Loder entered Lady Bramfell's feeling far more like an actor in a drama
than an ordinary man in a peculiar situation. It was the first time he
had played Chilcote to a purely social audience, and the first time
for many years that he had rubbed shoulders with a well-dressed crowd
ostensibly brought together for amusement. As he followed Eve along the
corridor that led to the reception-rooms he questioned the reality of
the position again and again; then abruptly, at the moment when the
sensation of unfamiliarity was strongest, a cheery voice hailed him,
and, turning, he saw the square shoulders, light eyes, and pointed
mustache of Lakeley, the owner of the 'St. George's Gazette'.
At the sight of the man and the sound of his greeting his doubts and
speculations vanished. The essentials of life rose again to the position
they had occupied three weeks ago, in the short but strenuous period
when his dormant activities had been stirred and he had recognized his
true self. He lifted his head unconsciously, the shade of misgiving that
had crossed his confidence passing from him as he smiled at Lakeley with
a keen, alert pleasure that altered his whole face.
Eve, looking back, saw the expression. It attracted and held her, like a
sudden glimpse into a secret room. In all the years of her marriage, in
the months of her courtship even, she had never surprised the look on
Chilcote's face. The impression came quickly, and with it a strange,
warm rush of interest that receded slowly, leaving an odd sense of
loneliness. But, at the moment that the feeling came and passed, her
attention was claimed in another direction. A slight, fair-haired boy
forced his way towards her through the press of people that filled the
corridor.
“Mrs. Chilcote!” he exclaimed. “Can I believe my luck in finding you
alone?”
Eve laughed. It seemed that there was relief in her laugh. “How absurd
you are, Bobby!” she said, kindly. “But you are wrong. My husband is
here--I am waiting for him.”
Blessington looked round. “Oh!” he said. “Indeed!” Then he relapsed into
silence. He was the soul of good-nature, but those who knew him best
knew that Chilcote's summary change of secretaries had rankled. Eve,
conscious of the little jar, made haste to smooth it away.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said. “What have you been doing?”
Blessington looked at her, then smiled again, his buoyancy restored.
“Doing?” he said. “Oh, calling every other afternoon at Grosvenor
Square--only to find that a certain lady is never at home.”
At his tone Eve laughed again. The boy, with his frank and ingenuous
nature, had beguiled many a dull hour for her in past days, and she had
missed him not a little when his place had been filled by Greening.
“But I mean seriously, Bobby. Has something good turned up?”
Blessington made a wry face “Something is on its way--that's why I am on
duty to-right. Old Bramfell and the pater are working it between
them. So if Lady Bramfell or Lady Astrupp happen to drop a fan or a
handkerchief this evening, I've got to be here to pick it up. See?”
“As you picked up my fans and handkerchiefs last year--and the year
before?” Eve smiled.
Blessington's face suddenly looked grave. “I wish you hadn't said that,”
he said. Then he paused abruptly. Out of the hum of talk behind them a
man's laugh sounded. It was not loud, but it was a laugh that one seldom
hears in a London drawing-room--it expressed interest, amusement, and in
an inexplicable may it seemed also to express strength.
Eve and Blessington both turned involuntarily.
“By Jove!” said Blessington
Eve said nothing.
Loder was parting with Lakely, and his was the laugh that had attracted
them both. The interest excited by his talk was still reflected in his
face and bearing as he made his way towards them.
“By Jove!” said Blessington again. “I never realized that Chilcote was
so tall.”
Again Eve said nothing. But silently and with a more subtle meaning she
found herself echoing the words.
Until he was quite close to her, Loder did not seem to see her. Then he
stopped quietly.
“I was speaking to Lakely,” he said. “He wants me to dine with him one
night at Cadogan Gardens.”
But Eve was silent, waiting for him to address Blessington. She glanced
at him quickly, but though their eyes met he did not catch the
meaning that lay in hers. It was a difficult moment. She had known him
incredibly, almost unpardonably, absent-minded, but it had invariably
been when he was “suffering from nerves,” as she phrased it to herself.
