Moreno met Isobel and her maid at the railway station, and drove them to
the home of his friends, the Godwins, who lived in a respectable but not
particularly fashionable quarter of Madrid.
Mrs Godwin, a buxom and kind-faced woman, received the girl with open
arms. Mr Godwin had discreetly absented himself during the first
meeting of the two women.
"So delighted to see you, Miss Clandon. I was a very intimate friend of
Andres' mother. Any friend of his is very welcome. I shall do my best
to make you happy during your stay here. I am afraid the accommodation
is not what you have been used to. We are a little cramped for room."
A dear good honest _bourgeoise_ creature. Isobel took to her at once.
She felt the _milieu_ was not quite what she could have desired, but
Moreno had done all he could, most probably out of his old friendship
for Farquhar. Whatever discomforts she might have to endure, well--she
had brought them on herself by embarking on this daring adventure.
Mr Godwin came in presently, a large, heavy man, who greeted her with
great gravity. She learned afterwards that he had been connected with
the wine trade, and had retired from active business on a respectable
competence.
Moreno took his departure as soon as he could. He had several matters
on hand, besides looking after a wandering maiden of a romantic turn of
mind.
Isobel stayed him at the door. "When am I going to see Guy?" she
whispered.
The young journalist looked at her kindly. He remembered his own too
short-lived romance. That whisper had come straight from her heart.
"Ah, that is for you," he said. "You know, you confessed you were a
little doubtful about how he would look upon it. Will you ask Lady Mary
to write him the news, or would you rather that I should?"
Isobel interrupted him eagerly. "Oh, would you? Lady Mary is a
darling, and devoted to us both. But if I write to her, and she has to
write to Guy, it may be ages before we meet. And, besides," she added
with the unconscious guile of a woman, "in certain things, men are so
much better diplomatists than women. I am sure you could put everything
from a reasonable point of view, present everything in quite a
favourable light. I do not want him to think I am a masculine sort of
person, an enlightened female who goes tearing about all over the world
after a man she loves."
Moreno was a very kind-hearted fellow. He could not resist that wistful
look in the beautiful dark eyes. The girl was alone in the world. She
had just lost her father; Guy was now her sheet-anchor.
"I say, if you want to see him quickly, why not send a note round to the
Embassy, just giving him your address, and saying simply, `I am here'?"
But Isobel rather shrank from that. It seemed too bold, perhaps a
little unmaidenly. She had always been educated in the belief that a
woman should never make advances. Advances might be made through a
third party, perhaps, if they were made with discretion.
"But you could explain it all so much better than I could, Mr Moreno,
how the whole thing was led up to by your letter to Lady Mary."
Moreno looked at his watch. "I was going to leave Madrid in half an
hour. Well, I can catch a train three hours later, it won't make much
difference. I will be off at once to the Embassy, and catch Rossett
there, if not, at his flat. You, of course, can see him at any time,
to-day or to-morrow?"
"A thousand thanks," replied Isobel, with her charming smile. "Yes, I
shall not stir out much anyway. But I will keep in the two whole days."
"Mrs Godwin, I warn you, will insist on showing you the sights of
Madrid."
"I will resist her," said Isobel firmly.
Moreno smiled, and said good-bye. It was a little pathetic, he thought,
the patient, loving woman ready to wait the man's convenience. Ever the
way with true love.
A brief drive to the Embassy in the Calle Fernando el Santo, a hastily
pencilled note sent up to Rossett. Half an hour later, the two men were
seated at a different rendezvous, for this time Moreno was not in his
working-man's dress. He had to be very cautious.
Moreno went to the point at once. "I have news that will startle you,
Mr Rossett. Your fiancee Miss Clandon, is in Madrid at this moment."
He named the respectable but unfashionable quarter in which the girl had
taken up her abode.
"What?" shouted Guy Rossett in his astonishment. It was just the same
ejaculation he had used when he learned that Violet Hargrave was in
Spain. The vocabulary of the average Englishman is very limited when he
has to express sudden emotion. And Guy was quite the average type.
"Of course you are very surprised. Well, I am afraid it is all due to
me. You remember some time ago I begged you to get out of this place.
You refused. I took it on myself to write to your sister to use your
father's influence to get you recalled. That fell through too."
"It was very kind of you to interfere in my private affairs, Mr
Moreno," observed Rossett stiffly.
"You are a bit of responsibility to me, Mr Rossett," replied the
journalist in his usual imperturbable fashion. "I will tell you frankly
I should be very glad to see the back of you to-morrow, for your own
sake--" He added in a lower voice, "Still more for the sake of the girl
who loves you as much as you love her."
"Forgive me," cried Rossett hastily. "I quite appreciate that you mean
very well to both of us."
"Thank you," said Moreno. "Well, to get on with my story. I have a
very old chum, one Maurice Farquhar who happens to be a cousin of your
fiancee. One night, in his chambers, I hinted that danger was
threatening you here. It seems he told Miss Clandon. As I have stated,
I wrote to your sister. The two women put their heads together. Miss
Clandon's father died. She had no longer any ties binding her to
England. She was mad to come out here to be near you. As men of the
world, we might say, the unreasoning caprice of a very loving woman."
"It was very sweet and dear of her," said Guy. There was a little break
in his voice as he spoke. "But I am interrupting you in your story.
Please go on."
