BY the time that Girlie, homeward bound, had reached the Pendennis
Arms at Clavering, she realized that even if the erratic vehicle which
went by the gates of the Park was prepared to start immediately,
luncheon would be over by the time she got back. She made up her mind
accordingly “to go the whole hog,” and proceeded to regale herself with
a cup of tea and a war bun at an adjacent confectioner’s. Then, after
an hour’s inspection of the small and sleepy town, she set her face
towards her temporary home.
She was in no hurry to get there. For one thing she had to evolve
some sort of excuse that would cover the fact of her absence from the
luncheon table. Again, she had to decide the question whether it was
absolutely necessary to return at all. Why not bolt? It would not be
difficult. There was a little, only a very little money in her purse,
it was true. Should she accept this as the price of her career? That
was the question. Just now almost anything seemed better than to return
and meet the public exposure which could not long be delayed.
At a bend of the leaf-strewn road, where beyond a rich expanse of park
land the imposing chimneys of the Hall rose into view, she suddenly
stopped to grapple once again with this sore problem. Only too clearly
did she realize that flight was her only chance. As far as she was
concerned there could be no other solution. It would be a base betrayal
of Lady Elfreda, yet Girlie saw now with painful clearness that her new
acquaintance was far too dangerous to be regarded as a friend.
The young woman masquerading at The Laurels was entitled to such small
consideration that Girlie felt she could square her conscience on that
point at least. But now that her thoughts were centered upon running
away, she was met by the fact that she had given up her rooms at
Laxton, that she had lost her situation, that she had nowhere to go. In
the lee of the park wall there followed a tense five minutes of mental
conflict. In the end it may have been her odd strain of megalomania
that decided the question. Certainly that fatal flaw had much to answer
for. Let her rise to the height of opportunity! Let her not be afraid
of life, but drink bravely of the cup of high experience!
Finally, swayed no doubt by these perilous ideas, she passed on by the
park wall and through the lodge gates. Defiant of fate and all its
machinations, she went straight to her room to tidy herself for tea. In
the act of doing so she could not help marveling at her own cynicism.
It was so incredible that she could not recognize herself. While she
changed her dress and rearranged her hair she began to evolve some
sort of a story to cover her absence. As soon as she appeared in the
hall she had, of course, to run the gauntlet.
“My dear Lady Elfreda,” cried the yellow chrysanthemum lady at the
pitch of humorous expostulation, “where _have_ you been?”
Girlie hardened her heart. “Into Clavering.” Her courage rose to a
dogged defiance. “To do some shopping. I am so sorry. I ought to have
told you.”
“But your luncheon?” Mrs. Minever’s face was a study. “Where did you
get it?”
“At a tea shop.”
The half amused eyes of the hostess suddenly encountered those of Mrs.
Spencer-Jobling. Among her fellow guests the theory was growing that
not only was Lady Elfreda suffering from a queer form of “side” but
also that she was a little “cracked.” Certainly her manner was most odd
and her behavior matched it.
Girlie, however, was now at bay. She took her seat in the midst of her
critics, sipped tea and pecked at bread and butter. Never in her life
had she felt so wretched. The affair was getting unbearable. As she
suffered the rather scathing politeness of Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and the
icy tones of the other ladies her mind ran upon suicide. But the demon
within bade her go on. There was Shelley’s authority that what poets
learn in suffering they teach in song. Of novelists, no doubt, that
maxim was equally true.