But to-night he was obviously in the possession of unclouded faculties.
She colored slightly and glanced under her lashes at Blessington. Had
the same idea struck him, she wondered? But he was studiously studying a
suit of Chinese armor that stood close by in a niche of the wall.
“Bobby has been keeping me amused while you talked to Mr. Lakely,” she
said, pointedly.
Directly addressed, Loder turned and looked at Blessington. “How d'you
do?” he said, with doubtful cordiality. The name of Bobby conveyed
nothing to him.
To his surprise, Eve looked annoyed, and Blessington's fresh-colored
face deepened in tone. With a slow, uncomfortable sensation he was aware
of having struck a wrong note.
There was a short, unpleasant pause. Then, more by intuition than actual
sight, Blessington saw Eve's eyes turn from him to Loder, and with quick
tact he saved the situation.
“How d'you do, sir?” he responded, with a smile. “I congratulate you on
looking so--so uncommon well. I was just telling Mrs. Chilcote that
I hold a commission for Lady Astrupp to-night. I'm a sort of scout at
present--reporting on the outposts.” He spoke fast and without much
meaning, but his boyish voice eased the strain.
Eve thanked him with a smile. “Then we mustn't interfere with a person
on active service,” she said. “Besides, we have our own duties to get
through.”
She smiled again, and, touching Loder's arm, indicated the
reception-rooms.
When they entered the larger of the two rooms Lady Bramfell was still
receiving her guests. She was a tall and angular woman, who, except for
a certain beauty of hands and feet and a certain similarity of voice,
possessed nothing in common with her sister Lillian. She was speaking to
a group of people as they approached, and the first sound of her
sweet and rather drawling tones touched Loder with a curious momentary
feeling--a vague suggestion of awakened memories. Then the suggestion
vanished as she turned and greeted Eve.
“How sweet of you to come!” she murmured. And it seemed to Loder that a
more spontaneous smile lighted up her face. Then she extended her hand
to him. “And you, too!” she added. “Though I fear we shall bore you
dreadfully.”
Watching her with interest, he saw the change of expression as her eyes
turned from Eve to him, and noticed a colder tone in her voice as she
addressed him directly. The observation moved him to self-assertion.
“That's a poor compliment to me,” he said “To be bored is surely only a
polite way of being inane.”
Lady Bramfell smiled. “What!” she exclaimed. “You defending your social
reputation?”
Loder laughed a little. “The smaller it is, the more defending it
needs,” he replied.
Another stream of arrivals swept by them as he spoke; Eve smiled at
their hostess and moved across the room, and he perforce followed. As he
gained her side, the little court about Lady Bramfell was left well in
the rear, the great throng at the farther end of the room was not yet
reached, and for the moment they were practically alone.
There was a certain uneasiness in that moment of companionship. It
seemed to him that Eve wished to speak, but hesitated. Once or twice she
opened and closed the fan that she was carrying, then at last, as if by
an effort, she turned and looked at him.
“Why were you so cold to Bobby Blessington?” she asked. “Doesn't it seem
discourteous to ignore him as you did?”
Her manner was subdued. It was not the annoyed manner that one uses to a
man when he has behaved ill; it was the explanatory tone one might adopt
towards an incorrigible child. Loder felt this; but the gist of a remark
always came to him first, its mode of expression later. The fact that
it was Blessington whom he had encountered--Blessington to whom he
had spoken with vague politeness--came to him with a sense of
unpleasantness. He was not to blame in the matter, nevertheless he
blamed himself. He was annoyed that, he should have made the slip in
Eve's presence.
