"I think I can rough it here for a night or so," I said. "I'm used
to hardships."
Lady Bulstrode laughed again, and, giving me an affectionate pat on
the shoulder, left me to my toilet--and my reflections.
I could have desired no better company than the latter. Indeed, my
first impulse on finding myself alone was to indulge in a kind of
sacramental joy-dance round the room; but the thought that there
might be someone underneath was sufficient to restrain my ardour. So
I contented myself with going up to Rufus, who had jumped on to one
of the chairs, and warmly shaking him by the paw.
"Rufus," I said, "we've found her--found her first shot! Who says
there's no such thing as Destiny?"
Rufus licked my hand, and then looked up as though to convey his
congratulations.
"We'll run no more risks," I went on. "We won't let her sail away
this time, eh, my dog?" Then I paused. "Why, damn it, Rufus," I
added, "you're sitting on my dress-coat! Get off it, confound you!"
He jumped down hastily in some apprehension, but I was feeling far
too cheerful to be annoyed. When you have just found the woman you
love, even the spectacle of your dress-coat being used as a door-mat
fails to arouse any serious resentment.
While I changed I reflected pleasantly upon what I would say to
Astarte. It was evident that she had told Lady Bulstrode little or
nothing about her holiday; and I was glad to feel that the whole of
those delicious three days was still a secret between us. One thing
I was determined about, and that was that, if she was under any
misapprehension as to my feelings towards her, it should be swiftly
and effectively removed. On the island I had been handicapped, for
any departure from the jolly fiction that we were just casual pals
would have spoilt everything. Here, however, there was no such
barrier. We were meeting on level terms, and it would not be my
fault if Astarte remained in any doubt as to how much I loved her. I
went downstairs feeling what a journalist would call "agreeably
elated."
Dinner passed off in a very cheerful fashion. Even the most sombre
person would find it difficult to be dull with dear old Lady
Bulstrode, and sombreness was not a vice from which any of us
suffered acutely. Astarte, who had quite recovered her usual
self-possession, talked away with all her customary good spirits and
humour. She told us about her afternoon's adventures with the
children--two little girls of five and seven, to whom she seemed
devoted--and discussed and described the coming house-party, most of
whom had apparently been there the previous year. Like Lady
Bulstrode, she seemed to entertain a high opinion of the beauty and
charms of Miss Faversham and Miss McCulloch.
I kept up my end with a few picturesque details about the ends of the
earth which I still had left over from our conversations on the
island; and Mrs. Fawcett, a charming old white-haired lady, with a
peculiarly sweet smile, gave us some delicious reminiscences of the
late Queen Victoria at Balmoral, near which historic spot she herself
resided.
Afterwards we all adjourned to the big, rambling, book-lined
apartment which served a kind of triple function as a library, a
billiard-room, and a smoking lounge. Here, with the stimulus of
coffee and cigarettes, we continued to talk until about half-past
nine, when Lady Bulstrode got up from her chair.
"I am going to bed, Guy," she said. "These good people are sure to
keep me up to the most scandalous hours all next week, and I mean to
get some beauty sleep while I have the chance. I am growing too old
for prolonged dissipation."
"So am I, Mary," chimed in Mrs. Fawcett. "I shall come with you."
"I don't want to drag you off, Grace, unless you're sleepy," went on
Lady Bulstrode, turning to Astarte. "Perhaps you'll stop and play
Guy a game of billiards."
"Yes, please do, Miss Conway," I said. "It's against my principles
to turn in before ten, and I shall be frightfully lonely if you
desert me too."
"Very well," said Astarte quietly; "but I expect you're too strong
for me."
Lady Bulstrode accepted the candle I offered her.
"Don't you believe her, Guy," she said. "Grace is a sort of female
John Roberts. She beats all the men we have here."
"Mine will be an easy scalp, then," I returned. "I haven't touched a
cue for two years."
"I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Fawcett kindly. "Good-night."
"Good-night," I replied, opening the door. "At least one can die
gracefully."
For a moment after they had gone out we both stood silent and still.
Then I closed the door, and came up to where Astarte was standing
under the big lamp.
"My dear," I said. "Oh, my dear!" And taking her hands, I gazed
steadily and happily into her wide grey eyes. She made no attempt to
release herself.
"It just shows," she said, "that you can't play tricks with life. I
thought that for once we'd managed to break the rules without being
noticed."
"What does it matter?" I retorted. "I have found you now, and I'm
not going to lose you again. Oh, Astarte, if you only knew how I've
missed you!"
"Dear Stephen," she said gently. Then she released her hands, and
put them behind her back. "I want to make things quite clear," she
added. "It's all one can do now."
"Go on," I said encouragingly.
"I suppose Lady Bulstrode has told you who I am?"