A MEETING IN BOND STREET
Wolfenden returned to his rooms to lunch, intending to go round to see
his last night's visitor immediately afterwards. He had scarcely taken
off his coat, however, before Selby met him in the hall, a note in his
hand.
"From the young lady, my lord," he announced. "My wife has just sent it
round."
Wolfenden tore the envelope open and read it.
"_Thursday morning._
"DEAR LORD WOLFENDEN,--Of course I made a mistake in coming to you
last night. I am very sorry indeed--more sorry than you will ever
know. A woman does not forget these things readily, and the lesson
you have taught me it will not be difficult for me to remember all
my life. I cannot consent to remain your debtor, and I am leaving
here at once. I shall have gone long before you receive this note.
Do not try to find me. I shall not want for friends if I choose to
seek them. Apart from this, I do not want to see you again. I mean
it, and I trust to your honour to respect my wishes. I think that I
may at least ask you to grant me this for the sake of those days at
Deringham, which it is now my fervent wish to utterly forget.--I
am, yours sincerely,
"BLANCHE MERTON."
"The young lady, my lord," Selby remarked, "left early this morning. She
expressed herself as altogether satisfied with the attention she had
received, but she had decided to make other arrangements."
Wolfenden nodded, and walked into his dining-room with the note crushed
up in his hand.
"For the sake of those days at Deringham," he repeated softly to
himself. Was the girl a fool, or only an adventuress? It was true that
there had been something like a very mild flirtation between them at
Deringham, but it had been altogether harmless, and certainly more of
her seeking than his. They had met in the grounds once or twice and
walked together; he had talked to her a little after dinner, feeling a
certain sympathy for her isolation, and perhaps a little admiration for
her undoubted prettiness; yet all the time he had had a slightly uneasy
feeling with regard to her. Her ingenuousness had become a matter of
doubt to him. It was so now more than ever, yet he could not understand
her going away like this and the tone of her note. So far as he was
concerned, it was the most satisfactory thing that could have happened.
It relieved him of a responsibility which he scarcely knew how to deal
with. In the face of her dismissal from Deringham, any assistance which
she might have accepted from him would naturally have been open to
misapprehension. But that she should have gone away and have written to
him in such a strain was directly contrary to his anticipations. Unless
she was really hurt and disappointed by his reception of her, he could
not see what she had to gain by it. He was puzzled a little, but his
thoughts were too deeply engrossed elsewhere for him to take her
disappearance very seriously. By the time he had finished lunch he had
come to the conclusion that what had happened was for the best, and that
he would take her at her word.
He left his rooms again about three o'clock, and at precisely the hour
at which Densham had rung the bell of Mrs. Thorpe-Satchell's house in
Mayfair he experienced a very great piece of good fortune.
Coming out of Scott's, where more from habit than necessity he had
turned in to have his hat ironed, he came face to face, a few yards up
Bond Street, with the two people whom, more than any one else in the
world, he had desired to meet. They were walking together, the girl
talking, the man listening with an air of half-amused deference.
Suddenly she broke off and welcomed Wolfenden with a delightful smile
of recognition. The man looked up quickly. Wolfenden was standing
before them on the pavement, hat in hand, his pleasure at this
unexpected meeting very plainly evidenced in his face. Mr. Sabin's
greeting, if devoid of any special cordiality, was courteous and even
genial. Wolfenden never quite knew whence he got the impression, which
certainly came to him with all the strength and absoluteness of an
original inspiration, that this encounter was not altogether pleasant
to him.
"How strange that we should meet you!" the girl said. "Do you know that
this is the first walk that I have ever had in London?"
She spoke rather softly and rather slowly. Her voice possessed a
sibilant and musical intonation; there was perhaps the faintest
suggestion of an accent. As she stood there smiling upon him in a deep
blue gown, trimmed with a silvery fur, in the making of which no English
dressmaker had been concerned, Wolfenden's subjection was absolute and
complete. He was aware that his answer was a little flurried. He was
less at his ease than he could have wished. Afterwards he thought
of a hundred things he would have liked to have said, but the
surprise of seeing them so suddenly had cost him a little of his
usual self-possession. Mr. Sabin took up the conversation.
"My infirmity," he said, glancing downwards, "makes walking, especially
on stone pavements, rather a painful undertaking. However, London is one
of those cities which can only be seen on foot, and my niece has all the
curiosity of her age."
She laughed out frankly. She wore no veil, and a tinge of colour had
found its way into her cheeks, relieving that delicate but not unhealthy
pallor, which to Densham had seemed so exquisite.
"I think shopping is delightful. Is it not?" she exclaimed.
Wolfenden was absolutely sure of it. He was, indeed, needlessly
emphatic. Mr. Sabin smiled faintly.
"I am glad to have met you again, Lord Wolfenden," he said, "if only to
thank you for your aid last night. I was anxious to get away before any
fuss was made, or I would have expressed my gratitude at the time in a
more seemly fashion."
"I hope," Wolfenden said, "that you will not think it necessary to say
anything more about it. I did what any one in my place would have done
without a moment's hesitation."
"I am not quite so sure of that," Mr. Sabin said. "But by the bye, can
you tell me what became of the fellow? Did any one go after him?"
"There was some sort of pursuit, I believe," Wolfenden said slowly, "but
he was not caught."
