Bruce came in with a rather weary air, and sat down by the fire. Madame
Frabelle was presiding at the tea-table.
'How are you feeling, Bruce?' Edith asked.
'Oh, pretty rotten. I had a very bad night. How are you, Madame
Frabelle?'
'Oh, very well. Tea?'
'Poor Bruce!' said Edith kindly. 'Oh, and poor Madame Frabelle,' she
added, with a smile.
Bruce gave Madame Frabelle a slightly reproachful look as he took a cup
of tea from her.
'I've been telling Edith,' said that lady in a quiet, dignified way.
'What about?'
'About last night,' said Madame Frabelle, passing Bruce the buttered
toast without looking at him, as if avoiding his glance.
'I'm really very much ashamed of it,' said Bruce. 'You can't think how
kind she was to me, Edith.'
'I'm sure she was,' said Edith.
'Oh, you won't have a bad night like that again,' said Madame Frabelle
cheerily.
'I'm sure I hope not.' He gave a dark, despairing look, and sighed.
'Upon my word, if it hadn't been for her I don't know what I would have
done.' He shook his head and stroked his back hair.
Suddenly Edith felt intensely bored. Madame Frabelle and Bruce were
looking at each other with such intense sympathy, and she knew they
would repeat in different words what they had said already. They were so
certain to go over the same ground again and again!... Edith felt she
was not wanted. But that didn't annoy her. She was merely thinking of an
excuse to get away from them.
'By the way, how's Aylmer, Edith?' asked Bruce.
'Getting on well. I believe he's been ordered out of town.'
'To the seaside? For God's sake don't let him go to the east coast!'
'The east coast is quite as safe as any other part of England, _I_
think.' said Madame Frabelle.
'Oh, he'll take his chance,' Edith replied.
'I expect he'll miss _you_, my dear,' said Bruce. 'You've been so jolly
good to him lately.'
'Naturally,' said Madame Frabelle, a little quickly, very smoothly, and
with what Edith thought unnecessary tact. 'Naturally. Anyone so
kind-hearted as Edith would be sure to try and cheer up the convalescence
of a wounded friend. Have a _foie-gras_ sandwich, Edith?'
Edith felt an almost irresistible desire to laugh at something in the
hospitable, almost patronising tone of her guest.
'Oh, Edith likes going to see him,' said Bruce to Madame Frabelle. 'So
do I, if it comes to that. We're all fond of old Aylmer, you know.'
'I know. I quite understand. You're great friends. Personally, I think
Mr Ross has behaved splendidly.' Madame Frabelle said this with an air
of self-control and scrupulous justice.
'You don't care very much about him, I fancy,' said Bruce with the air
of having made a subtle discovery.
She raised one eyebrow slightly. 'I won't say that. I see very excellent
points in him. I admit there's a certain coldness, a certain hard
reserve about his character that--Well, frankly, it doesn't appeal to
me. But I hope I am fair to him. He's a man I respect.... Yes, I
respect him.'
'But he doesn't amuse you--what?' said Bruce.
'The fact is, he has no sense of humour,' said Madame Frabelle.
'Fancy your finding that out now!' said Bruce, with a broad smile.
'Funny! Ha ha! Very funny! Do you know, it never occurred to me! But now
I come to think of it--yes, perhaps that's what's the matter with him.
Mind you, I call him a jolly, cheery sort of chap. Quite an optimist--a
distinct optimist. You never find Aylmer depressed.'
'No, not depressed. It isn't that. But he hasn't got--You won't either
of you be angry with me for what I say, will you?'
'Oh no, indeed.'
'You won't be cross with me, Edith? Perhaps I ought not to say it.'
'Yes, do tell us,' urged Edith.
'Well, what I consider is the defect in Aylmer Ross is that he has
brains, but no temperament.'
'Excellent!' cried Bruce. 'Perfectly true. Temperament! That's what he
wants!'
Edith remembered hearing that phrase used in her presence to Madame
Frabelle--not about Aylmer, but about someone else. It was very
characteristic of Madame Frabelle to catch up an idea or a phrase,
misapply it, and then firmly regard it as her own.
Bruce shook his head. 'Brains, but no temperament! Excellent!'
'Mind you, that doesn't prevent him being an excellent soldier,' went on
Madame Frabelle.
'Oh dear, no. He's done jolly well,' said Bruce. 'I think I know what
she means--don't you, Edith?'
'I'm sure _she_ does,' said Edith, who had her doubts. 'I don't know
that I do quite know what people mean when they say other people haven't
got temperament. The question is--what _is_ temperament?'
'Oh, my dear, it's a sort of--a something--an atmosphere--a sympathy.
What I might call the magnetism of personality!'
'That's right!' said Bruce, passing his cup for another cup of tea.
'Aylmer's hard, hard as nails.'
'Hasn't he got the name of being rather warm-hearted and impulsive,
though?' suggested Edith.
'Oh, he's good-natured enough,' said Bruce. 'Very generous. I've known
him to do ever so many kind things and never let a soul except the
fellow he'd helped know anything about it.'
'You don't understand me,' said Madame Frabelle. 'I don't doubt that for
a moment. He's a generous man, because he has a sense of duty and of the
claims of others. But he has the effect on me--'
'Go on, Eglantine.'
'Frankly, he chills me,' said Madame Frabelle. 'When I went to see him
with Edith, I felt more tired after a quarter of an hour's talk with him
than I would--' She glanced at Bruce.
'Than you would after hours with Landi, or Bruce, or Byrne Fraser, or
young Coniston,' suggested Edith.
'That's what I mean. He's difficult to talk to.'
'I have no doubt you're right,' said Edith.
