The following afternoon when Hal left the office about half-past four
she saw a motor she recognised a little way down the street, and was
almost immediately accosted by Sir Edwin himself.
“I knew you left at this time,” he said frankly, “so I came to meet
you.”
Hal looked a little taken aback.
“I wonder why you did that,” was all she found to say.
“Well, it was the only way, since you won’t come to the telephone, and
I am afraid to call on you in Bloomsbury. I want to talk to you. Come
along and have some tea.”
Hal hesitated, looking doubtfully at the motor, but he urged her on.
“Come; surely you’re not afraid to have a cup of tea with me. We’ll go
to the Carlton—or the Ritz if you prefer it—and take a conspicuous
table.”
“In my office garments!” with a low laugh. “I don’t want to be taken
for your housekeeper.”
“My housekeeper is a deuce of a swell,” laughing in his turn. “She
certainly wouldn’t be seen in a last year’s frock; but you’re one of
the lucky people who manage to look smart, even in office clothes, as
you call them—so come along.”
Hal got into the motor.
“Which is it to be? Ritz or Carlton?”
“Oh, Carlton—and not the centre table.”
“How do you manage it?” he said, as they glided off, looking at her
with critical, admiring eyes.
“Manage what? I wish you wouldn’t look at me like a doctor studying my
health. I shall put my tongue out in a minute.”
“Don’t do that. A colleague or an opponent would be sure to be looking,
and I don’t know which would be worse. Manage to look smart in
anything, of course I mean.”
“Oh, it’s Lorraine Vivian and her maid; they loathe to see me dowdy.”
“With a little help from the Almighty, who gave you a haughty little
nose and a short upper lip,” he told her laughingly. “You’re been very
angry with me, I’m afraid, and no doubt I deserved it, but I’m going to
make you be friends again and forgive me.”
“You won’t find it easy.”
“I dare say not; but I’m going to try all the same. Shall I begin with
a humble apology?”
“You couldn’t be humble. I shouldn’t believe in it.”
“I believe I could with you—which means a great deal. Tell me, were you
fully determined not to speak to me on the telephone, and not to see me
again?”
“Most certainly I was.”
“What nonsense! And did you really suppose I should submit without
making an effort to see you, and persuade you to be friends again?”
Hal tilted her nose up a little, and glanced away as she replied a
trifle scathingly:
“I supposed, having found I was not the sort of girl you imagined, and
not one you could take liberties with, that possibly our friendship
would cease to interest you.”
He coloured slightly.
“You hit hard, but I suppose I have deserved it. I shall now have to
prove to you that I’ve turned over a new leaf, and deserve it no
longer.”
They stopped before the Carlton as he spoke, and he led the way into
the lounge, and to a side table.
“I’m sure you’ll trust me this far,” he said; “people stare so when one
is in the middle of the room.”
Hal sat down and drew off her gloves, feeling, in spite of herself,
unmistakably happy. It was good to be there, instead of trudging home
to Bloomsbury; and it was specially good to be chatting to him again.
A dear friend may be always a dear friend, and yet not just the one one
wants at the moment. When things are difficult, and irritating, and
disappointing, the pleasantest companion is apt to be one with so much
individual regard for us at the time that we can hold forth upon our
troubles without any fear of boring our listener.
When Hal had poured her tale of woe into Lorraine’s ear, she had known
that Lorraine was genuinely interested and sorry—and yet, also, that
something else occupied her mind at the same time. Sitting now,
opposite to Sir Edwin Crathie, it was perfectly apparent for the time
being that his mind was entirely at her service.
This was further shown by the fact that he realised something was
worrying her before she told him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked abruptly; “you look as if something very
boring had happened.”
“It has.”
Hal kept her eyes lowered a moment, with a thoughtful air, and the
corners of the fascinating mouth drooped a little.
“What has happened?... Tell me what is bothering you.”
He spoke peremptorily, yet with an evident concern for her that made
the peremptory tone dangerously alluring. Hal remained silent, though
she felt her pulses quicken, and he added:
“Come, we are going to be friends again; aren’t we? I’ve told you I’m
very sorry; I can’t do more. You will really have to forgive me now.”
She looked into his face, and something in his eyes told her he was
quite genuine for the time. Of course it might be rash, and unwise, and
various other things, but it had been a difficult, trying week, and his
sympathy was passing good now. Sir Edwin met her gaze for a moment, and
then lowered his.
He thought it was chiefly when her eyes laughed that he wanted to kiss
her, but when they had that serious, rather appealing expression, he
began to feel they were more disturbing still. Mastering his
unmanageable senses with an effort, he looked up again, and said:
“Well, what is it? Of course you must tell me.”
“Brother Dudley is going to be married,” said Hal with her usual
directness.
“When?” And Sir Edwin gave a low exclamation of surprise. “Isn’t it
rather sudden?”
“Very,” in dry tones.
“And I suppose you don’t want to love your prospective sister-in-law
all in a hurry.”
“I don’t want to love her at all.”
“Then I don’t suppose you will,” with a little laugh. “Presumably you
know her.”
“I have known her a long time. If I had been asked, she is the last
girl I could have believed Dudley would care for. I don’t believe he
does care for her in the real sense. She is very pretty, and she wanted
to marry him, and she just played on his feelings.”
“What do you call ‘in the real sense’?” he asked pointedly.
A pink spot burned in Hal’s cheeks; she felt the question a little
beside the mark, and did not want to answer it.
“She has rather a dull home, and is very poor, and I think she thought
on the whole life would be improved if she were Dudley’s wife.”
“And that is not the real sense?” insistently.
“It certainly is not love.”
“Well, you haven’t yet told me what is?”
