BEFORE THE DAWN
Gretton and Sibell returned to their table, whereon Moyna was
leaning her shapely bare arms and smoking through her long
cigarette-tube, watching them lazily.
Sibell, unsteady in movement, her brain muddled by the insidious
drinks to which she was unused, sank upon the red silken settee and
sighed deeply.
“I feel horribly tired,” she murmured, passing her hand wearily across
her white brow and disarranging her evenly cut fringe of fair hair
that so well became her.
“It’s awfully close in this place,” Moyna declared sympathetically. “I
can’t think why it is that at any dance club they seem to be afraid of
a little ventilation--not draughts, but a little fresh air.”
“I’m so very sorry, Sibell,” declared the tall, well-groomed man,
bending over the girl whom he so greatly admired, and had hoped,
before the unwelcome advent of young Brinsley Otway, to make his wife.
“I’m afraid--I ought not to have asked you to dance. Do forgive me,
Sibell, won’t you?” he asked, deeply penitent.
“Of course,” replied the girl, whose head was swimming. “It was not
your fault. I’m--well, I’m a little giddy, that’s all. Give Moyna a
dance, will you? I’ll sit quiet.”
Thus invited, her friend asked:
“You are quite sure you’re all right, dear? If not, we’ll go back to
the hotel at once.”
“Quite. I’ll feel better if I remain here.”
So the pair crossed to the floor and began to Charleston.
“She looks rather bad,” Gretton murmured into his partner’s ear.
“Yes. We’d better take her home soon, I think. She’s not used, it
seems, to hectic nights”; and she smiled.
Meanwhile to Sibell it seemed as though the dancers were floating
around her, while the music sounded harsh and discordant, far away.
She was twisting her bracelet around her wrist nervously and staring
straight before her. Both Gretton and his dancing-partner at once
realized that she was not herself.
“I feel very faint,” she replied, when Moyna asked how she was.
“Then we’d better get back. Don’t you think so, Mr. Gretton?” the girl
asked anxiously. “Don’t come with us. We can easily go back in a taxi.
It’s awfully good of you to have given both of us such a jolly nice
time. I’m only anxious for Sibell’s health. I’ve been like this myself
more than once. It’s nerves, of course.”
“No doubt,” said the man, taking up the cigarette he had left in the
tray and which was still alight. “But, of course, I’ll see you back to
the hotel.”
“You won’t,” declared the girl vehemently. “I won’t allow you to spoil
your evening. You’ve lots of friends here. I can take her home quite
well, so just see us to the ladies’ room--that’s all.”
“My dear Miss Lascelles, do you really think that I would allow you to
take Sibell back?” he protested. Then, with a smile, he added, “Sibell
and I are very old friends, and I would not dream of allowing you two
to go alone.”
And he called the obsequious waiter, to whom he hurriedly handed a
five-pound note, to pay the supper-bill.
As he was assisting Sibell into a taxi, the change was thrust into his
hand by the alert little Italian, who received a ten-shilling note as
his _pourboire_, and next moment the three were on their way back to
the Hotel Cecil.
On arrival Gretton accompanied them to the lift, saying:
“I hope you’ll be all right in the morning, my dear Sibell. It is most
unfortunate, isn’t it?” Then, turning to Moyna, he added, “If you want
anything in the night, just call me. I’m in No. 231.”
“Righto! and lots of thanks,” replied the girl, shaking his hand,
while Sibell, her brain still awhirl, sat in the lift and then managed
to walk along the corridor to her room, even though a trifle
unsteadily. Those ingeniously concocted cocktails, which are mixed in
all the dance clubs, had done their work, and she only had a most hazy
idea of what had occurred since her return to the table after dancing.
“Oh, my dear!” she gasped, as she sank upon her bed. “I--I feel most
awfully ill. I--I really don’t know what is the matter with me. I came
over horribly queer suddenly after that last drink which Gussie
pressed me to have. Did you have one?”
“Of course I did. But I’m quite all right. So why should you be so
queer?”
“I--I really don’t know, dear,” replied the girl, looking around the
room blankly with wild, startled eyes. “I was a silly fool. I ought
never to have allowed him to take us there. I’m sure Brin would have
strongly objected.”
“Well, he doesn’t know, and he need never know, my dear old
girl--unless you tell him.”
Then, as Moyna was helping the girl to undress, she went to the
toilet-table, and saw a telegram lying upon the white cloth.
“Why, here’s a wire for you! Fancy, we’ve never noticed it before!”
