Nell was quivering with nervous impatience. She gave the driver Ted
Lancaster's address and sprang into the cab. She was conscious of the
heavy jolt as Herr Schmidt climbed in--so slowly, oh, so slowly! She
had lost all sense of proportion in her mind. She was absorbed in a
sort of wild terror, a foreboding, and her one idea was to get to Ted
Lancaster. It was all his fault. He would know. Probably, almost
certainly, it was at his house it was all going on. She did not wait to
wonder what Denis would think of her appearance on the scene. She had
only room for one thought--to get him away, to warn him, before the
police came.
The cab stopped at last at No. 16 Gowan Square, and they got out. Herr
Schmidt rang the bell, and after an interval the door was opened by a
sleepy-looking maid.
"Mr. Lancaster, miss?' He isn't at home. Oh, Mr. Edward--yes, he's at
home. Will you come this way?"
They entered the handsome hall; the maid opened a door and showed them
into a small sort of anteroom.
"What name, please?"
But Nell was strung up to such a pitch now that she could wait no
longer. She followed the maid across the hall. In answer to her knock
a lazy voice responded, "Come in." Then, as she opened the door: "You
don't mean to say you've come, Thompson! Why, I've only rung once!"
Over the maid's shoulder Nell saw a large, handsome room; a table still
littered with the dinner things; a huge fire, and in front of it a
chair, over the top of which she could see a piece of smooth, dark head.
On the mantel-shelf reposed a pair of patent-leather shoes; she had a
glimpse of the legs they belonged to, of a pair of black silk socks with
a little green pattern on them, and a haze of blue smoke. She saw it
all in a lightning flash, and Denis was not there!
The pleasant, lazily sarcastic voice had drowned the maid's words. She
began again.
"Thompson's out, sir, and it's a lady to see you."
"A lady?" Neither the head nor the feet moved. "Oh, I say, Mary, it's
the Pater she wants."
"She said you, sir."
"Don't you know her?"
"No, sir, and--and she's _here_," in a desperate voice, suddenly
becoming aware of Nell's proximity.
"Here!" Down came the legs; up jumped Ted Lancaster.
"Oh, I say!" He stood facing Nell, red and uncomfortable. He gave his
hair a surreptitious pat and flung his cigarette into the fire. Then he
turned on Mary.
"Why did you show this lady in here? Where's Thompson?" he demanded
angrily.
"He's out, sir, and--and--"
The sudden apathy of disappointment that had come over Nell broke.
"She didn't show me in here. I followed her. This room will do. I am
in a hurry."
The maid disappeared.
"Where is Denis?" Nell's voice broke the little silence in measured
accents.
"If you will come into another room--"
"No, thanks. This room will do."
He pushed a chair toward her and gave his tie a pull.
"Where is Denis?" she repeated, not noticing the chair. She stood facing
him, her slim figure drawn to its full height, her head thrown back.
"I--I'm sure I don't know--won't you sit down?" He drew his hand
nervously over his hair. "Do you mean O'Brien?"
"Whom else should I mean? Where is he?"
"'Pon my word, I don't know! I--_won't_ you sit down?"
"Hasn't he been here this evening?"
His rueful brows mounted higher and higher till his forehead was all
little creases, which, oddly enough, Nell remembered afterwards.
"No--no, he hasn't-- But I saw him--about--about--"
"Oh, would you mind being quick?" she broke in irritatedly; her cheeks
were a vivid pink, her eyes shone. Ted, looking at her, suddenly burst
out, "I say, are you O'Brien's sister?"
"Oh, no, his aunt!"
It wasn't a dignified retort, but the extreme and very scornful
exasperation in the sarcastic inflection made him redden to the roots of
his hair.
"When did you see him? Oh, do tell me quickly!"
"I beg pardon. It's--er--a trifle disconcerting," a gleam of humour
shot into his grey eyes, "rather unexpected, you know, and--er--all
that. I saw him about three, I think."
"Oh!" gasped she. "That must have been in the bank! You _know_--you
_must_ know--I don't mean that! Where is he _now_?"
"I don't know," patiently.
"Don't know! Don't you know anything, or don't you care? I must find
him. He--he maybe wearing handcuffs in prison now!"