They were moving forward, nearing the press of people in the second
room, when Eve spoke, and the fact filled him with an added sense of
annoyance. People smiled and bowed to her from every side; one woman
leaned forward as they passed and whispered something in her ear. Again
the sensation of futility and vexation filled him; again he realized
how palpable was the place she held in the world. Then, as his feelings
reached their height and speech seemed forced upon him, a small man with
a round face, catching a glimpse of Eve, darted from a circle of people
gathered in one of the windows and came quickly towards them.
With an unjust touch of irritation he recognized Lord Bramfell.
Again the sense of Eve's aloofness stung him as their host approached.
In another moment she would be lost to him among this throng of
strangers--claimed by them as by right.
“Eve--” he said, involuntarily and under his breath.
She half paused and turned towards him. “Yes?” she said; and he wondered
if it was his imagination that made the word sound slightly eager.
“About that matter of Blessington--” he began. Then he stopped, Bramfell
had reached them.
The little man came up smiling and with an outstretched hand. “There's
no penalty for separating husband and wife, is there, Mrs. Chilcote?
How are you, Chilcote?” He turned from one to the other with the quick,
noiseless manner that always characterized him.
Loder turned aside to hide his vexation, but Eve greeted their host with
her usual self-possessed smile.
“You are exempt from all penalties to-night,” she said. Then she turned
to greet the members of his party who had strolled across from the
window in his wake.
As she moved aside Bramfell looked at Loder. “Well, Chilcote, have you
dipped into the future yet?” he asked, with a laugh.
Loder echoed the laugh but said nothing. In his uncertainty at the
question he reverted to his old resource of silence.
Bramfell raised his eyebrows. “What!” he said. “Don't tell me that my
sister-in-law hasn't engaged you as a victim.” Then he turned in Eve's
direction. “You've heard of our new departure, Mrs. Chilcote?”
Eve looked round from the lively group by which she was surrounded.
“Lillian's crystal-gazing? Why, of course!” she said. “She should make a
very beautiful seer. We are all quite curious.”
Bramfell pursed up his lips. “She has a very beautiful tent at the end
of the conservatory. It took five men as many days to rig it up. We
couldn't hear ourselves talk, for hammering. My wife said it made her
feel quite philanthropic, it reminded her so much of a charity bazaar.”
Everybody laughed; and at the same moment Blessington came quickly
across the room and joined the group.
“Hallo!” he said. “Anybody seen Witcheston? He's next on my list for the
crystal business.”
Again the whole party laughed, and Bramfell, stepping forward, touched
Blessington's arm in mock seriousness.
“Witcheston is playing bridge, like a sensible man,” he said. “Leave him
in peace, Bobby.”
Blessington made a comical grimace. “But I'm working this on commercial
principles,” he said. “I keep the list, names and hours complete, and
Lady Astrupp gazes, in blissful ignorance as to who her victims are. The
whole thing is great--simple and statistical.”
“For goodness' sake, Bobby, shut up!” Bramfell's round eyes were
twinkling with amusement.
“But my system--”
“Systems! Ah, we all had them when we were as young as you are!”
“And they all had flaws, Bobby,” Eve broke in. “We were always finding
gaps that had to be filled up. Never mind about Lord Witcheston. Get a
substitute; it won't count--if Lillian doesn't know.”
Blessington wavered as she spoke. His eyes wandered round the party and
again rested on Bramfell.
“Not me, Bobby! Remember, I've breathed crystals--practically lived
on them--for the last week. Now, there's Chilcote--” Again his eyes
twinkled.
All eyes were turned on Loder, though one or two strayed surreptitiously
to Eve. She, seeming sensitive to the position, laughed quickly.
“A very good idea!” she said. “Who wants to see the future, if not a
politician?”
Loder glanced from her to Blessington. Then, with a very feminine
impulse, she settled the matter beyond dispute.
“Please use your authority, Bobby,” she said. “And when you've got
him safely under canvas, come back to me. It's years since we've had
a talk.” She nodded and smiled, then instantly turned to Bramfell with
some trivial remark.