"There is not much more to tell. As I have said, the two women put
their heads together. Lady Mary sent for Farquhar to consult him as to
how Miss Clandon could get to Spain. She felt if she consulted you, you
would, under the circumstances, have vetoed the project altogether."
"I don't think there is the slightest doubt I should," said Rossett,
quite frankly.
"I agree. Well, they were not going to give you the chance. They took
matters into their own hands. Farquhar knew nothing about Spain; he
wrote to me to ask me if I could help them. Well, I helped them. I
went over to London, saw your sister and Miss Clandon, and arranged for
the journey. I met her at the station to-day, took her to the house of
some very respectable English people whom I have known from my boyhood,
not people of your class, nor of Miss Clandon's. But I think there she
will be very quiet and comfortable."
Guy Rossett leaned across the table and held out his hand.
"A thousand thanks, Mr Moreno. After this, we must be firm friends.
My brave little Isobel, how plucky and daring of her. And you took all
this trouble!"
There was no suspicion in his frank tones, but Moreno liked to clear up
everything as he went on.
"Yes, it took up a good deal of my time, but I didn't grudge it. I saw
your fiancee and sister dining one night with you at the Savoy, but had
never spoken to them in my life. But Farquhar is an old chum of mine;
he has done me some very good turns. I was pleased to return the
compliment."
There was a brief pause, before Moreno spoke again. "I left Miss
Clandon a little time ago. She is longing to see you. I suggested she
should send round a note to you. She seemed a little fearful of what
you might think of her hasty action. She begged me to come round and
explain matters. That is why I am here. Here is her address."
"Again a thousand thanks." Rossett looked at his watch.
"Unfortunately, I have to dine at the Embassy to-night, and there is no
getting out of that. We are the slaves of duty. I have only just time
to get back and dress. I will leave as soon after dinner as I decently
can, and go round to her."
"Away with you, duty calls," said Moreno, rising briskly. "I will send
a note round to her saying I have seen you, and that you will be there
to-night." It was late when Rossett, hurrying as fast as he could,
entered the small drawing-room of the flat tenanted by the respectable
Godwins. Isobel was alone; the worthy couple, with commendable tact,
had absented themselves. Moreno had told them just as much as it was
well for them to know, and they were not very inquisitive people.
It was a very delightful meeting. They had been longing for each other
since they last parted. They exchanged their vows of love all over
again.
"And you are sure you are not angry with me, Guy?" asked Isobel, as they
sat hand in hand on the rather hard sofa.
"Angry, my brave little darling. Why should I be? But I say, this is
not the sort of place for you, you know. Have you brought a maid with
you?"
"Yes, our old parlourmaid, Ethel. I don't suppose you remember her."
"Yes, I do. Well, you must go the Ritz, or one of the good hotels."
"Oh, please no, dearest. I have no chaperon, you see, and it might look
queer. Besides, I don't want to meet a lot of people, and have to
explain things. I would much prefer to stay here _incognita_. Dear
Mrs Godwin is quite a motherly old soul, and knows nothing of what is
going on in the great world except what she learns from the newspapers.
And I am not so far off, after all. You can come and see me sometimes."
"Every day, darling," cried Rossett. On reflection, he was inclined to
think that, under the very peculiar circumstances, Isobel's course of
action was the right one. If she blossomed forth at a fashionable
hotel, a great deal would have to be explained. In a censorious and
conventional world, young women, however pure in heart, cannot afford to
be adventurous.
As they sat on the sofa, she told him at great length of her visit to
Ticehurst Park, and the Earl's consent to their engagement, of his
endeavour to get her to use her influence to lure Guy from his post, of
her refusal, in which she had been staunchly supported by her father.
She had told him briefly of this at the funeral, but he had been so
pressed for time that she had only supplied him with the barest details.
"The old dad, he was always great at a bargain, but this time you got
the better of him, my darling."
Then he put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew forth a letter. "By
Jove, I had very nearly forgotten--a letter received this morning from
that dear old Aunt Henrietta. I won't read you all of it, there are
yards, but I'll just run through a passage that concerns us."
This was the passage he read. "I hear a great deal from Mary, who as
you know is a most indefatigable correspondent, about your fiancee,
Isobel Clandon. She describes her as a most sweet and lovable girl.
There were always the two types in the Rossett family, the practicable
and the romantic. You, Mary, and myself belong to the latter. I
married for love, Mary would have done, and you are going to.
"I hear also your post is rather a dangerous one, and that they have
tried to get you recalled, but that you will not hear of it. Well, I
admire your spirit and sense of duty. Still, as soon as you can retire
with honour, do so.
"Now that your father has given his consent, there is nothing to wait
for. I shall make the way easy for you, as I have always tried to do.
Bring your Isobel to see me at the first opportunity. I am longing to
make her acquaintance."
"What a darling!" cried Isobel enthusiastically. "Well, anyway, there
are three dear people in the present Rossett family, your Aunt, Mary,
and yourself. And Lord Saxham is not so bad after all."
In her happiness she freely forgave the old gentleman his former
hostility, his attempt to drive a bargain with her.
"No, he's by no means so bad, when you get to know him, to pierce
through the crust as it were. He is a sort of cross between the
practical and romantic Rossetts," said Guy.
They talked for a long time about their future plans.
When Isobel laid her head upon her pillow that night, she was happier
than she had ever been since the day her dear old father died.