THE WAY OF THE WOMAN
Wolfenden had been shown, as he supposed, into an empty room by the
servant of whom he had inquired for Mr. Sabin. But the door was scarcely
closed before a familiar sound from a distant corner warned him that he
was not alone. He stopped short and looked fixedly at the slight,
feminine figure whose white fingers were flashing over the keyboard of a
typewriter. There was something very familiar about the curve of her
neck and the waving of her brown hair; her back was to him, and she did
not turn round.
"Do leave me some cigarettes," she said, without lifting her head. "This
is frightfully monotonous work. How much more of it is there for me to
do?"
"I really don't know," Wolfenden answered hesitatingly. "Why, Blanche!"
She swung round in her chair and gazed at him in blank amazement; she
was, at least, as much surprised as he was.
"Lord Wolfenden!" she exclaimed; "why, what are you doing here?"
"I might ask you," he said gravely, "the same question."
She stood up.
"You have not come to see me?"
He shook his head.
"I had not the least idea that you were here," he assured her.
Her face hardened.
"Of course not. I was an idiot to imagine that you would care enough to
come, even if you had known."
"I do not know," he remarked, "why you should say that. On the
contrary----"
She interrupted him.
"Oh! I know what you are going to say. I ran away from Mrs. Selby's nice
rooms, and never thanked you for your kindness. I didn't even leave a
message for you, did I? Well, never mind; you know why, I daresay."
Wolfenden thought that he did, but he evaded a direct answer.
"What I cannot understand," he said, "is why you are here."
"It is my new situation," she answered. "I was bound to look for one,
you know. There is nothing strange about it. I advertised for a
situation, and I got this one."
He was silent. There were things in connection with this which he
scarcely understood. She watched him with a mocking smile parting her
lips.
"It is a good deal harder to understand," she said, "why you are here.
This is the very last house in the world in which I should have thought
of seeing you."
"Why?" he asked quickly.
She shrugged her shoulders; her speech had been scarcely a discreet one.
"I should not have imagined," she said, "that Mr. Sabin would have come
within the circle of your friends."
"I do not know why he should not," Wolfenden said. "I consider him a
very interesting man."
She smiled upon him.
"Yes, he is interesting," she said; "only I should not have thought that
your tastes were at all identical."
"You seem to know a good deal about him," Wolfenden remarked quietly.
For a moment an odd light gleamed in her eyes; she was very pale.
Wolfenden moved towards her.
"Blanche," he said, "has anything gone wrong with you? You don't look
well."
She withdrew her hands from her face.
"There is nothing wrong with me," she said. "Hush! he is coming."
She swung round in her seat, and the quick clicking of the instrument
was resumed as her fingers flew over it. The door opened, and Mr. Sabin
entered. He leaned on his stick, standing on the threshold, and glanced
keenly at both of them.
"My dear Lord Wolfenden," he said apologetically, "this is the worst of
having country servants. Fancy showing you in here. Come and join us in
the other room; we are just going to have our coffee."
Wolfenden followed him with alacrity; they crossed the little hall and
entered the dining-room. Helene was still sitting there sipping her
coffee in an easy chair. She welcomed him with outstretched hand and a
brilliantly soft smile. Mr. Sabin, who was watching her closely,
appreciated, perhaps for the first time, her rare womanly beauty, apart
from its distinctly patrician qualities. There was a change, and he was
not the man to be blind to it or to under-rate its significance. He felt
that on the eve of victory he had another and an unexpected battle to
fight; yet he held himself like a brave man and one used to reverses,
for he showed no signs of dismay.
"I want you to try a glass of this claret, Lord Wolfenden," he said,
"before you begin your coffee. I know that you are a judge, and I am
rather proud of it. You are not going away, Helene?"
"I had no idea of going," she laughed. "This is really the only
habitable room in the house, and I am not going to let Lord Wolfenden
send me to shiver in what we call the drawing-room."
"I should be very sorry if you thought of such a thing," Wolfenden
answered.
"If you will excuse me for a moment," Mr. Sabin said, "I will unpack
some cigarettes. Helene, will you see that Lord Wolfenden has which
liqueur he prefers?"
He limped away, and Helene watched him leave the room with some
surprise. These were tactics which she did not understand. Was he
already making up his mind that the game could be played without her?
She was puzzled--a little uneasy.
She turned to find Wolfenden's admiring eyes fixed upon her; she looked
at him with a smile, half-sad, half-humorous.
"Let me remember," she said, "I am to see that you have--what was it?
Oh! liqueurs. We haven't much choice; you will find Kummel and
Chartreuse on the sideboard, and Benedictine, which my uncle hates, by
the bye, at your elbow."
"No liqueurs, thanks," he said. "I wonder, did you expect me to-night? I
don't think that I ought to have come, ought I?"
"Well, you certainly show," she answered with a smile, "a remarkable
disregard for all precedents and conventions. You ought to be already on
your way to foreign parts with your guns and servants. It is Englishmen,
is it not, who go always to the Rocky Mountains to shoot bears when
their love affairs go wrong?"
He was watching her closely, and he saw that she was less at her ease
than she would have had him believe. He saw, too, or fancied that he
saw, a softening in her face, a kindliness gleaming out of her lustrous
eyes which suggested new things to him.
"The Rocky Mountains," he said slowly, "mean despair. A man does not go
so far whilst he has hope."
She did not answer him; he gathered courage from her silence.
"Perhaps," he said, "I might now have been on my way there but for a
somewhat sanguine disposition--a very strong determination, and," he
added more softly, "a very intense love."
"It takes," she remarked, "a very great deal to discourage an
Englishman."
"Speaking for myself," he answered, "I defy discouragement; I am proof
against it. I love you so dearly, Helene, that I simply decline to give
you up; I warn you that I am not a lover to be shaken off."
His voice was very tender; his words sounded to her simple but strong.
He was so sure of himself and his love. Truly, she thought, for an
Englishman this was no indifferent wooer; his confidence thrilled her;
she felt her heart beat quickly under its sheath of drooping black lace
and roses.
"I am giving you," she said quietly, "no hope. Remember that; but I do
not want you to go away."
The hope which her tongue so steadfastly refused to speak he gathered
from her eyes, her face, from that indefinable softening which seems to
pervade at the moment of yielding a woman's very personality. He was
wonderfully happy, although he had the wit to keep it to himself.
"You need not fear," he whispered, "I shall not go away."
Outside they heard the sound of Mr. Sabin's stick. She leaned over
towards him.
"I want you," she said, "to--kiss me."
His heart gave a great leap, but he controlled himself. Intuitively he
knew how much was permitted to him; he seemed to have even some faint
perception of the cause for her strange request. He bent over and took
her face for a moment between his hands; her lips touched his--she had
kissed him!
He stood away from her, breathless with the excitement of the moment.
The perfume of her hair, the soft touch of her lips, the gentle movement
with which she had thrust him away, these things were like the drinking
of strong wine to him. Her own cheeks were scarlet; outside the sound of
Mr. Sabin's stick grew more and more distinct; she smoothed her hair and
laughed softly up at him.
"At least," she murmured, "there is that to remember always."