"That doesn't answer my question," she said.
"I'd love you to," he answered. "It would be fair, too. I've not seen
much of you here."
Yes, it would be fair. Let her try, even at that late stage of the
game, to make things a little even. This man had paid enough.
"Very well," she said. "Let's go." It would be good to get away from
prying eyes and the dull ache of pain for a few hours.
He could hardly believe his ears. Joan,--to give him something! It was
almost incredible.
She turned and led the way up. The sun had almost gone. "I'll get my
hat at once," she said, "I'll be ready in ten minutes."
His heart was thumping. "I'll telephone to a place I know, and be
waiting in the car."
"Let me go in alone," she said. "We don't want to be held up to explain
and argue. You're sure you want me to come?" She drew up and looked at
him.
He bowed to hide his face. "Of all things on earth," he said.
She ran on ahead, slipped into the house and up to her room.
Exultant and full of hope, Gilbert waited for a moment before following
her in. Going straight to the telephone room he shut the door, asked
for the number of his cottage and drummed the instrument with his
fingers.
At last!
"Is that you, Itrangi? ... Lay some sort of dinner for two,--cold
things with wine. It doesn't matter what, but at once. I shall be over
in about an hour. Then get out, with the cook. I want the place to
myself to-night. Put the door key on the earth at the left-hand corner
of the bottom step. Telephone for a car and go to the hotel at Sag
Harbor. Be back in the morning about nine. Do these things without
fail. I rely upon you."
He hardly waited for the sibilant assurance before putting back the
receiver. He went round to the garage himself. This was the first time
he had driven Joan in his car. It might be the last.
Harry was at the bottom of the stairs as Joan came down.
"You're not going out?" he asked. She was still in day clothes, wearing
a hat.
"Yes, I am, Harry."
"Where? Why?"
She laid her hand on his arm. "Don't grudge Gilbert one evening,--his
last. I've been perfectly rotten to him all along."
"Palgrave? Are you going out with Palgrave?"
"Yes, to dine somewhere. I want to, Harry, oh, for lots of reasons. You
know one. Don't stop me." Her voice broke a little.
"But not with Palgrave."
"Why?"
"I saw him dodge out of the telephone room a minute ago. He
looked--queer. Don't go, Joan."
"I must," she said and went to the door. He was after her and caught
hold of her arm.
"Joan, don't go. I don't want you to."
"I must," she said again. "Surely you can understand? I have to get
away from myself."
"But won't I do?"
"It's Gilbert's turn," she said. "Let go, Harry dear." It was good to
know that she hadn't hurt this boy.
"I don't like it. Please stay," but he let her go, and watched her down
the steps and into the car, with unaccountable misgiving. He had seen
Gilbert's face.
And he saw it again under the strong light of the entrance--triumphant.
For minutes after the car had gone, with a wave from Joan, he stood
still, with an icy hand on his heart.
"I don't like it," he repeated. "I wish to God I'd had the right to
stop her."
She thought that he didn't love her, and he had done his best to obey.
But he did love her, more than Martin, it seemed, more than Gilbert, he
thought, and by this time she was well on her way to--what?