And she handed it to Sibell, who tore it open with nervous fingers.
“Brin will be back in London at half-past seven to-morrow morning!”
she said. “He has got word from Cookham that we are here for the
night. So he’ll call on us for early breakfast. Won’t it be fun?”
“Yes. But of course you’ll say nothing about meeting Gussie Gretton?”
“No. Of course not. It would only worry the dear old thing. And surely
he has lots of worry already. I’ll go to bed.”
And, while Moyna waited, she undressed, washed, put on a dainty
boudoir cap, and made her toilette for the night, assuming a pretty
nightie of pale-mauve crêpe-de-Chine.
She was already comfortably snuggled up in bed, and her friend had
kissed her good night, when suddenly Moyna, glancing at her hand,
exclaimed:
“Why, where’s your beautiful ring?”
Sibell started up in bed, staring aghast.
“Why, Gussie has got it! He wanted to have another look at it, and has
forgotten to give it back to me.”
“That’s awkward! Brinsley, when he meets you at breakfast, will surely
notice that it isn’t on your hand,” Moyna said. “You’ll have to get it
back--and to-night. You must, my dear!”
The girl, sitting up in her bed, gazed around her, her blue eyes
terror-stricken at her friend’s words. In an instant she was out of
bed.
“I--I must! Of course I must! Brin’s birthday-present to me! Oh!” And
she gasped, clutching her throat for air. “Oh, what a fool I was to
let Gussie have it! How absurd of him to keep it! What can I possibly
do?”
Then, glancing at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she said:
“Look! It’s late--past two o’clock! Where is he? How can I get it from
him?” she asked distractedly and half-dazed.
“He gave us the number of his room--231. Don’t you remember? It’s on
the second floor, evidently.”
“But Mr. Routh! He’s home by this time, no doubt. He could go and get
it,” Sibell suggested, standing beside the toilet-table and staring
vacantly into the mirror.
“For heaven’s sake, no! The old man might blurt it out in fun, and
Brinsley might know that Mr. Gretton is here. Don’t be a fool! Put on
your dressing-gown, and go down to Mr. Gretton’s room and get your
ring. There’s nobody about, and, besides, he’s forgotten all about it,
no doubt, and will hand it out to you!”
“Are you quite sure there’s nobody about?” asked the girl, and, to
reassure her, her friend opened the door cautiously and, looking up
and down the long corridor, said:
“No, nobody! Not a soul. Go down, and you’ll easily find the room and
get the ring. Then all will be well in the morning, and your fiancé
need not know anything. Why should he, after all?”
Sibell, instead of taking her kimono, slipped her feet into her little
pink slippers and put on her long fur travelling-coat over her
nightie, and in that attire and her boudoir cap, crept out of her room
and, slipping down the broad flight of red-carpeted stairs in the
silence of the night, stole quietly along the corridor until she found
Gretton’s room.
Very softly she tapped upon the door. At first there was no response,
but on tapping rather more loudly, she heard a movement within, and
next moment the door was opened by Gussie, in blue-striped pyjamas.
“Good heavens! Sibell! What’s the matter?” he asked. “Come inside.
Somebody may see you!” he whispered.
Next moment the girl was in his room, and they stood facing each other
with the door closed.
“I--I’ve come for my ring,” she managed to gasp. “Do give it back to
me at once. I must fly, for Moyna is waiting for me.”
The man instantly saw by her unusual expression that the cocktails and
champagne she had drunk had muddled her brain, and at once sought to
take advantage of it.
“Of course I’ll give you back the ring, my dear girl. But wouldn’t you
trust me with it till the morning?”
“No. Brinsley will be here before you are up. He’s coming to
breakfast. So he would certainly notice that I was not wearing it.”
“You could have made an excuse that you’d left it in your room,”
Gretton said with a smile, for in her pretty cap and with her
nightdress showing under her fur coat she looked extremely bewitching.
“No. I--I was afraid. Do give it to me at once, and let me go,” she
implored him.
“Of course I will,” he said, crossing the room to where his evening
clothes were folded upon a chair, and from the waistcoat pocket he
took the handsome ring.
Then, walking back to the door, he laughed, saying:
“I’ll give it to you, my dear Sibell, but only on one condition--that
you give me a kiss for its return.” And he placed his hand upon her
shoulder.
In an instant she shook him off, and, drawing herself up, said:
“I most certainly refuse! I’ve never kissed you, and I never will.”
