“Tell me one thing,” she said. “Why did you say you were sure he was one
of the best?”
“Because I knew that, if he was not, you wouldn’t have considered his
proposal.”
“But I didn’t,” said Spring, with a positively blinding smile. “I turned
him down last night.”
“You turned him down?” shouted Bagot.
Spring smiled very sweetly.
“I thought I told you,” she said, “that I was a fool.”
She left him staring, and pelted down the road.
* * * * *
Spring came the next afternoon, but was gone before four o’clock.
Then came Thursday.
Willoughby found her framed in the little porch.
“Change quickly,” she said. “I mustn’t stay long to-day.”
“Packing?” said Willoughby quietly.
“Yes.”
They ate their tea without laughter. The spirit of parting was hovering
over the meal.
Afterwards they sat by the window, for, though the sun was shining, it
had rained a lot that morning, and the world was wet.
Spring sat like a child, perched on the deep sill, smoking a cigarette
and peering at Chancery out of the leaded panes.
“You will remember it all?” said the Groom of the Chambers.
“Yes—all.”
“It’s like a tale, don’t you think? A slice of a fairy tale. In the
distance, the shining castle, and here, on the fringe of its domain, the
little cot.”
“Where the poor boy dwelt who was really the rightful heir, with one old
retainer to whom he was still the lord.”
“And one day a Princess came, with hair as dark as night, and eyes that
were unfair, they were so big, and—and silk stockings, and all. And she
recognized the poor boy (_sic_) and, because she had a nice, soft heart,
she came and had tea with him, instead of visiting the castle.”
“And the silly part of it was,” said Spring, “that she wasn’t a Princess
at all, but an ordinary, poor girl, who was——”
“She was a Princess,” said Bagot. “She hadn’t got the riches or the
Court she should have had, but—oh, anyone could see she was a
Princess.”
“Any way, the boy treated her like one, which was very nice for her,
and, when the time came for her to go——”
“The boy lost his wits,” said Bagot steadily, “and made a fool of
himself.” Spring turned and looked at him. “You’ll never guess what he
did. He forgot that he was no longer lord of the castle. It wasn’t
altogether his fault, because the presence of the Princess had made his
cottage all glorious. Be that as it may, he thought how wonderful it
would be if only—the—Princess—didn’t—go. . . . And when he came to
his senses and saw what a madman he’d been, the idea was so precious,
that he couldn’t get it out of his head. You see, she’d seen what his
life was, and she seemed to understand, and she did like Chancery, and
he had two hundred a year, as well as his wages, and he could be home by
half-past four every day, and there was a bathroom upstairs, and——” He
stopped short there, and clapped his hands to his temples. Then he burst
out tempestuously. “Oh, Spring, darling, why did you ever come to dazzle
my wretched eyes? You couldn’t stick it, I know. It’s absurd, grotesque,
comic. The clothes you’re wearing are worth more than I earn in a year.
I’m mad—raving.” He sank his head upon his chest and put out his hand.
“Give me your blessed fingers to kiss before you go, and then—go as you
came, my sweet, like a breath of air, like a perfume out of the night.
I’ll try and think it’s been a dream—a wonderful, golden dream, which
the good gods sent me, to make my memory rich. You know. When first you
wake, you could weep to think it isn’t true; but, after a while, you’re
grateful for just the dream.”
Spring put down her face and kissed his hand.
Then she slid off the sill and put her arms round his neck.
“Why d’you think I came back that day? Why d’you think I left my bag in
the gallery? Why d’you think I’ve come here? Because I love you,
Willoughby—loved you before you loved me. I don’t care what you’ve got,
or what you haven’t. I only want to share your life.”
“My wonderful darling,” said Bagot, and kissed her mouth.
* * * * *
Miss Consuelo Spring Lindley became Mrs. Willoughby Bagot ere August was
old. The wedding took place one morning at Holy Brush and was extremely
quiet.
Mr. Worcester obtained one day’s leave without arousing suspicion, and
the quick congregation consisted of a tearful Mrs. Le Fevre, that lady’s
solicitor, who gave the bride away, and William, the groom. For the dead
I cannot answer, but if polished brass and marble may be believed,
eleven Gray Bagots slept through the simple service beneath the cold,
white flags.
