She saw that Franklin was watching her keenly. "Both," she said, with a
little bow, and sailed on before he could butt in. "I gave her a
faithful account of everything that happened and she is beginning to
believe, very reluctantly, that her favorite women novelists don't know
anything about men. And now what we both want to know is this. Where
are we going, how are we going and how soon are we going, or are we all
going to spend the remainder of our lives in this rural retreat to make
a study of frogs, farmyards and fogginess?"
Franklin was silent for a moment. This was the old Beatrix. This was
the Beatrix of New York, the careless, superficial, sarcastic Beatrix of
the house party at the Vanderdykes' palace. What a fool he had been to
imagine that he was the man appointed to enable Miss Honoria to give
thanks to God! "The _Galatea_ will anchor off this place this
afternoon," he said. "Malcolm and I will see you and your staff off to
New York on the night train."
"And where do you intend to go?"
"To Europe," he said.
"Is that definitely arranged?"
"Quite. Malcolm and I settled it just now. He will spend a year or so
pottering about London, Paris and Rome and I shall go back to Africa."
With a mighty effort Beatrix held herself under absolute control. "But
what about the party at Sherry's during Christmas week?"
"Scratched," said Franklin, shortly.
"I see. Well, now we know, don't we? And that's something. How long,
exactly, do you propose that I shall remain a grass widow?"
"That," said Franklin, "is entirely up to you."
A bell-boy came in, rumbled grinning up to Beatrix and handed her a
telegram. She took it. "Will you allow me?" she asked, and tore it
open. A curious smile played round her lips as she read it over several
times. "No," she said, "it isn't entirely up to me," and gave it to
Franklin.
And what he read was this. "Ask Pelham to bring you home as soon as
possible. No one is ill but we are all greatly perturbed by amazing
rumors and daily anonymous letters. A consultation is necessary. Much
love. Honoria Vanderdyke."
"H'm," said Franklin. "Sutherland York at work. May I show this to
Malcolm?"
"Of course," said Beatrix.