“Ah! That’s the worst of it,” he sighed with a touch of sarcasm.
“Otway has all your caresses nowadays!”
“You are jealous of him, I know.”
“Perhaps I am,” the man said frankly. “You know how deeply I love you,
Sibell. At least, if you don’t, your aunt does. She has no use for
that young doctor, I tell you.”
The girl faced him, her eyes flashing.
“And what do my affairs concern my aunt, or even you, I ask?” she
cried. “You’ve told me your worn-out old story before--how you love me
and all that. But I’ve never believed you. Why, my dear man, you
pretend to love a dozen girls at the same time. What woman could ever
trust a man with your reputation?”
“You are extremely polite, I must say,” was his angry response.
“I merely tell you to keep your hands off me, and that I desire none
of your detestable love-making.”
“But why are you so intent on marrying this doctor fellow, Sibell?” he
asked in a more kindly voice. “Do you really think you are suited to
each other? You love life and gaiety, while he is a steady, plodding,
studious fellow, who must sooner or later bore you stiff.”
“Oh, don’t argue!” she said. “Just give me back my ring and let me go.
What will Moyna think if I’m down here so long?”
“Think!” he laughed. “Why, nothing! Girls don’t think nowadays; they
just act as their will directs them. It is Victorian to think.”
“But do let me get back, I beg of you, Gussie,” she cried.
“Gussie!” he echoed in gratification. “I like to hear you call me by
that name. You’ve always been so studiously formal and called me Mr.
Gretton. Do let me have a kiss--just one--in return for your ring.”
“I refuse! It isn’t fair of you to make such a condition when you know
so well the whole circumstances of my engagement,” protested the girl.
“But you look so sweet to-night that I can’t resist, even at the risk
of incurring your anger,” he said, and suddenly, ere she was aware of
it, he had gripped her and was raining hot kisses upon her
unresponsive lips.
Suddenly, with a supreme effort, she struck him a blow full in the
face, which caused him to release his hold, and then, like a tigress,
she fought, until at last, breathless and overcome, she sank
half-fainting into an arm-chair.
He held a glass of water to her dry lips as she lay back inert, her
boudoir cap awry, her eyes half closed, dazed and semi-conscious.
A few moments later she felt him take her hand and gently slip the
ring upon her finger.
Then she heard his voice, sounding as though afar off.
“Sibell,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m a brute! Forgive me! Do--I
beg of you! I--I lost my head. I--I didn’t know what I was doing! I’m
a damned blackguard to have kissed you against your will. I apologize.
Tell me that you will forgive me and--forget to-night,” he begged of
her, on his knees in supplication.
For some time she remained silent, then slowly her eyes became fixed
upon his countenance in a strange, stony stare.
“You have no right to have treated me so!” she declared in a hard,
bitter tone. “I came here to you in desperation to get my ring,
because I feared that my fiancé might miss it. What would he have
said had he discovered it in your possession?”
“Quite true,” said the man. “What indeed would Otway say if he ever
knew that you had been here for over half-an-hour!”
She stood rigid. Then she cried:
“God! I never thought of that! Let me go, you swine! Let me get back
at once--at this moment, before anyone sees me.” Then, turning to him
suddenly, she put her arms out, and said breathlessly: “If you want my
forgiveness, Gussie--let me go. Peep outside and see that no one is in
the corridor.”
“Don’t be afraid, child! There’s nobody about at this hour--only the
night-watchman, who carries his tell-tale clock around at every hour,
which registers his tour of the hotel.” Then, as he raised her slim
hand and kissed it with studied courtesy, he asked: “Am I forgiven?
Say, yes.”
“You will be if you let me go. Look at the time. What will Moyna
think?”
“She’ll think nothing if she’s the sport I take her to be,” he
replied, with a man’s usual selfish disregard for the woman he may so
easily compromise.
Without a sound he advanced to the door, drew back the bolt, and
peeped out.
“Nobody!” he whispered. “Good night, my dear Sibell! When we meet
again let us both forget this meeting, I beg of you.”
Next instant she was in the corridor, dishevelled, for in her
excitement she had not looked at herself in the glass. Over the thick
carpet she passed silently in her slippers until, just as she came to
the stairs, two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows.
One man was a porter in uniform, and the other she recognized in a
flash.
She heard the words, hard and hoarse:
“Sibell! Now that I have watched I know it is true! I thought they
lied to me, but now I know that you do not belong to me--but to that
swine!”
The speaker was Brinsley Otway!