PHILIP TAKES DRASTIC MEASURES
Philip, as a matter of fact, had been to his publishers and received
a big check due to him, and then had taken a bedroom at the Adelphi
Hotel. It was the first time he had stayed there, but it occurred
to him that it was conveniently near to the Savage Club--which was
probably why Philip did not go there and so get his wire from his Uncle
Robert. Philip rarely did the thing he had planned to do.
But he had planned something for once which he was very determined to
carry through, at any cost, and which would create a sensation too!
He had had a letter from Captain Arbuthnot, together with one for
Phyllis, which he had left under cover with his mother for her. Captain
Arbuthnot had quelled the disturbance, and had been ordered to Bombay.
His return to England was uncertain. His uncle had died, so he was
now in possession of a decent income. He wanted his wife. He asked
Philip to arbitrate for him with Colonel Lane, fearing that if he wrote
directly to the fiery old Colonel, his poor little wife would get a
severe scolding, which he wanted to spare her.
Philip’s idea of arbitration was to dispatch Phyllis to Bombay, and
tell her father--afterwards!
He had come to London to see a friend--Captain Hurst--who was taking
out his wife in a few days to Bombay. He meant to arrange with them
to take Phyllis to her husband. Then he would return to Hastings and
carry off Phyllis. This was the most difficult part of his programme.
He would, he knew, not be admitted at Colonel Lane’s house, and he
felt sure Phyllis would be forbidden to go to Hawk’s Nest. He would
have to bring all his wits to bear upon the problem. But he was quite
determined. He was thoroughly sick of the “Phyllis complication.” He
had a further unpleasant experience to go through, however, one he had
certainly not expected, and one which was compromising enough.
Phyllis, very untidy and tear-stained, came to the “Adelphi,” and asked
for him.
She had been to his publishers and got the address from them.
“I have run away, Philip,” she gasped, when he met her in the entrance
hall. “I found out that you had gone to London. I came and got your
address from the publishers. I won’t go back. What am I to do?”
“For God’s sake don’t begin to cry,” Philip said in low, angry tones.
“Come where we can talk quietly.”
He led her into a room which at this hour--late afternoon--he knew he
should find deserted.
“Now, Phyllis,” he began, when he had closed the door, “you have
finished playing the fool. I want you to understand that. You say you
will not go back to Hastings. Well, I have no intention of allowing you
to do so. You are going to sail with Captain and Mrs. Hurst for Bombay
and join your husband. He is there.”
“Oh-h-h-h!” sobbed Phyllis.
“Stop that nonsense!” said Philip sternly.
“I’m so glad to go to dear, _dear_ Charlie,” cried Phyllis brokenly.
“Charlie never scolded me. He never looked cross at me, like you do!”
Philip looked at the small, piquant face, that had now broken into
smiles, and marvelled. Who can understand a woman?
Only a few days ago she was pining for Dan Webster, and bemoaning her
hasty marriage. Now, there was no mistaking her joy at the idea of
going to her husband!
“Oh, won’t it be a fine surprise to dad!” Phyllis continued, beginning
to rattle on quite in her own natural way. “And _how_ nice that Charlie
has finished killing all those horrid natives! And Bombay! _Won’t_ it
be glorious to see Bombay! I am so glad I didn’t do--it!”
“Do what?” asked Philip, who did not feel interested.
“Oh! it was dreadful, Philip! I went up the East Hill, meaning to throw
myself over the cliff, but I couldn’t, after all. It seemed so horribly
desolate and awful up there by myself. I came down again, and I walked
up Salters Lane, meaning to go to your mother. _They_ all thought I was
in my room. I went up to the station and I saw your bag. Tutt said you
were off to London--and--”
Philip interrupted her. He had, in fact, not listened to a word. He had
been thinking hard.
“Phyllis, we must go at once to the ‘Grand,’ and I must give you over
to Mrs. Hurst. She will help me about outfit. You must have clothes,
and your passage must be got. There is an awful lot to get through in
the time.”
“But I haven’t any more money--except sixpence,” said Phyllis.
“Oh, don’t worry,” answered Philip testily. “I have got money, and
someone will square up things after. By the way, Arbuthnot’s uncle has
died.”
“How nice and considerate of him!” exclaimed Phyllis. “You see, he was
pretty old, so it couldn’t matter to him much, could it? and it matters
a lot to Charlie and me. _Dear_ old Charlie! Charlie will pay you back,
Philip, and I want _heaps_ of things. I must go nice, mustn’t I?”
“You are anything but nice now,” Philip told her with brutal frankness.
“And it isn’t very nice for me to have you inquiring for me here.”
“I can call you ‘papa’ as we go out,” said Phyllis. “That would make it
all right--now wouldn’t it?”
Philip flushed angrily. He began to hate Phyllis.
“It is all so deliciously romantic,” she went on. “And Dan will have a
pill to swallow, won’t he?”
“He won’t care a twopenny damn,” answered Philip. “And now we will go,
please.”
Philip could not be civil. The girl’s sudden high spirits irritated
him unspeakably. She had worried his life out. She had placed him in
a false position. He had still to face her father. What did she care
about the trouble she caused everyone? She was delighted with the
romance of going out to Bombay.
Philip did not envy Arbuthnot.
Phyllis tripped merrily along at his side, chattering. None of his
snubs appeared to affect her.
At last he said: “You are pretty heartless, Phyllis. You care nothing
that your poor father is probably nearly mad with anxiety, and I can’t
relieve it till you have sailed.”
“Dad deserves to be a little worried, after being so cross,” she
declared.
“I think he has been amazingly patient,” Philip told her, and added
venomously: “Don’t get falling in love with anyone else on the way out!
I shall tell Mrs. Hurst to keep a strict hand on you.”
“How unkind you are, Philip!” (She spoke with great feeling.) “When I
am going to my dear Charlie! I shall be thinking of him every minute
till we land! And won’t he be surprised to see me! But I suppose you
will cable, won’t you?”
“Yes, I shall cable. He sent you a letter. My mother has it. But you
can do without that now. It was to ask you to come out and to tell you
about the money.”
Phyllis laughed.
“Money! oh, won’t I spend some in those _lovely_ bazaars I have heard
of! Dan is welcome to his beautiful Aimée Le Breton now!”
What was it in those words which brought a sudden chill to Philip
Barrimore’s heart?
An image of the girl seemed to float before his eyes. He remembered
her sweet calm, as he had told her his worries, a calm that had helped
him. Yes, she had something that Eweretta had never had. She had more
character, more sympathy. Eweretta had been charming, but Aimée was
really more alluring.
And was Dan Webster going to marry her?
“It is odd,” said Phyllis meditatively, “how I used to hate to hear Dan
talk about Aimée Le Breton! I don’t care now! Of course, she is in love
with him too. He wore a flower one day which he said she had given him.
And Dan will be a great painter, and he will be always painting _her_.
It will be nice for him to have a wife for a model, won’t it?”
“Oh, do stop talking!” cried Philip. “I have so much to plan and
arrange.”
She only laughed.
Philip was squirming under her words. Yes, no doubt Dan would marry
Aimée Le Breton. Dan who could, of course, appreciate her beauty, but
who was quite--yes, certainly, _quite_ incapable of understanding her
beautiful soul!
The more he thought of her, the more he believed that there was no man
who could quite adequately appreciate her except Philip Barrimore.
“Here we are at the ‘Grand,’” he said, “and I wish you looked a little
more presentable!”
* * * * *
After leaving Phyllis with Mrs. Hurst, Philip wired to Colonel Lane:
“Phyllis quite safe and well.
“Philip.”
But he gave no address. Phyllis must have sailed before more was told.