The following morning, Benedict was back at his work.
This, however, was destined to be disturbed.
Shortly before ten o’clock, his employer summoned him to the library,
and bade him close the door.
“Worcester,” said Mr. Harp, “I ’ave some very queer noos. In fac’, I’m
all of a shake—never ’ad such a night in me life, wakin’ up all of a
sweat and tossin’ and tryin’ to think, till me brain rebelled against
me.” He sighed heavily, holding a hand to his head. “As for Mrs. ’Arp,
she’s that struck and bewildered, she’s stayin’ in bed.”
Willoughby regarded his employer and then fixed his eyes upon the floor.
“Yes, sir?” he said steadily.
“Yesterday afternoon I ’ad an offer for the ’ouse.” The Groom of the
Chambers started and then went very pale. “Lock, stock and barrel—just
as I bought it meself.” Mr. Harp paused as if seeking for appropriate
words. Suddenly he smote upon the table and let out a cry. “They
might’ve offered me twice—free times what I gave and I’d ’ave ’ad ’em
shown out wiv a flea in their ear. Forty-five thousan’ I paid, as
p’r’aps you know. Well—I can’t ’ardly believe it, _but they offered me
ten times that_.”
“Four hundred and fifty thousand!”
“Four ’undred and fifty thousan’,” said Mr. Harp. He slapped his breast.
“I’ve a bankers’ draft in ’ere for a quarter of that—’undred an’ twelve
thou—five. I ’ave to keep takin’ it out to believe it’s true.”
“You took the offer, sir?” ventured Bagot.
“Why man alive,” screamed his master, “wot else could I do? You can’t
turn away money like that. You ’aven’t the right. I tell you straight,
I’m dotty about this place, but ‘Business First’ ’s my motter, an’—an’
it’s pretty nigh ’arf a million,” he concluded absently.
For a moment, blinking, he scribbled figures upon the blotting-pad, his
lips moving, his eyes fixed. Then he sat back in his seat and covered
his face.
“Two o’clock they come, and give me till four to decide. Immediate
possession, in course. I ’ad to take it or leave it by four o’clock. I
never ’ad two such hours in all me life. One thing I said. I asked if
the buyer was British, for I couldn’t ’ave sold to a foreigner, come wot
might. ‘Yes,’ they says, ‘British.’ So I signed her away at this table
wiv tears in me eyes. I s’pose we’ll ’ave free seats now an’ do the
grand, but shan’t be never so ’appy as we’ve bin ’ere.”
There was a long silence.
“When am I to go, sir?” said Bagot.
“I mentioned you,” said his master. “I didn’t forget. I said as I ’oped
you’d stay with me and Mrs. ’Arp, but if you didn’t do that, maybe
you’ld like to stay ’ere. I said you was a Groom in a million an’ did
the work o’ five, an’ that wot you didn’t know about the place could be
counted out. The fellow listened and took a note o’ your name, but ’e
said that he ’ad no authority to promise to take you on. ’Owever, the
purchaser’s comin’ this afternoon at free. You’ll show ’im round, in
course, and it’s Lombard Street to a norange ’e’ll jump at the chance.
Mrs. ’Arp and me’ll be out. There ain’t no call for us to stay, an’—an’
we’ld rather not. The deal’s to go through nex’ Monday at twelve
o’clock.”
There was nothing more to be said.
Chancery had passed.
* * * * *
Five hours and a half had gone dragging by and Bagot was in the gallery,
oiling an aged hinge, and wondering how to word his _communiqué_ to
Spring.
Suddenly the throb of a bell came to his vigilant ears.
The can went into a locker, and the Groom of the Chambers descended into
the hall.
He tried his best to be calm, but his nerves were taut. A good deal
depended upon this interview—their tiny home, their living, their . . .
With his hand on the mighty latch, Willoughby moistened his lips. . . .
Spring was standing alone on the broad flags, very smartly dressed,
looking ridiculously girlish, and inspecting her thin gold ring with her
head on one side.
Behind her, in the hot sunshine, was gleaming the grey and silver of a
magnificent _coupé_.
Husband and wife regarded each other with beating hearts.