Through the close, stifling days of July and August I remained in London
with but one object, namely, that of finding Muriel. She had
disappeared completely, and with some object; for she had not only
hidden herself from me, but also from her nearest relatives.
Through those hot, dusty days, which, in former years, I had spent at
Tixover, I pursued my inquiries in the various drapery establishments at
Holloway, Peckham, Brixton, Kensington, and other shopping centres, but
with no result. She had not written to any of the "young ladies" at
Madame Gabrielle's, and none knew her whereabouts.
Yet the unexpected always happens. Just as I was about to give up my
search and return to Tixover to get fresh air, for August and September
are pleasant months in the Midlands, I chanced one afternoon to be
crossing Ludgate Circus, from Ludgate Hill to Fleet Street, when I
suddenly overtook a figure that seemed familiar.
I started, drew back in hesitation for a moment, and then approached and
raised my hat.
It was Aline Cloud.
"You!" she gasped, paling slightly as she recognised me.
"Yes," I replied. "But I'm not so very formidable, am I?"
"No," she laughed, in an instant recovering her self-possession as she
took my hand. "Only you startled me."
I remarked upon the lapse of time since we had met, and in response she
answered--
"Yes. I've been away."
I recollected her visit to Stamford, but said nothing, resolving to
mention it later. It was about four o'clock, and in order to chat to
her I invited her to take tea. At first she was unwilling, making a
couple of vague excuses and contradicting herself in her confusion; but
as I hailed a cab and it drew up to the kerb she saw that all further
effort to avoid me was unavailing, and accompanied me.
During the first few moments of our meeting she had apparently been
inclined to treat me with some disdain, but by the time we arrived at my
chambers she was laughing lightly, as though the encounter gave her
gratification.
She was dressed with more style and taste than before. Her costume, of
some thin, bluish-grey stuff, was made in a style which few London
dressmakers could achieve, and its ornamentation, although daring, was
nevertheless extremely tasteful, and suited her great beauty admirably.
As she stood in my sitting-room pulling off her gloves I thought that
she seemed even more strikingly beautiful than on the first night we had
met, for her perfectly-fitting dress showed off her well-rounded figure,
and her cream gauzy veil, drawn tight beneath her pointed chin, added a
softness to her face which rendered it bewitching.
As her bright eyes fell upon me and her full red lips parted in a smile,
I could scarcely bring myself to believe that this was actually the
woman whose evil influence was nothing short of supernatural, the woman
whose mission in the world was to supplant evil for good, and whose
every action was enveloped in mystery impenetrable.
She lifted her veil and placed her delicate nose to the large bowl of
red roses on the table. In summer our gardener sent me a box twice
weekly, and as she sniffed their odour, I remarked--
"They are from Tixover--my father's place. It's near Duddington, on the
Northamptonshire border. Do you know that country?"
"No," she responded quickly. "But the flowers are delicious."
I saw that she had no intention of admitting her visit to Stamford.
There was a strange, indescribable fascination about her. She raised
her veil, and turning to the mirror re-arranged her hair coquettishly
with both her hands. Then, as her deep blue eyes again fell upon me
calmly I felt that they penetrated to my very soul. The sunlight
struggling through the smoke-dimmed windows fell upon her, enveloping
her head in a halo of golden light, while the flashing of gems caught my
eyes, and I saw upon her fingers two magnificent rings, one of rubies
and the other of diamonds.
On the first occasion we had met she had been dressed shabbily, without
any display of artistic taste, while to-day she presented a graceful,
lady-like appearance, her richness of costume being devoid of that
loudness which too often detracts from a woman's natural _chic_.
Simes brought in the tea, and seated in my armchair she took her cup and
laughed gaily to me as she sipped it, declaring that at the moment we
had met she had been contemplating entering a tea-shop, for she could
not exist without a cup at four o'clock. The majority of men in London
can usually go from luncheon to dinner on a whiskey and soda, but I must
confess myself fond of tea. Therefore we took it in company, laughing
and chatting the while. She appeared perfectly at ease, and our
conversation was that of old acquaintance, until, when Simes had gone, I
looked straight into her face, and boldly said--
"Aline, tell me truthfully. Why did you deceive me so?"