Ted Lancaster put up his hand and rubbed his nose.
For the first time she noticed his coat. It was a pretty coat--a loose,
silk smoking-jacket--but in some unaccountable way it was, to her, the
last stroke. All her pent-up nervousness, her quivering impatience,
suddenly culminated in wild wrath against the wearer of that coat.
"Oh!" she cried, her soft voice low and passionate. "It is all your
fault! You invite him here--you suggest this hateful lottery business.
What do you care? You make him gamble--but it doesn't hurt you. _You_
don't need money--you aren't led on by the hope of winning a great heap
of money. You only dabble in it. It doesn't matter to you whether you
win or lose. And you don't care if he loses! Why should you? You
don't care if he gets into trouble--if he's taken to prison! Oh, no,
you're safe, so what does anything matter? And now he has gone--gone
somewhere to make money, and I--I can't find him. He is so careless--he
would laugh at the idea of a policeman coming after him. It's all a
joke to you--I expect," her voice suddenly lost all its fire; "you are
laughing at me now--"
"I'm not! I'm not a cad, whatever else I may be!"
She glanced at him, vaguely surprised. His face had lost its
ruefulness, its uncomfortableness. He looked suddenly older and
grimmer; his eyes stared at her angrily from beneath frowning brows.
She turned to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know--to find him."
In a few strides he was before her.
"You're not going out alone to look for him!" he observed quietly.
She drew a quick little breath.
"Now look here," he went on before she could reply at all; "I don't know
where he is. I haven't an idea. But I'm a good deal more likely to
find him than you are. Whether he'll be pleased to have me coming around
after him as if I'm his nurse is another matter. I'll do it. He'd be
angrier if you did it. Although I'm the bad character you've just drawn
for my benefit, I promise I won't give information to the police you're
so afraid of. I shall go first to Pennington's. Anyhow, I'll find him
somehow. But you've got to promise to go straight home first."
"Allow me to pass at once!" Her face was quite white now; she spoke in
a low, desperately quiet voice.
"I'm not going to. What's it matter if I'm rude to you? Isn't it only
in accordance with your idea of me?"
"Quite. But it matters, because I am _determined_ to go and find him.
I am not alone. I am with a gentleman," she added this unwillingly but
in despair. "He will go with me."
"He'll take you home at once. You'll excuse my saying that you're
acting very unwisely. You're only keeping me--and doing no good.
O'Brien is probably at home now--or more probably," his mouth twisted
humourously, "out hunting for you. Hadn't you better go?"
"Yes, I'll go!" her voice gave a little choke. "I'll go, but oh, how I
_hate_ you! If only I could show you how I hate you!"
"If that's all, you're showing me remarkably well, Miss O'Brien."
He turned and opened the door for her. She went across the hall and
rejoined Herr Schmidt. When she saw his broad, kindly face, his anxious
eyes peering over his spectacles at her, she felt a sudden fondness for
him, a weak inclination to cry. She ran to him and slipped her hand
into his arm.
"Take me home, Herr Schmidt, please," she cried.
In the cab the reaction came. Suppose she had been making a fuss about
nothing? What would Denis think of her? Two tears fell with a little
splash on her ungloved hands. She turned suddenly to her big, silent
companion.
"Herr Schmidt, was I horrid to you about coming with me?"
"Ach, mein Fraeulein! I intrude, I know---"
"Oh, you don't, you don't! I think you have been beautiful! I'll never
forget it!"
"Fraeulein, you are goot to say so, but I am troubled. I haf ze unquiet
conscience about you."
"You needn't have, Herr Schmidt. I--" with a sudden wild Irish change
of feeling, "I believe I have just been making a fuss about nothing!"
She gave a quick little laugh. "Oh, Herr Schmidt, it's nothing at all!
Don't go making mountains out of it."
"Fraeulein, I will think of it as a mere young maid's episode. Hein? A
mere naughty prank."
She laughed almost hysterically.
"That's it, Herr Schmidt!"
She went up to the Stronghold and sat down wearily. Only five minutes to
ten now! It seemed hours since she had left that room. She sat doing
nothing--just waiting. She had not long to wait. In a very little while
there was a ring at the door; she sat forward, listening breathlessly,
but she did not go downstairs. Then she heard him coming up. He strode
into the room, laughing.
