"Just that,--and something else. I don't want to see Martin till this
evening. I moved things last night, and I want him to miss me a bit."
"Ah," said Irene. "I guessed it meant something when you made that
quick exit when we moved up. Have you got him, dearie?"
Tootles shot out a queer little sigh and nodded.
"That's fine. He's not like the others, is he? But you've played him
great. Oh, I've seen it all, never you fear. Subtle, old dear, very
subtle. Shouldn't have had the patience myself. Go in and win. He's
worth it." Tootles put her hands over her face and a great sob shook
her.
In an instant, Irene had her in her arms. "Dear old Tootles," she said,
"it means an awful lot to you, don't it? Don't give way, girlie. You've
done mighty well so far. Now follow it up, hot and fast. That boy's got
a big heart and he's generous and kind, and he won't forget. I brought
you here for this, such a chance as it was, and if I can see you
properly fixed up and happy, my old uncle's little bit of velvet will
have come in mighty useful, eh? Got a plan for to-night?"
Tootles nodded again. "If I don't win to-night," she said, "it's all
over. I shall have to own that he cares for me less than the dust. I
shall have to throw up my hands and creep away and hide. Oh, my God, am
I such a rotten little freak as all that, Irene? Tell me, go on, tell
me."
"Freak? You! For Heaven's sake. Don't the two front rows give nobody
but you the supper signal whenever the chorus is on?"
"But they're not like Martin. He's,--well, I dunno just what he is. For
one thing there's that butterfly he's married to. He's never said as
much as half a word about her to me, but the look that came into his
eyes when he saw her the night I told you about,--I'd be run over by a
train for it any time. He's a man alright and wants love as bad as I
do. I know that, but sometimes, when I watch his face, when neither of
us is talking, there's a queer smile on it, like a man who's looking up
at somebody, and he sets his jaw and squares his shoulders just as if
he had heard a voice telling him to play straight. Many times I've seen
it, Irene, and after that I have to begin all over again. I respect him
for it, and it makes me love him more and more. I've never had the luck
to meet a man like him. The world would be a bit less rotten for the
likes of you and me if there were more of him about, I tell you. But it
hurts me like the devil because it makes me feel no better than a shoe
with the buttons off and the heel all worn down, and I ask myself
what's the blooming use. But last night I kissed him, and I saw his
eyes glint for the first time and to-night,--to-night, Irene, I'm going
to play my last card. Yes, that's what I'm going to do, play the last
card in the pack."
"How?" asked Irene eagerly, sympathy and curiosity bubbling to the top.
Tootles shook her head. "It isn't lucky to go talking about it." she
said, with a most wistful smile. "You'll know whether it's the heights
or the depths for me when you see me in the morning."
"In the morning? Shan't you be..."
"Don't ask. Just wish me luck and go and have a good day with the boys.
I shall be waiting for you at the cottage. And now I'm off down to the
ducks. Say I've got a headache and don't let 'em come round and try to
fetch me. So long, Irene; you've been some pal to me through this and I
shall never forget."
Whereupon Tootles went off to lend the unloquacious Burrell a helping
hand, and Irene ran up to the bedroom to dress.
From the pompous veranda of the Hosack place Gilbert Palgrave, sick
with jealousy, watched Joan swimming out to the barrels with that
cursed boy in tow. And he, too, had made up his mind to play his last
card that night.
Man and woman and love,--the old, inevitable story.