John was awakened the next morning by the sound of rain against his
window. He got out of bed and looked upon a scene of desolation. The
clouds hung low, and rain was coming down in level sheets. The lawns and
gardens which yesterday had had the air of waiting for the spring were
to-day a sudden wilderness.
There was a knock at the door, and the butler brought in his tea.
"Lady Hilda sends her compliments, sir," he announced, "and as the
morning is so unfavorable she will not rise until eleven o'clock.
Breakfast will be ready down-stairs at half past nine, or can be served
in your room."
"Thank you, I'll come down," John replied.
He bathed and shaved himself, he even packed his own clothes. Then he
left the room, descending the stairs softly, and glancing furtively at
the door of Lady Hilda's room with an air almost of a guilty schoolboy.
He breakfasted alone and spent the morning in the billiard room until
Lady Hilda appeared.
"I am a terrible hostess, am I not?" she said apologetically, as she
opened the door; "but what is there to be done? The weather is too
hopeless, isn't it?"
"Appalling!" John agreed. "Still, it's very comfortable in here, and I
have just made a seventy-one break."
"We'll have a two hundred and fifty up--that ought to last until
lunch-time," she suggested, throwing herself into a chair. "Give me ten
minutes, will you? This weather is so depressing. Even the effort of
getting up seems to have tired me."
She threw herself into an easy chair, and John tried to concentrate his
attention upon the balls. More than once, however, he glanced across at
his hostess. She was looking older this morning, paler, her face a
little drawn, her eyes large and soft. She sat looking into the fire; on
her knee were some letters, at which she scarcely glanced. Presently she
threw them aside and rang the bell.
"Bring me a brandy-and-soda and the cigarettes," she told the butler.
"Now, Mr. Strangewey, I am ready," she went on, turning to John. "Give
me fifty in two hundred and fifty, if you dare!"
"We'll try," he agreed.
They played until lunch-time, both affecting a rapt interest in the
game. At the sound of the gong Lady Hilda laid down her cue.
"We'll finish later," she suggested.
John strolled to the window. There were some signs of clearing in the
sky, although the whole place seemed still to reek of moisture.
"I am afraid I shall have to start soon after lunch," he said. "It will
take some time to get up to town. I am not a very experienced driver,
and my car is a little inclined to skid on wet roads."
She made no remark, and to both of them the presence of servants during
the meal appeared to be somewhat of a relief. The coffee and liqueurs,
however, again were served in the billiard room, and there was a very
awkward silence. For some time Lady Hilda had baffled his efforts at
ordinary conversation, and his last few remarks about the weather she
had ignored altogether.
"So you are going up this evening?" she said at last.
"This afternoon, if you don't mind," he replied, glancing at the clock,
and thinking of the bliss with which he would turn his car out into the
road. "I explained, didn't I, that I had an engagement this evening?"
"Quite right," she admitted. "All the same, you are rather an
inconsiderate guest, aren't you, to leave me here alone in this swamp?"
"Come, too?" he suggested. "I'll motor you up."
"Thanks," she replied, "I will."
He was a little taken aback, but, after all, it was perhaps the simplest
way out of his difficulties.
"I'll take you, with pleasure, if you don't mind being drenched."
"I can stand physical discomforts," she said. "It's the other sort of
knocks that bruise."
"It won't be so bad," he continued, ignoring her last speech, "if you
wear a mackintosh and something thick for your head. Shouldn't wonder if
it cleared up presently."
Lady Hilda smiled.
"I have been out in a shower in Patagonia," she reminded him, "which
lasted for three weeks. Will it suit you to start in half an hour?"
"Any time you like," he agreed.
She had changed her position a little, and he was forced to look at her.
"Mr. Strangewey," she said, "I want to ask you a question. Are you going
to marry Louise Maurel?"
"I am," he replied, without hesitation; "at least, I hope to do so."
She looked at him for a moment with a strange expression. Then she rose
to her feet. Her lips were quivering. She leaned against the
mantelpiece, with her forehead upon her arms. At first he imagined that
she was going to weep; then, to his horror, he found that she was
laughing--half-hysterically, perhaps, but still laughing. He drew a step
nearer to her, but she waved him away.
"Sit down!" she gasped. "Oh, if I might tell this to Henri Graillot!
What a play! What humor! My friend John Strangewey, I congratulate you!
You have created a new situation in life. Leave me alone, please!"
She bent forward until her face was completely hidden. Her body was
shaken. Once or twice he fancied that her laughter had turned to sobs.
When at last she looked up, however, there were the remains of an almost
devilish mirth on her lips. She rang the bell.
"That is for my maid," she said. "I am now going to change my clothes
and let you motor me up to London. I shall get some fresh air, at any
rate, and your car always fills me with longing. Amuse yourself, won't
you? I shall be an hour getting ready, and I will order an early tea."
"You wouldn't care to tell me, I suppose," he asked, "what is the new
situation in life which you say I have created?"
She turned to him from the door. She was really a very handsome woman.
Her lips were most expressive.
"My friend," she said, "if you knew, if you understood, the priceless
humor of it would be gone."
She closed the door and left John alone. He went back to the
billiard-table, but somehow or other his skill seemed to have vanished.
He had the picture of her face in his mind, the subtle meaning of her
lips, the mockery of her eyes.
They drove up to London almost in silence. It was nearly seven o'clock
when John swung the little car in Pont Street. It was still raining
softly.
"Thank you very much," he said, "for my week-end. I enjoyed the river
immensely yesterday afternoon."
"And thank you very much for everything, Mr. John Strangewey," she
returned. "You have given me what we are all sighing for, a new
sensation--not exactly what I expected, perhaps, but something new."
"I know you think I am a country yokel and a fool," John said; "but I
wish you'd tell me why you laughed at me in that mysterious fashion."
She shook her head.
"It would spoil it," she replied. "Besides, it isn't for me to tell you.
I am the last person who should."
They drew up outside her little house, from which came no sign of light.
"Will you dine with me to-night?" he asked suddenly.
She turned toward him quickly--and understood.
"Very nice of you," she replied lightly. "I shall go round to my club.
You don't agree with me, somehow. When I look at you or think of you, I
feel inclined either to laugh or cry, and I hate emotions. Don't get
out, please. You see, they are opening the door already."
She slipped away and disappeared into her house. John drove slowly back
toward the Milan. Just as he was turning in, a little waterproofed
figure from the pavement waved her hand and called to him. He drew up
and she hastened to his side.
"What are you doing here?" Sophy asked. "I thought you were spending the
week-end up the river."
"I stayed there last night," he answered. "To-day--well, look at the
weather! I have just motored Lady Hilda up."
"And what are you going to do now?" she inquired eagerly.
"Give you some dinner," he replied promptly.
"Hurrah!" she answered. "I have been so bored and miserable that I went
and walked over Waterloo Bridge in a mackintosh, just to get a little
air. I'll be round in an hour. Will that do?"
"Any time you like," he agreed; "the sooner the better. I was almost
wishing, a few minutes ago," he went on, "that I could find the courage
to storm you in your little room. Louise is away, and I'm hating
myself."
"So I am to come and amuse my lord!" she laughed. "Well, I'll come," she
went on quickly. "We'll sit and you shall imagine that I am Louise, and
make love to her. Will that make you happy?"
John leaned out of the car.
"Sophy," he whispered, as he slipped in his clutch, "just now I do not
feel like making love to any woman on earth!"
"Fed up with us, eh?"
He nodded.
"You're different, thank Heaven! Don't be late."