"I say, old girl, such a spree! Never enjoyed myself so much since I've
been in London! Spoilt my gloves a bit! Given 'em quite the dear old
look--"
"What have you been doing, Denis?"
"Driving a hansom!"
"A--is that _all_?"
"Rather! Quite enough, too, with a brute like that! What's up, Nell?"
She had risen and gone across to the window; she was looking out with
great interest through one of the slats of the Venetian blind.
"Nothing. Tell me about it."
"I'm ravenous, by the way! Still, here goes. I went with Pennington
about his camera--gone wrong--to the shop after I left the bank this
afternoon. When I left him I came upon a hansom--empty--no driver--ugly
brute of a horse, sort of pink roan. I was having a look at him when
out came cabby from the public house. He had evidently 'met friends,'
as they say at home, and he hailed me as a long-lost brother. Well, I
wanted to drive that hansom, wanted to see what it was like. He
wouldn't let me--swore he'd be taken up and so should I if we were found
out. I tipped him. He hesitated. I let out a flood of native
eloquence and another tip. I might drive it to the corner and up the
next road and back to him. I did. Then at the corner I called back to
him not to get anxious if I took a few hours getting to the end of that
road. Heavens, he did swear! He started chasing me, too, but gave it up
when he found a lamp-post in his way. I called out to him that all the
tips over sixpence I won by my eloquence I should stick to. By Jove, it
was a spree! I pulled my hat down over my eyes, turned up my collar,
and trusted to the darkness to hide my aristocratic features from the
bobbies. Then it struck me you'd get wondering where I was, and I
pulled out a letter I'd taken down for old Pom-Pom to some man, and
which I'd forgotten to send off, tore off the blank sheet, scrawled that
message to you, shouted at a boy, threw it at his head, and sent him off
with it. I've posted t'other half just now, by the way. Then I
prepared to enjoy myself! I've taken tons of people to the theatres and
restaurants. I made that brute go! But he nearly pulled my arms out of
their sockets every now and then--had a mouth like my boots. Guess what
I made--thirteen and six! Not bad, you know. But I needed it all to
soften cabby's wrath. He'd been in a dead funk that I'd made off with
horse and cab for good. Oh, I can tell you, he was pretty eloquent!
But I soothed him a bit with the thirteen and six. I wish I'd met
Lancaster a bit sooner," he broke off, "I'd have made him pay double
fare!"
"Sooner?" Nell said.
"Yes. Met him just now. He was apparently gazing at the house. Fallen
in love with Aunt Kezia, perhaps."
"Did--didn't--he say anything?"
"Not much. What d'you mean?"
"I--I want to tell you something, Denis. I--I've been--mad, I think--"
"Thought there was something up. What is it, old girl?"
Nell suddenly turned and faced him.
"You'll hate me," she said, and plunged into her story.
When she had done there was a little silence. She had averted her eyes
from him in terror. She knew how a boy of his age would loathe the fuss
she had made--how he would resent her going to Lancaster. She turned
her eyes to him--he had buried his head in the cushion and was shaking
with laughter!
"Oh, poor old Lancaster! Did you really slang him like that, Nell? I
can see him."
She drew a deep breath.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Poor beggar!" he chuckled. "Oh, it's rich!"
Then he sobered.
"But--were you mad, Nell? To make up bogeys in your mind and go rushing
off like that--"
"I don't know, Denis," she said humbly. "I don't know what was the
matter with me to-day. I--I never was so silly at home. I felt sort of
funny all day, I think."
He was frowning.
"I don't like it at all--your going off to Lancaster like that! It was
jolly decent of Herr Schmidt to go with you. You ought to have known
better, Nell."
"Yes."
He looked at her irritatedly.
"Don't be so beastly meek! You know you've been awfully idiotic all
round. And you've made me look a most consummate fool, and"--his mouth
widened again in spite of himself--"you've slanged poor Lancaster most
unwarrantably. It was awfully rude, you know, and quite mad. He really
hasn't been leading your little twin astray. As a matter of fact, it was
he who squashed my idea of making money by going in for big lotteries.