"I am glad to hear it," Mr. Sabin said.
Wolfenden looked at him in some surprise. He could not make up his mind
whether it was his duty to disclose the name of the man who had made
this strange attempt.
"Your assailant was, I suppose, a stranger to you?" he said slowly.
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"By no means. I recognised him directly. So, I believe, did you."
Wolfenden was honestly amazed.
"He was your guest, I believe," Mr. Sabin continued, "until I entered
the room. I saw him leave, and I was half-prepared for something of the
sort."
"He was my guest, it is true, but none the less, he was a stranger to
me," Wolfenden explained. "He brought a letter from my cousin, who seems
to have considered him a decent sort of fellow."
"There is," Mr. Sabin said dryly, "nothing whatever the matter with him,
except that he is mad."
"On the whole, I cannot say that I am surprised to hear it," Wolfenden
remarked; "but I certainly think that, considering the form his madness
takes, you ought to protect yourself in some way."
Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"He can never hurt me. I carry a talisman which is proof against any
attempt that he can make; but none the less, I must confess that your
aid last night was very welcome."
"I was very pleased to be of any service," Wolfenden said, "especially,"
he added, glancing toward Mr. Sabin's niece, "since it has given me the
pleasure of your acquaintance."
A little thrill passed through him. Her delicately-curved lips were
quivering as though with amusement, and her eyes had fallen; she had
blushed slightly at that unwitting, ardent look of his. Mr. Sabin's
cold voice recalled him to himself.
"I believe," he said, "that I overheard your name correctly. It is
Wolfenden, is it not?"
Wolfenden assented.
"I am sorry that I haven't a card," he said. "That is my name."
Mr. Sabin looked at him curiously.
"Wolfenden is, I believe, the family name of the Deringhams? May I
ask, are you any relation to Admiral Lord Deringham?"
Wolfenden was suddenly grave.
"Yes," he answered; "he is my father. Did you ever meet him?"
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
"No, I have heard of him abroad; also, I believe, of the Countess of
Deringham, your mother. It is many years ago. I trust that I have not
inadvertently----"
"Not at all," Wolfenden declared. "My father is still alive, although he
is in very delicate health. I wonder, would you and your niece do me the
honour of having some tea with me? It is Ladies' Day at the 'Geranium
Club,' and I should be delighted to take you there if you would allow
me."
Mr. Sabin shook his head.
Wolfenden had the satisfaction of seeing the girl look disappointed.
"We are very much obliged to you," Mr. Sabin said, "but I have an
appointment which is already overdue. You must not mind, Helene, if we
ride the rest of the way."
He turned and hailed a passing hansom, which drew up immediately at
the kerb by their side. Mr. Sabin handed his niece in, and stood for a
moment on the pavement with Wolfenden.
"I hope that we may meet again before long, Lord Wolfenden," he said.
"In the meantime let me assure you once more of my sincere gratitude."
The girl leaned forward over the apron of the cab.
"And may I not add mine too?" she said. "I almost wish that we were not
going to the 'Milan' again to-night. I am afraid that I shall be
nervous."
She looked straight at Wolfenden. He was ridiculously happy.
"I can promise," he said, "that no harm shall come to Mr. Sabin
to-night, at any rate. I shall be at the 'Milan' myself, and I will keep
a very close look out."
"How reassuring!" she exclaimed, with a brilliant smile. "Lord Wolfenden
is going to be at the 'Milan' to-night," she added, turning to Mr.
Sabin. "Why don't you ask him to join us? I shall feel so much more
comfortable."
There was a faint but distinct frown on Mr. Sabin's face--a distinct
hesitation before he spoke. But Wolfenden would notice neither. He was
looking over Mr. Sabin's shoulder, and his instructions were very clear.
"If you will have supper with us we shall be very pleased," Mr. Sabin
said stiffly; "but no doubt you have already made your party. Supper is
an institution which one seldom contemplates alone."
"I am quite free, and I shall be delighted," Wolfenden said without
hesitation. "About eleven, I suppose?"
"A quarter past," Mr. Sabin said, stepping into the cab. "We may go to
the theatre."
The hansom drove off, and Wolfenden stood on the pavement, hat in hand.
What fortune! He could scarcely believe in it. Then, just as he turned
to move on, something lying at his feet almost at the edge of the
kerbstone attracted his attention. He looked at it more closely. It was
a ribbon--a little delicate strip of deep blue ribbon. He knew quite
well whence it must have come. It had fallen from her gown as she had
stepped into the hansom. He looked up and down the street. It was full,
but he saw no one whom he knew. The thing could be done in a minute. He
stooped quickly down and picked it up crushing it in his gloved hand,
and walking on at once with heightened colour and a general sense of
having made a fool of himself. For a moment or two he was especially
careful to look neither to the right or to the left; then a sense that
some one from the other side of the road was watching him drew his
eyes in that direction. A young man was standing upon the edge of the
pavement, a peculiar smile parting his lips and a cigarette between his
fingers. For a moment Wolfenden was furiously angry; then the eyes of
the two men met across the street, and Wolfenden forgot his anger. He
recognised him at once, notwithstanding his appearance in an afternoon
toilette as carefully chosen as his own. It was Felix, Mr. Sabin's
assailant.