MARGARET SETTLES THE QUESTION
Harry Talfourd hurried Margaret Wallace into the street as fast
as circumstances permitted, while the guests at Mrs. Lamb's were
looking at each other, exchanging whispers, asking what had
happened, what the thing which had happened meant. A few seconds
after the hostess' departure the crowded rooms were filled with
the buzz of voices, which rose higher and higher until it became
a pandemonium of noise. Mrs. Lamb's "At Home" had resolved
itself into chaos.
Outside in the street Mr. Talfourd did not find it easy to get a
cab; the chaos within was already beginning to make itself felt
without. The whole roadway was a confusion of vehicles.
Perceiving that it was inadvisable to stand still, since they
immediately became the cynosure of curious, and even
impertinent, eyes, Harry marched resolutely onward, holding the
girl tightly by the arm. They had to go some little distance
before they could find a four-wheeled cab which would condescend
to give them shelter.
So soon as they were in, Margaret drew back into the corner of
her seat with a movement so eloquent that Harry seemed to hear
her shiver. He was silent, trying to collect his thoughts. He
was as much at a loss as any of the excited people they were
leaving behind. When he spoke it was lightly, as if he desired
to make as little of the matter as might be. He was conscious
that in the farther corner, as far away from him as she could
get, was the girl he loved, in a mood wholly unlike any that he
had known before. He was fearful of what might be coming next.
So he endeavoured not to be serious.
"This promises to be a night of adventure. Did you ever see such
a scramble for cabs? People were rushing out of the house as if
it were on fire. We'll hope there'll be no accident before
they've finished. What did you think of Mrs. Gregory Lamb?
Something must have occurred to upset her equilibrium; she
showed quite a new side of her character." Margaret was still.
He seemed to hear her breathe; he wondered if it were possible
that she was crying. He put out his hand, touching hers gently
with his finger-tips. Although she did not repulse him she
remained impassive, not in any way acknowledging his caress.
"Meg, I hope you're not worrying yourself about that woman's
behaviour. She's not quite responsible, I fancy. She certainly
wasn't to-night, but there was nothing that need trouble you."
"I am wondering what she meant."
"Meant? My dear child, she meant nothing, absolutely nothing.
She's a trifle mad, that's all."
"I'm not so sure. I believe she did mean something."
"What on earth makes you think that? What could she mean?"
"I can't explain. At present I don't understand myself; but I
shall--I know I shall. Only I'm afraid."
"Afraid! Sweetheart, don't talk like that! You make me feel as
if I had done something I oughtn't to have done."
"You have done nothing. Still I wish you hadn't introduced me. I
asked you not to."
"But, Meg! the whole thing was your own proposition; the whole
idea was yours from first to last."
"Yes, I know; but then I didn't understand."
"What didn't you understand?"
"I hadn't seen her."
"You hadn't seen her? Meg, have you ever seen Mrs. Lamb before?"
"Never."
"Has she ever seen you?"
"That's what I'm wondering; that's what I'm trying to make out."
"It's a very mysterious business altogether; and the way you're
taking it seems to me to be not the least mysterious part of the
whole affair--and I can't say that I'm fond of mysteries.
However, as some one or other says in a play, though I'm afraid
I can't tell you what play, 'Time will show'."
When they reached Margaret's rooms they found that Frank Staines
and Mr. Winton had arrived already, and were waiting for them at
the street door. They all went up together. So soon as they were
in the room Mr. Winton asked his question--
"Well, Miss Wallace, is Mrs. Lamb to create Lady Glover?"
Had he put to her an inquiry on the answer to which the whole
happiness of her life was dependent, it could hardly have moved
her more.
"Never! never! never!"
She repeated the word three times over, with each time an
additional emphasis. Mr. Winton, probably accustomed to
strenuous utterances on the part of ladies to whom the theatre
was the chief end and aim of their existence, appeared to be
entertained by her intensity. Putting his hands behind his back
he regarded her with smiling face.
"And isn't she to produce the play?--that is, if she's willing
to do so if she's not to be allowed to play in it?"
"She is to have nothing to do with it--nothing."
"You appear to have arrived, Miss Wallace, at a decision which
is final and conclusive, and to have done so in a very short
space of time."
"I have."
"The matter is placed beyond the pale of my discussion?"
