HETTY.
The figure of a girl rose out of a bower of palms and ferns and stood
before Gordon Bruce with a shy welcome in her violet eyes. Just for a
moment Bruce found himself contrasting this fresh English beauty with
the Lalage Southern loveliness to the detriment of the latter. There
was a purity and sweetness, a wonderful tenderness of expression about
Hetty Lawrence that had always appealed to Bruce.
He had known the Countess Lalage's governess for years. He admired her
independence of character, too, though on the whole he would have
preferred her taking the home that her uncle Gilbert Lawrence, the
great novelist, was ever urging upon her. But she would have a home of
her own soon.
"Gordon, I am so glad you have come," she whispered. "I have stolen
away for half an hour as Mamie is better. If she wants me I have told
the nurse----"
"She can't want you half so badly as I do," Gordon laughed as he bent
down and kissed the shy lips. "And that queer little creature will
have to learn to do without you altogether before long. Four new
patients today, Hetty. And I have taken the house in Green-Street."
"Can we really afford it?" Hetty asked anxiously.
Bruce kissed her again. He loved that little pathetic, anxious look of
hers. He spoke confidently of the time when Harley Street should be
theirs. There was a strength and reliance about her lover that always
comforted Hetty.
"I shall be glad," she whispered, after a thoughtful pause, "glad to
get away from here."
"That's flattering to me. But I thought you liked the Countess."
Hetty glanced fearfully around her. Nobody was near--only the palms
and the scented roses could hear her confidences.
"I have tried," she confessed, "and I have failed. She fascinates and
yet repels me. There is some strange mystery about her. Gordon, I feel
sure that there is the shadow of some great crime on her house. It
sounds weak, hysterical, perhaps, but I can't get it out of my mind."
"But, darling, the Countess has been a good friend to me."
"I know. You are strong and ambitious, and she is helping to make you
the fashion. But has it ever struck you why?"
"Perhaps it is because she has the good taste to like me," Gordon
laughed.
"Because she loves you," said Hetty, in a thrilling whisper. "Because
her whole heart and soul is given over to a consuming passion for you.
There is a woman who would go any length to win a man's love. If a
husband stood in the way she would poison him; if a woman, she would
be destroyed. Gordon, I am frightened; I wake up in the middle of the
night trembling. I wish you had never come here; I don't know what I
wish."
Gordon looked down into the troubled violet eyes with amazement.
Surely he would wake up presently and find that he had been dreaming.
Countess Lalage with all the world at her feet, and he a struggling
doctor. Oh, it was preposterous! And yet little words and signs and
hints unnoticed at the time were coming to his mind now.
"I wish you hadn't told me this," he murmured, uneasily. "It would
have been far----"
He paused. From overhead somewhere came the sound of a frightened,
wailing cry, the pitiful call of a child in terror. Hetty was on her
feet in a moment, all her fears had gone to the winds.
"Mamie," she exclaimed. "Of course, nurse has crept off to the rest of
the servants. Poor little wee frightened soul."
Hetty flashed off down the corridor, and was gone leaving Bruce to his
troubled thoughts. Just before going, Hetty stood on her toes, and
kissed her lover lightly on the lips. It was, perhaps, a goodnight
caress, for there was a chance that she might not return.
There was a sound at the top of the corridor, just the suggestion of a
swish of silken drapery, and Gordon Bruce half turned. Under a cluster
of electric lights stood Leona Lalage; she must have seen everything.
It might have been fancy, it might have been a guilty conscience, but
just for the moment Countess Lalage seemed transformed into a white
fury with two murderous demons gleaming in her dark restless eyes.
Then her silk and ivory fan fell from her hands, and Gordon hastened
to recover it.
When he looked up again the mask of evil passions was gone. The
Countess was smiling in her most fascinating manner. Gordon could not
know that the long filbert nails had cut through the woman's glove,
and were making red sores on the pink flesh. He did not know that he
would have stood in peril of his life had there been a weapon near at
hand.
"You must not flirt with my governess, Dr. Bruce," she said. "I would
have given a great deal not to have seen what I saw just now."
The rebuke sounded in the best of taste. Gordon bowed.
"I have a good excuse," he said, "in fact, the very best. As I told
you some months ago, I have known Miss Lawrence for years. We have
always understood one another, but because I was in no position to
marry nothing has been said. Won't you be the first to congratulate me
on my engagement?"
"Then fetch me an ice. By the time you return I shall have thought of
something pretty to say. Ah, I have pricked my finger. The ice, my
dear boy, the ice. The finger will not hurt till you return."
Her hand had shot out grasping for something to steady herself on--the
whole world spun around her. She had given her whole passionate,
tempestuous soul to this man; she had never dreamt that she could fail
to gain his love. She had never failed before, she had only required
to hold up her hand. . . .
She clasped the stem of a rose passionately. The cruel thorns cut into
the soft white flesh, but there was pleasure in the very pain. Another
moment and she would have flashed out her secret and despair to the
world. For the moment she was crushed and beaten to the earth. Yet she
spoke very quietly and evenly, though the effort brought the blood
thrilling to her temples.
She was alone now; she could give vent to her passionate anger. She
smashed her fan across her knee, she tore her long gloves into
fragments. Dimly, in a mirror opposite, she saw her white ghastly
face, and the stain of blood where she had caught her lips between her
teeth.
"So I have to sit down and submit to that tamely," she murmured. "You
little white-faced cat, you pink doll, so you are going to get the
best of me. We shall see; oh, yes, we shall see. If I could be
somewhere where I could tear myself to pieces, where I could scream
aloud and nobody could hear! If I could only face him now and smile
and say honeyed words! Tomorrow, perhaps, but not tonight. Even I have
my limits. . . . He's coming back!"
One glance at the dim mirror and Leona Lalage flew down the corridor.
The music of the band was like the sound of mocking demons in her
ears. As she flew up the stairs she could see the blank windows of the
Corner House staring dreadfully in. Then she locked the door behind
her and flung herself headlong down on the bed. . . .
Only for a minute, a brief respite; then she must go down to her
guests again.