For a second Loder waited, then with a movement of resignation he laid
his hand on Blessington's arm. “Very well!” he said. “But if my fate is
black, witness it was my wife who sent me to it.” His faint pause on
the word wife, the mention of the word itself in the presence of these
people, had a savor of recklessness. The small discomfiture of his
earlier slip vanished before it; he experienced a strong reaction of
confidence in his luck. With a cool head, a steady step, and a friendly
pressure of the fingers on Blessington's arm, he allowed himself to be
drawn across the reception-rooms, through the long corridors, and down
the broad flight of steps that led to the conservatory.
The conservatory was a feature of the Bramfell townhouse, and to Loder
it came as something wonderful and unlooked-for--with its clustering
green branches, its slight, unoppressive scents, its temperately
pleasant atmosphere. He felt no wish to speak as, still guided by
Blessington, he passed down the shadowy paths that in the half-light
had the warmth and mystery of a Southern garden. Here and there from
the darkness came the whispering of a voice or the sound of a laugh,
bringing with them the necessary touch of life. Otherwise the place was
still.
Absorbed by the air of solitude, contrasting so remarkably with the
noise and crowded glitter left behind in the reception-rooms, he had
moved half-way down the long, green aisle before the business in hand
came back to him with a sudden sense of annoyance. It seemed so paltry
to mar the quiet of the place with the absurdity of a side-show. He
turned to Blessington with a touch of abruptness.
“What am I expected to do?” he asked.
Blessington looked up, surprised. “Why, I thought, sir--” he began. Then
he instantly altered his tone: “Oh, just enter into the spirit of the
thing. Lady Astrupp won't put much strain on your credulity, but she'll
make a big call on your solemnity.” He laughed.
He had an infectious laugh, and Loder responded to it.
“But what am I to do?” he persisted.
“Oh, nothing. Being the priestess, she, naturally demands acolytes; but
she'll let you know that she holds the prior place. The tent is so
fixed that she sees nothing beyond your hands; so there's absolutely no
delusion.” He laughed once more. Then suddenly he lowered his voice and
slackened his steps. “Here we are!” he whispered, in pretended awe.
At the end of the path the space widened to the full breadth of the
conservatory. The light was dimmer, giving an added impression of
distance; away to the left, Loder heard the sound of splashing water,
and on his right hand he caught his first glimpse of the tent that was
his goal.
It was an artistic little structure--a pavilion formed of silky fabric
that showed bronze in the light of an Oriental lamp that hung above its
entrance. As they drew closer, a man emerged from it. He stood for a
moment in uncertainty, looking about him; then, catching sight of them,
he came forward laughing.
“By George!” he exclaimed, “it's as dark as limbo in there! I didn't see
you at first. But I say, Blessington, it's a beastly shame to have that
thunder-cloud barrier shutting off the sorceress. If she gazes at the
crystal, mayn't we have something to gaze at, too?”
Blessington laughed. “You want too much, Galltry,” he said. “Lady
Astrupp understands the value of the unattainable. Come along, sir!” he
added to Loder, drawing him forward with an energetic pressure of the
arm.
Loder responded, and as he did so a flicker of curiosity touched his
mind for the first time. He wondered for an instant who this woman
was who aroused so much comment. And with the speculation came the
remembrance of how she had assured Chilcote that on one point, at
least he was invulnerable. He had spoken then from the height of a past
experience--an experience so fully passed that he wondered now if it had
been as staple a guarantee as he had then believed. Man's capacity
for outliving is astonishingly complete. The long-ago incident in the
Italian mountains had faded, like a crayon study in which the tones
have merged and gradually lost character. The past had paled before the
present--as golden hair might pale before black. The simile came with
apparent irrelevance. Then again Blessington pressed his arm.
“Now, sir!” he said, drawing away and lifting the curtain that hung
before the entrance of the tent.
Loder looked at the amused, boyish face lighted by the hanging lamp, and
smiled pleasantly; then, with a shrug of the shoulders, he entered the
pavilion and the curtain fell behind him.