"It is."
Mr. Winton turned to Harry with a little gesture of amusement.
"Then, Talfourd, we shall have to seek for another capitalist,
and as that is not a bird which is easy to find, 'The Gordian
Knot' will have to be shelved for a still further indefinite
period. Let's trust that some of us will live to see it
produced."
In her turn Margaret faced Harry with an air of penitence.
"I'm so sorry, but I would rather that it were never produced at
all than that it should owe anything to that woman--and you know
how I have set my heart on its success."
He tried to comfort her, as if the loss were hers.
"'The Gordian Knot' won't spoil by keeping; don't let it trouble
you a little bit; dismiss Mrs. Lamb from your mind as if she had
never been. She's nothing to you, or to me, or to any of us;
she's just--like that!"
He snapped his fingers in the air, as if by the action he
expressed her valuation. Margaret answered with an enigmatic
smile.
"Like that? I don't think she'll be to me like that--ever."
"But, my dear girl, why not? why not?"
"Ah! that I cannot tell you, because I don't know. But I shall
know, and, when I do, I daresay I shall wish I didn't."
Harry threw up his hands in the air as if it were a case which
baffled him. Frank Staines, who had been listening with a
twinkle in his eyes, observed--
"I understand, Miss Wallace, that your appearance at Mrs. Lamb's
furnished the occasion for quite a dramatic interlude".
Margaret moved her shoulders, as if the recollection made her
shudder.
"I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind--thank you very
much. I'm awfully sorry to turn you people out, but--I think I'd
like to go to bed, if I may."
When the three men found themselves in the street Winton said to
Harry--
"Miss Wallace's idea does not seem to have been altogether a
success".
Harry did not reply at once; when he did his tone was a little
grim.
"I'm not so sure. My own impression is--though if you were to
ask me I could not tell you in so many set terms on what it's
founded--that we're well rid of the lady, and that we are rid of
her I think there's very little doubt."
Frank Staines remarked--
"If the lady's mad, or if she's subject to fits of madness--and
if she isn't I don't know what she is--it's just as well that
you've discovered it before it was too late".
Judging from their silence that seemed to be the opinion of the
others also.
The next morning Miss Wallace was distinctly in an
uncommunicative mood, as Miss Johnson, who paid her a very
matutinal call, found, whereupon the young lady expressed
herself with characteristic frankness.
"Really, Meg, I've known you for quite a time, and I was just
beginning to think that you were a really Christian person, but
now it's actually bursting on me that you can be nothing of the
kind. You sit there, mumchance, looking all sorts of things and
saying nothing; and if there can be anything more exasperating
than that, I should like to know what, it is. You promised, last
night, before you went to Mrs. Lamb, that you would tell me
everything that happened--I'm sure something did happen, by the
looks of you--yet the more I ask you questions, the more you
won't answer them. Do you call that being as good as your word?
I don't--so that's plain. I'm disappointed in you, Margaret
Wallace."
Margaret smiled, a little wanly.
"I hope you'll forgive me, Dollie, please! but I can't talk to
you just now, and especially about last night. Ask Harry, or Mr.
Staines, they'll tell you everything, and perhaps a little later
I will myself, but just now I really and truly can't."
Dollie, eyeing her shrewdly, perceiving she was in earnest,
bowed to the inevitable.
"Very well; I shouldn't dream of asking anything of Mr. Frank
Staines, he might treat me even worse than you are doing. But
it's possible that I may put a few questions to your Harry. The
fact is that if some one doesn't tell me something soon I shall
simply burst with curiosity. I have never concealed from any one
that curiosity's my ruling passion--it's the case with all
literary persons, my dear! Meg!"--she went and put her arm about
the girl's neck, and the tone of her voice was changed--"if
anything horrid happened at that woman's, never mind; after all,
horrid things don't really matter, they generally turn out much
better than they seem. I once had thirteen MSS. rejected in one
week, and yet I bore up, and I planted them all before I'd done
with them. I've never seen you look like this before, and I
don't half like it. I always make you the heroine of all my
stories, because you're the best plucked girl I ever met; so
buck up, and stop it as soon as you conveniently can."
Miss Johnson had not departed very long before Margaret had
another visitor--Dr. Twelves. He found her much more talkative
than Dollie had done.