“I don’t know much about it, and”—hastily—“I don’t want to. When it’s
real it hurts, and when it isn’t real it’s just feebleness.”
“Still, you must know some day.”
He liked to see the spot of colour spreading in her cheeks, and the
frank eyes growing a little defiant as he pressed her against her will.
“It doesn’t follow that I must. Perhaps I shall just be feeble, and
marry for a home and luxuries.”
“Never,” with conviction. “You’ll—Hal, you’ll get it badly when once
you’re caught.”
“I never said you might call me ‘Hal’.”
“Didn’t you? Well, I apologise. May I?”
She could not help laughing.
“You evidently mean to; and I suppose you usually have your own way.”
“Very often. That’s sensible of you. Of course you are sometimes
annoying sensible and practical. I don’t know that I ever liked any one
quite so level-headed before. It never appealed to me. Yet, somehow, I
think you could lose your head. You’ve got it in you to do so. I
wouldn’t give tuppence for a woman who hadn’t.”
Hal was silent, and, as usual, he pressed his point.
“Do you think you could lose your head?”
“I don’t think I shall,” was the evasive answer.
“I wonder,” he said.
She felt him looking hard into her face, and moved restlessly beneath a
scrutiny that quickened her pulses and warmed her blood in a way that
was altogether new. Then suddenly she looked up.
“Don’t you think we are rather talking drivel? Let’s get back to the
original subject. I don’t want to lose my head—it’s rather a nice
one—sound and reliable and all that.”
He sat back in his chair with a laugh.
“You’re very clever,” he told her admiringly. “I always seem to be
out-flanked in the end. Very well then, Brother Dudley has got engaged
foolishly, and Hal has been quietly fretting, instead of being a
sensible little woman, and telling her friend all about it straight
away. What are you going to do now?”
“I can’t do anything. He won’t get married for a few months anyway.”
“And when he does?”
“Then I shall stay where I am, and make the best of it, I suppose...
but... but”—her voice broke a little—“I’m a positive fool about Dudley.
I can’t bear to lose him.”
“Poor little woman. Well, I’ll be good to you if you’ll let me. I dare
say I can brighten things up a little. Every cloud has a silver lining,
you know.”
“I don’t know where Dudley’s will be,” with a wintry smile. “It
wouldn’t be so hard if I thought there was any chance of his being
happy. But there isn’t. He doesn’t in the least know her real
character.”
They sat on until seven o’clock, and then Hal rose to go, feeling
happier than she had done ever since they last met.
“Well, am I forgiven?” he asked, as she buttoned her gloves.
“You are, for the present,” with an arch glance; “but I reserve the
right to retract at a moment’s notice.”
“And in the meantime you will prove it by coming out to lunch on
Sunday? We might go to the Zoo afterwards, and make friends with some
of the animals.”
At the first suggestion of lunch Hal had been ready to shy away, but
the idea of the Zoo on Sunday afternoon was too much for her, and she
said with unmistakable longing:
“I should simply love the Zoo.” Then, after a pause: “Couldn’t I meet
you there about three?”
“But why wait until three? It is not very friendly of you to refuse to
lunch with me.”
“I usually go to Lorraine”—somewhat lamely.
“Why not bring Miss Vivian with you?”
“Oh, could I?” eagerly; “that would be splendid—if she is disengaged.”
A curious little half smile crossed his eyes at her eagerness; but he
only said:
“Certainly, and if she cares to bring a friend, to make the party an
even number, I shall be only too pleased. Shall we say the Piccadilly,
for a change, at 1.30?”
Hal thanked him, and as she sped homewards in a taxi he had procured
for her, she viewed the prospect with real delight.
Dudley, of course, would be spending his Sunday with Doris, and she and
Lorraine, supposing the latter were disengaged, might have found the
afternoon a little long alone. The evening was the occasion of the
dinner-party to commemorate Alymer Hermon’s first brief, so it was very
likely Lorraine would be free at midday.
She thought it was nice of Sir Edwin to invite her friend as well, and
as she reviewed the afternoon meeting, her heart was foolishly glad
over his apology, and insistent determination to be friends. It was
evident, she believed, that if she adhered to her resolute resistance
of familiarity, she would be able to keep him at a discreet distance,
and they might enjoy a really delightful friendship.
Her eyes were smiling and glad at the little upper window that night.
She had hated cutting off their friendship. The days had been dull and
dragging without even a telephone chat with him; and though she still
told herself it was chiefly because of the shock of Dudley’s
engagement, she knew it was a little for his sake also.
And she thought further, if they might now include Lorraine in some of
their meetings, it would be an added safeguard, and very entertaining
as well. She meant to telephone to her the first thing in the morning
to fix up their Sunday engagement.
Inquiries on the telephone, however, the next morning, elicited the
information that Lorraine had already arranged to go out to lunch; and
thus Hal found herself unexpectedly thrown on her own resources. A
little note from Ethel asking her to accompany Dudley if she had
nothing better to do, placed her in a further awkward position.
She did not want to go to Holloway, to swell the number of mouths to be
fed out of Ethel’s slender housekeeping purse, and add one more to be
cooked for, etc., on Ethel’s one free day. Finally, because it was the
simplest, as well as the pleasantest thing to do, she telephoned Sir
Edwin, and told him Lorraine could not accompany her on Sunday, but she
would be there herself, and afterwards go to the Zoo.
And at the other end of the wire Sir Edwin smiled, an enigmatical smile
that was unmistakably pleased, as he put back the receiver, and glanced
towards the cosy fire in his grate.
“I wonder,” he said to himself meditatively, “if one could make her
care, whether she could care enough to lose her head.”