“Talk about edgywedged tools,” he said, resuming his seat. “Supposing
I’d said ‘D-d-done!’—all quick like, with bulging eyes. . . .”
Athalia laughed.
“I should have found a way,” she murmured. “And now go on—ask me.
There’s still five minutes to go.”
“As you please,” said Punch. “Why does one like to make sure?”
“Because, so far as I’m concerned, there are only two starters for the
Athalia Stakes—and you’re one of them.”
“Athalia!”
“Wait. I’ll be perfectly straight with you. I’ve had one or two
proposals—most women have. But as yet I haven’t had one from . . . the
man I love.” Her companion started. “That’s often the way, you know.
Perhaps I shall never have it. Many women don’t. . . . But oh”—she
laced her slight fingers, set them against her cheek and raised her eyes
ecstatically—“oh, I hope I shall, Punch. If you knew what it meant to
me! I’ld be so awfully happy. . . .”
“Well, I—I hope you will, too,” said Fairfax dismally. “I—I do
really. . . . But what are you telling me this for?”
“Because you can help me. You see, he is such a dear, but, though we’re
quite good friends, the idea of falling in love with me doesn’t seem to
have entered his head. And, if he saw us together, I think it might make
him think.”
Fairfax laughed hysterically.
“Excuse my emotion,” he said. “The—the humour of it’s sort of dawning
on me—that’s all.”
“‘Humour’?” cried Athalia.
“Humour—‘h’ mute. Let me explain. Only two runners for the Stakes, of
which I’m one and the other won’t start. So I’m to show off my
paces—play about on the course and generally show the other what fun
running is, and then when it finally dawns on him that if he follows the
rails they’ll bring him to the post, I’m to—— Well, where _do_ I come
in? I suppose I get a lump of sugar and a dazzling smile.”
“Perhaps,” said Athalia dreamily, “the other’ll never start.”
Punch set his teeth.
“Does it occur——”
“Perhaps,” continued Athalia, “when he does, you’ll leave him standing.”
The man stared. “That’s my trouble. I love him desperately now—possibly
because he doesn’t love me. But, once he’s started, you may go right
away.”
Fairfax fingered his chin.
“D’you really think that likely?”
“It’s quite on the cards. At the moment I like you and I love him. So I
obviously can’t marry you. If once he gets going, I shall see him in
quite a new light. And then—why, I mayn’t love him at all.”
“Are you sure you’ve got it right?” said Punch. “I mean, these ’ere
love-squalls are very tricky. Perhaps you don’t really care about either
of us. I’m sure you think you do, but perhaps you don’t. I remember
Dusty Bligh wobbling between Ray Darling, that was, and Monica Pump.
Neither of the girls would have been seen dead with him, but that never
entered his head. His trouble was that he couldn’t decide which to have.
It was like a billiard match. In the afternoon Monica’ld be leading, and
in the evening Ray’ld get her eye in and fairly walk away. It might have
been going on now, if a widow with three kids hadn’t rolled up and
pinched the prize.”
“Serve him right,” said Miss Choate. “But I’m not wobbling. Don’t you
believe it. If the man I love would only propose to-night, I’ld fairly
jump at him.”
“The devil you would,” said Fairfax.
“But he won’t,” said Athalia sadly. “Don’t be afraid.” A tender note
slid into the fresh tones. “I think he’s love-shy. He’ll want a lot of
leading. And then, as I’ve said, perhaps it won’t be the same.”
Punch frowned upon his finger-nails.
“You know, it’s all damned fine,” he said uneasily, “but in the course
of this running-up stunt I may get fond of you.” He hesitated.
Then—“Not soppy, you know, but—but troubled . . . go off my feed and
that sort of thing. At the present moment I’m sorry, and there you are;
but if I saw a lot of you, as you seem to suggest I should—well, I
might easily get distracted. And then if the other gent comes off I’m
carted good and proper, I am.”
Athalia shrugged her white shoulders.
“That’s your look-out. On the other hand, I may get fond of you. It’s a
gamble, of course: but so are a lot of things. And I’ve told you the
absolute truth. I needn’t have. Not one woman in a million would have.
They’ld ’ve played you up all right without putting you wise. And you’ld
’ve blessed or cursed them according as it fell out. But I agreed to be
honest—for a quarter of an hour. . . . Incidentally, I see the time’s
up.”
“Make it twenty minutes,” said Fairfax hastily.
“Not for worlds,” said Athalia, with a bewitching smile. She rose and,
standing a-tiptoe, peered at herself in the mirror above the hearth.
“And now, which is it to be?”
Thoughtfully Punch regarded her exquisite form.
Presently the girl turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.
In silence their eyes met.