slain the mother of Thomasina Twitchett.
    To-night the onset of depression was more than usually severe. Perhaps his encounter with the Colonel, whom he liked, gave point to his own loneliness. Moreover, his married couple were on their annual holiday and he had not been bothered to do anything about an evening meal. He found his arrow and limped back to the archery lawn. He no longer wanted to shoot.
    His gammy leg ached, but he thought he’d take a turn up the drive.
    When he arrived at the top, it was to discover Nurse Kettle seated by the roadside in gloomy contemplation of her bicycle, which stood upside down on its saddle and handlebars.
    “Hullo, Commander,” said Nurse Kettle, “I’ve got a puncture.”
    “Evening. Really? Bore for you,” Syce shot out at her.
    “I can’t make up me great mind to push her the three miles to Chyning, so I’m going to have a