He's got a level head, and he reasoned it all out on paper and proved
some way or other that I stood, ten to one, or a hundred to one, or
something, to lose in the end. I've only been teasing you when I talked
about going in for them. I didn't know you were bothering about it.
And I never thought of the beastly things when I scrawled that note off
to you. I've never been in for any sweepstake or thing of that kind
except that one I told you of. I hope you think you've made enough fuss
all round about nothing!"
Nell was silent. She seemed to have no spark of spirit left. She made
no defence. Suddenly he rose and came to her. He caught her shoulders
and shook her.
"There, never mind, you poor meek little goose! You'd better be off to
bed, and sleep some sense into your soft old head."
She was struggling desperately against tears.
"I--I'm awfully sorry, Denis--and ashamed--I--I do believe I was mad--"
"Course you were," cheerfully, "temporary insanity. It's this beastly
London fog got into your brain. I'll make it all right with
Lancaster--tell him you're sorry and all that."
She winced.
"Yes--please," she said. "And--and you won't--feel that you--that I--"
"I've forgotten all about it already, old girl!" he declared generously.
*CHAPTER VIII*
"What d'you think I'm let in for, Nell O'Brien?"
"I don't know. I haven't a guess in me. Aunt Kezia has squashed me
flat. I've low instincts, Denis,--think of that! And no sense of what
is befitting a young lady, and all sorts of other things. Oh, I'm a bad
character entirely!"
He flung down his hat.
"Think I didn't know all that already? What made our respected aunt
discover it?"
"I'm sick of having no models!" she burst out passionately. "I haven't
touched a horse for weeks! I--I'm just aching for the mere feel of
them! A cat! Beyond Kate Kearney I'm offered a cat! It's like
offering a starving man a piece of sugar-stick! Denis, try to draw a
cat! A heap of stupid, meaningless fur! No muscles--no veins--oh, a
horse is so glorious to paint!" She broke off with a quick little
laugh. "Twin Nell 'pletely sorry," she said, using an old baby formula.
"Tell me what you're let in for?"
"Not till you tell me what you've been up to."
"Oh, it was nothing. I saw a hansom waiting outside the corner house.
Ripping little chestnut, Denis," her whole-face kindled irresistibly;
"the driver told me she was almost a thoroughbred. When a car passed
along the top of the road, she played-up beautifully. Oh, the drawing
in her! Well, I saw her from a window and seized up my sketch-book and
bolted up the road. Now, is there any harm in that? I asked the driver
how long he thought he'd be, and he smiled and said his fare was a
solicitor who'd come to a client's house on business. 'They charge for
their time, miss!' he said meaningly, so I rejoiced and started
sketching her in. And he was such a nice man, too. He'd actually been
to the Dublin horse show a few years ago. We had an argument about our
horses. And he made her put her head as I wanted, and he told me how
he'd come across her, and then--oh, I'd left the hall door open, of
course, and Aunt Kezia--oh, Denis, you'd think I'd committed something
much worse than a murder!"
"Show me the sketch."
"I did one of her--and then several bits--quite rough. I'm going to
paint her into that picture I was doing."
"It's splendid, Nell. What a cute little beast!"
"Now tell me what you've been let in for?"
"A speech! A lecture! Old Yovil has let us all in for it. You can't
say no to him somehow--he sort of works you up. Lancaster's swearing
like the wind round the Craffrone tower. He says he must have been out
of his mind to say he'd do it, but he can't go back now. It's to be on
the third. Choose any subject you like--write it up--no notes,
though--and spout forth in his drawing-room to a long-suffering
audience. There're six of us going in for it, and a ripping edition of
all the immortal Billy's plays for the winner."
"Which will be you," annotated Nell with conviction.
"Not it! There's one chap--Morley--poetical sort of ass, who wears his
hair too long--he'll beat me in a canter, my dear, not to mention the
others."
"I'll come and hear you, won't I, Denis?"
"Wish you could! But there won't be any ladies. Only us and Yovil, you
know."
After luncheon a maid came to ask if the Atom might go and have tea with
Stewart. Sheila Pat, her Pearl clasped beneath one arm, and a
spelling-book beneath the other, interviewed her in the hall.
"I'm not comin', thank you, Mary."