He departed to his room as soon as they entered and left Selia to
herself so she sat on her bed and was bored. Sweet was the sound of
the lunch-bell, but she did not speak to Mr. Withersq during the meal
as she was cross, and he did not either because he was thinking.
Lunch over he called her again to his side.
“Alas, alas how fondly I love your charms” he said in his usual softly
mode.
“Perhaps you do and perhaps you dont” snarled she making herself very
stiff as he tried to press her to him. “All the same it would look
better if you paid more notice to me instead of to making yourself so
grand with writing newspapers, knowing very well you ought to be
writing poems, and vexing the King no doubt, as he must have made you
Head Poet for something. Unless you find me no more than a drag on you
as a humbel girl and wish me to go back to ma.”
At this he first brushed cobwebs from his brow in amaze for he had not
looked at it from this side, and then laughing much for he was no
ill-temperd boor was Withersq, he drew her very loving to his knee and
soothed her with strokes, and once more promised all should be well
and that the Majpottels had her case in hand and would know when to
strike.
“Oh dont tell me” she said but nestling a little so as not to be-anger
him, “the Majpottels are coming for me at three.”
“Coming?” snapped he. “And why may I ask?”
“Ah that is a secret” she said archly, feeling now she had got her
own back and she coyly rubbed his ears over till they were redder than
ever.
“Remember. You are mine” he urged rather stern for his was a true
love. “I trust you.”
“Not half” responded she, and changed the subject.
Mr. Withersq now popped her on the floor and got up, feeling for his
gloves and hat, as he had got quite used to nice ways now.
“Come sweet” he cried, having found them on a green silk sofa under
the window. “I have something to show you.”
So he led her down the red-carpet stairs towards the hotel door, and
the uniform man worked the whirling doors for them very humbly.
“Lo” he cried.
Oh what a treat for Selia! Drawn up to the footwark what should be
there but a motor car painted blue with a blue-coat man to drive it
and on the door was painted £sd just as Mr. Withersq had had put on
all his underlinen.
“It is for us” said he proudly, so they stepped in, the man snapt the
door to, and drove to the park.
Hardly had they arrived there when a very nice thing occurred for as
they glided along the smooth path between the trees, looking very chic
and bored, who should they meet but the Countess who had been at the
party the first night they burst upon a startled world. So they drew
up. The countess who was in a thin white car and working it herself
stopped too seeming to know them, and so they had a little chat.
“Goodmorning I am the Countess, perhaps you dont recollect me” said
she, without smiling or letting the stiff look off her face. Selia who
had been about to give a grin stopped herself just in time and
continued to have the bored look, which she now knew was the thing
when meeting a pal.
“Indeed yes” she said very slow as tho’ too tired, yet in her heart
determined to push forward now or never, “you were _so_ kind to us.”
“Oh dont pray mention it” the smart lady replyed with a well-trained
smile, “only too pleased and if you would care to come and have tea
with me to-morrow I shall be very delited. I dont think my husband
will mind.”
“Certainly we will and thank you” said Mr. Withersq, as though he had
not heard that last bit.
“Is that your dog?” inquired Selia, wishing to chat on for she liked
to be beheld chatting in the Park, more so with a Countess.
“Yes, that is Lipstick my poodle” the beauty said yawning, but it
wasn’t realy a poodle, rather more like a white dashund with rough
hare and very polished eyes.
“How sweet he is” lisped Selia.
“Is not he?” replyed their new friend “and how charming your new car
is!”
“Yes” said Selia “it is not so bad,” and her heart gave a secret bound
with pride, “well we must toddle now. Gooby.”
“Gooby” replyed the Countess and pulled a thing and so moved away,
leaving them very pleased with how they were getting on.
When they had gone all along the gravel path, and across the bridge by
the Serpentine and up to Bayswater, and then back, having successfully
caused a few horses with riders on them to dance on their back legs,
which is why many folks go in motors in the Park, as this is a sort of
sport, Selia spoke again.
“It is a very nice car indeed” she said a little in confusion, “and
runs smooth as butter. But now I must be getting back dear Harold.”
Scowling on her, Mr. Withersq poked his head out of the side door and
told the man to go back to the hotel, which he did, making that
popping noise all down Piccadilly, and when they got to the door
Mr. Withersq got out, helped Selia down, raised his hat and waited for
her to depart within the hotel.
Dearly wishing to teaze his male curiossity she lingered a little
until stung into madness by her mystery he said very stern.
“Do not trifle with a good man’s affections.”
“Ho!” quoth she, “trifle? Indeed I do not trifle but do my bit as well
as may be so that all should end well. And if you had asked me why I
retire I would have told you but now wild horses should not make me
speak because of your bad heart.”
With a careless laugh she plunged in through the doors and was
immediately fallen upon by the Majpottels who had on their pink and
blue shirts, with pale grey suits and straw hats in hand, beaming with
long sad smiles into her face, and so between them they walked the
length of the hall and back, chatting (this was to exercise Selia in
the art of social ease) and then sat awhile in green-painted basket
chairs near the parms. Now it was a very hot day and both of the
brothers were reddish and rather damp, but noblesse obliged them not
to mop their heads and necks as this is low.
“What will you drink” uttered Gerald politely to Selia.
“What is smart?” asked she very low.
“Oh you had better have a coktale” replyed he “as that is all ladys
drink just at present,” and so he ordered one, but Selia made a
mistake and let the cherry at the bottom of the little tubby glass
into her mouth and so had to put the stone out. Rupert frowned on her
a little for this, and she saw that the elegant brothers had left
their cherry alone uneaten. She made note of this for the future.
“You’ll be wanting to change wont you” now wispered Gerald, who was
looking rather lively. Selia took the hint and went up to her
apartment, not knowing in deuce what she should wear out of the many
attires concealed within the drawers there.
To her surprise, as she entered the room, a small squabby woman in
black with black velvet and some white frills in her hair rose from a
seat by the window.
“I am Madames new maid” this person said with a nice bow of respect,
“my name is Scrogg. What would Madame like to wear.”
This vision so took away our herione’s breath that she hardly new what
to say for a moment, then laughing to herself as she guest what it
was, and thought of all that it meant to be a rich man’s pet, she
turned coldly aside and wispered something to the new maid who went at
once to the proper draw and drew forth what was needful.
Selia was a modest girl and had not been used to undressing before
folks, but knew that it had to be done and summoning her strength she
gave herself up to be divested of her attire, and arrayed anew in
purest white suitable for her secret errand.
“A more simpel mode for the hair?” suggested Scrogg who was very
nifty. Selia nodded as she guest this was better.
Fresh as paint and smelling a little of something Scrogg had sprinkled
at her on leaving, Selia descended once more to the waiting Majpottels
who sat each with chin on stick, leaving Scrogg to tidy away which is
what a maid largely is for and saves a heap of time.
In her heart Selia was not quite sure whether Scrogg was an offspring
of the Majpottels minds or whether a pretty attention of her dear
Harolds so she said nothing. And as a matter of fact it was Gerald who
had done it, knowing she needed a woman’s care, and he had got Scrogg
at great cost from a Lord, for he too in his way was one to stick at
nothing.