GLADYS
Hurry as he might, it was nearly half-past seven before Rodney Elmore
reached that restaurant in Jermyn Street at which he was due at seven.
The fault was Stella's. Had she not spun out the parting to such an
unconscionable length, he would have been able to be there in time.
But he could not explain this to Gladys Patterson, who had never heard
of the girl. She rose, as he came in, from a seat in the vestibule,
with a face which mirrored the anxiety she had felt.
"Whatever is the matter? I thought that something had happened, and
you weren't coming."
"My dearest child, I've been the victim of a series of accidents; I
was beginning to wonder myself if I should ever get here."
Then he told another lie--invented on the spur of the moment. He had
not troubled to prepare one on the way; he was not sure of the mood in
which he might find her; one story might suit one mood another
another. With him, to lie was as easy as to breathe; he himself was
often hardly conscious he was lying, he lied so like truth.
"So you see, I've been half off my head, and in a deuce of a stew.
Perhaps you'll tell me what you'd have done in my position. But, thank
goodness, I'm here at last. The worst of it is, I haven't ordered
dinner, or reserved a table; we shall have to take pot-luck; let's
hope that the _table d'hote_ is worth eating."
It so chanced that there was a table, and that the _menu_ of the set
dinner read quite well. Presently they were fronting each other at a
little table in a corner of the room, each in the best possible frame
of mind. She had forgotten the strain of waiting in her delight that
he had come, while he was charmed to find her in so good a temper.
Indeed, he seemed to be in the very highest spirits, and when he was
that no one could be better company. Then the food was good; that was
a point on which they both were excellent judges. On the occasion of
that first dinner in Russell Square each had played on the other a
pleasant comedy; to make a good impression on the strange cousin, who
might have views on such matters, Gladys had drunk nothing but water,
and, for some similar reason, Rodney had done the same. It was only
when, later, they were on more intimate terms, that they learned that
neither was a teetotaller. It was rather funny. As a matter of fact,
so far as the pleasures of the table were concerned, Gladys was in
very truth her father's child; not only could she appreciate good food
well cooked, but she was by way of being a connoisseur of certain
wines; and in such respects Rodney was an excellent second.
Before the dinner was half way through she was looking at him with
something in her eyes which spoke to a similar something which was in
his. He had forgotten the episode of the afternoon as if it had never
been. This was the sort of girl he loved to have in front of him on
the other side of a table--one who would eat what he ate, drink what
he drank, do as he did; to whom he could say whatever he pleased. They
joked on the subject of the absent Mr. Patterson.
"I wonder," she said, "what would happen if he walked in here at this
very moment."
Rodney also wondered, for a second, in silence.
"For one thing, he'd spoil our evening, because he'd start you
straight away off home."
"Would he? I should take some starting. I never am particularly afraid
of him, and I'm not in the least when I've had two glasses of
Montebello--rattling good bottle, this is. Thank you; that's the
third. What beats me is why you're afraid of him. You don't strike me
as being a person who's afraid of much. What would it matter if he did
give you the key of the street, so far as his office is concerned?
You'd easily find a better one. There's a mystery somewhere. Don't
imagine, my dear old man, that I don't know so much. Why has he such
an objection to you? And why are you so much in awe of him? Now's your
time--out with it. Make a clean breast of it--between this glass and
the next."
"I can't tell you why he objects to me, but I can assure you that I
don't stand in awe of him."
"Rubbish! If you don't, why have you kept away from me in the way you
have done?--you exasperating boy! I console myself with the reflection
that if I'm losing your society you're losing mine; because I'll bet a
trifle that you're just as fond of seeing me every other day or so as
I am of seeing you."
"You're right there. If I saw you all day and every day I shouldn't
mind."
"I'm not so sure of that; there's a limit. It might be all right for a
time; but, my hat! wouldn't you get bored after a month of nothing
else but my society!"
"What price you--after a month of nothing else but me?"
She seemed to reflect before she answered.
"You see, it's like this; if you and I were alone together for a
month, or longer----"
"I'd be willing to make it longer."
"Would you?"
She looked at him with shining eyes.
"Rodney, you're a dear. If we were to be alone together for so long as
that, we should have to alter the pace. I fancy that where a man and a
woman are concerned it's the pace that kills."
"What do you mean by that, oh, wise one?"
"If you had one pound of chocs to eat you might gobble them down as
fast as you please, and no harm would be done."
"You've tried it?"
"Perhaps! But if you had a ton you would have to go, oh so carefully,
or you would be so sick. But we meet so seldom that when we do we want
to gobble; I know that, so far as I am concerned, I want to get as
much of you as I possibly can during the short time we are together."
"Same here--only more so."
They smiled at each other across the little table. Then, glancing
down, she transferred her attention to what was on her plate.
"But, of course, if we weren't to part for a month--or more--it would
be different."
"True, oh, queen! And suppose we were to marry!"
"I don't think I'd mind."
"I'm pretty nearly sure I shouldn't."
"That's very sweet of you to say so. Only--there's dad!"
"There's very much dad!"
"He can forbid my seeing you, and that kind of thing, if he pleases;
and if he finds out that I've been disobedient he'll make himself
extremely disagreeable. Still, I fancy I could manage him. But if I
were to marry you against his wishes, I don't believe I'd ever get
another penny from him, living or dead; and as you have no immediate
promise of becoming a millionaire, that would be awkward for both of
us."
"It would. All the same, don't you think it would be comfy if we were
secretly engaged--in the event of anything happening to him?"
"What's going to happen?"
"Anything--living the sort of life he does."
"Are you hinting that there's anything the matter with his health?"
"My dear girl, you've only to use your eyes to be aware that a doctor
would tell him that he's the kind of man who ought to swear off
everything. And does he?"
"You make me feel all shivery. You talk as if you expected him to die
right off."
"We've all had sentence of capital punishment pronounced against us,
and, though we don't know when it will be put into execution, in such
a case as his it's possible to guess that it mayn't be very long
postponed."
"Rodney! I don't like to hear you talk like that. He's fond of asking
me questions about you; I hate telling lies; if we were engaged, and
he were in one of his cross-examining moods, I might find myself in a
fix."
He played with his knife while a waiter was bringing another course.
"Consider something else. Let me put a hypothetical case. Suppose a
girl were to make a dead set at me, I might like to be able to tell
her that I'm engaged already."
"Who's the girl?"
"The girl, like the case, is hypothetical; but I can conceive of
circumstances in which I should like to feel that we were engaged."
"You've changed your mind. A short time ago you were all the other
way."
"I've been considering matters. Say, for example, that your father
puts his foot down, and that we don't see each other again for an
indefinite period. Do you not think that then I should not like to
feel that we were engaged?"
"You can feel that we're engaged all you want to, without our setting
it down in black and white. Aren't you as sure of me as if I were your
wife already? Don't you know that if circumstances permitted I would
become your wife? Do you wish me to understand that I'm not as sure of
you?"
"Gladys, you're a goose. So far as I'm concerned, I'm inclined to the
opinion that I'd like you to be my wife to-night."
"It's you who are the goose. As if we didn't understand each other far
too well to render it necessary to have things placed on a ceremonious
footing. We can do without formulas."