'Well, she generally is,' said Bruce. 'The only thing is she's so
infernally deep sometimes, she sees things in people that nobody else
would suspect. Oh, you do, you know!'
'Oh, do I?' said Madame Frabelle modestly.
'Yes, I think you do,' said Edith, who by this time felt inclined to
throw the tea-tray at her guest. The last fortnight Edith's nerves had
certainly not been quite calm. Formerly she would have been amused at
the stupidity of the conversation. Now she felt irritated, bored and
worried, except when she was with Aylmer.
There was a moment's silence. Bruce leant back and half shut his eyes.
Madame Frabelle softly put a cushion behind his shoulder, putting a
finger on her lip as she looked at Edith.
Edith suddenly got up.
'You won't think it horrid of me, Bruce? I've got to go out for a few
minutes.'
'Oh no, no, no!' said Bruce. 'Certainly not. Do go, my dear girl. You'll
be back to dinner?'
'Dinner? Of course. It isn't a quarter to six.'
Her eyes were bright. She looked full of elasticity and spirit again.
'I quite forgot,' she said, 'something that I promised to do for Mrs
Mitchell. And she'll be disappointed if I don't.'
'I know what it is,' said Madame Frabelle archly. 'It's about that
Society for the Belgians,'--she lowered her voice--'I mean the
children's _lingerie_!'
'That's it,' said Edith gratefully. 'Well, I'll fly--and be back as soon
as I can.'
Bruce got up and opened the door for her.
'For heaven's sake don't treat me with ceremony, my dear Edith,' said
Madame Frabelle.
She made a little sign, as much as to say that she would look after
Bruce. But she was not very successful in expressing anything by a look
or a gesture. Edith had no idea what she meant. However, she nodded in
return, as if she fully comprehended, and then ran up to her room, put
on her hat, and, too impatient to wait while the servant called a cab,
walked as quickly as possible until she met one near the top of Sloane
Street. It was already very dark.
'Twenty-seven Jermyn Street,' said Edith as she jumped in.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later she was sitting next to Aylmer.
'Only for a second; I felt I must see you.'
'Fool! Angel!' said Aylmer, beaming, and kissing her hand.
'Bruce is too irritating for words today. And Madame Frabelle makes me
sick. I can't stand her. At least today.'
'Oh, Edith, don't tell me you're jealous of the woman! I won't stand it!
I shan't play.'
'Good heavens, no! Not in the least. But her society's so tedious at
times. She has such a pompous way of discovering the obvious.'
'I do believe you object to her being in love with Bruce,' said Aylmer
reproachfully. 'That's a thing I will _not_ stand.'
'Indeed I don't. Besides, she's not. Who could be?... And don't be
jealous of Bruce, Aylmer.... I know she's very motherly to him, and
kind. But she's the same to everyone.'
They talked on for a few minutes. Then Edith said:
'Good-bye. I must go.'
'Good-bye,' said Aylmer.
'Oh! Are you going to let me go already?' she asked reproachfully.
She leant over him. Some impulse seemed to draw her near to him.
'You're using that Omar Khayyám scent again,' he said. 'I wish you
wouldn't.'
'Why? you said you liked it.'
'I do like it. I like it too much.'
She came nearer. Aylmer gently pushed her away.
'How unkind you are!' she said, colouring a little with hurt feeling.
'I can't do that sort of thing,' said Aylmer in a low voice. 'When once
you've given me your promise--but not before.'
'Oh, Aylmer!'
'I won't rush you. You'll see I'm right in time, dear girl.'
'You don't love me!' suddenly exclaimed Edith.
'But that's where you're wrong. I do love you. And I wish you'd go.'
She looked into his eyes, and then said, looking away:
'Are you really going out of town?'
'I'm ordered to. But I doubt if I can stand it.'
'Well, good-bye, Aylmer dear.'
'Fiend! Are you going already? Cruel girl!'
'Why you've just sent me away!'
'I can stand talking to you, Edith. Talking, for hours. But I can't
stand your being within a yard of me.'
'Thank you so much,' she said, laughing, and arranging her hat in front
of the mirror.
He spoke in a lower voice:
'How often must I tell you? You know perfectly well.'
'What?'
'I'm not that sort of man.'
'What sort?'
After a moment's pause he said:
'I can't kiss people.'
'I'm very glad you can't. I have no wish for you to kiss _people_.'
'I can't kiss. I don't know how anyone can. I can't do those things.'
She pretended not to hear, looked round the room, took up a book and
said:
'Will you lend me this, Aylmer?'
'No, I'll give it you.'
'Good-bye.'
'Good-bye, darling,' said Aylmer, ringing the bell.
The butler called her a cab, and she drove to Mrs Mitchell's.
When she got to the door she left a message with the footman to say she
hadn't been able to see about that matter for Mrs Mitchell yet, but
would do it tomorrow.
Just as she was speaking Mr Mitchell came up to the door.
'Hallo, hallo, hallo!' he cried in his cheery, booming voice.
'Hallo, Edith! How's Bruce?'
'Why, you ought to know. He's been with you today,' said Edith.
'He seems a bit off colour at the Foreign Office. Won't you all three
come and dine with us tomorrow? No party. I'm going to ring up and get
Aylmer. It won't hurt him to dine quietly with us.'
'We shall be delighted,' said Edith.
Mr Mitchell didn't like to see her go, but as he was longing to tell his
wife a hundred things that interested them both, he waved his hand to
her, saying:
'Good-bye. The war will be over in six months. Mark my words! And then
won't we have a good time!'
'Dear Mr Mitchell!' said Edith to herself as she drove back home in the
dark.