THE MEETING
The new arrival in Charles Street soon discovered that he had by no
means bettered his position, on the contrary, appeared to have gone out
of the frying-pan, into the fire! Four years had wrought surprising
changes in the ménage: Lord Torquilstone had become "more so," as
Mayne mentally expressed it; his moustache was blacker, his coat more
padded, his temper more irascible, than formerly. He belonged to a type
of club man happily becoming extinct,--loud, aggressive in argument,
quarrelsome, gouty, and greedy. He and her ladyship did not now hit
it off,--and saw as little of one another as their mutual ingenuity
could contrive. She, never appeared before one o'clock; he, lunched,
and frequently dined, at his club,--unless they happened to have a
few guests, or were engaged to present themselves, at some particular
function.
Mayne noticed a woeful alteration in his mother; she looked faded, and
worn, there were deep lines about her mouth, her voice was querulous,
and her attitude the pose of one enduring "the bitter winter of her
discontent!" In her cold, unemotional way, she was glad to welcome
Derek, a handsome, creditable fellow and like his father; but in
character much stronger, and more self-assertive.
He seemed to be thoroughly capable of shaping his own life, had
excellent manners, plenty to say for himself, and judging by the number
of his letters, with regimental, and other crests, was claimed by hosts
of friends! In honour of his return, Lord Torquilstone dined at home,
and abused the dinner; and he and his wife passed the young man under
the harrow of a searching examination, with respect to his life, during
the last four years. Mayne found it useless to protest, "But Mater, you
had my letters."
"Yes, my dear boy,--they were rather dull. Not your fault I know, I
always hated India,--the deadly paradise of the middle class. It's just
what was _not_ in your letters, that I want to hear about."
"Oh well, if you mean manœuvres, camps of exercise----"
"Don't be so silly," she interrupted impatiently.
"Your mother wants to hear about those lively grass widows up in
Simla," broke in his lordship; "come now, own up!" and he chuckled
diabolically.
"I have nothing to own. Never had any use for the frisky matron, at
home, or abroad."
"Oh, Derek," protested his mother, "what about Josie Speyde?"
"Yes, what about _her_?" leaning back, with his hands in his pockets.
"You were one of her boys, I know!"
"She taught me to dance,--I'll say that for her."
"She taught you to flirt too."
"Don't expect the fellow wanted much teaching!" broke in Lord
Torquilstone. "Any nice little girls out in India?"
"Oh yes, lots."
"I hope you didn't leave your heart, behind, Derek? I warn you that as
daughter-in-law, I refuse to receive an Indian spin."
"Oh, there's no fear of that," replied Derek, lighting a cigarette, and
tossing the match into the fireplace.
"I suppose you know your uncle is very anxious that you should marry."
"I suppose I do know! I suppose he has it on the brain, I've heard of
nothing else,--he has driven me to the verge of idiocy."
"You were twenty-nine last April; time to be looking about, Derek. I
know some charming girls; I do hope you will let _me_ have a say?"
"Oh, my dear mother, you are welcome to as many says as you like, but I
haven't the smallest intention of marrying."
"That's the way you young fellows talk," declared Lord Torquilstone,
setting down an empty glass, "and then before you know where you are,
you're _caught_," and he glanced at his wife with deadly significance.
"I'd like to see the girl, who could put salt on my tail," rejoined his
stepson with extravagant confidence.
"Well now, Mater," glancing at his watch and rising as he spoke, "if
you'll excuse me, I'm going out."
"Going out!" she repeated blankly, "_where_ are you going?"
"To look on at a boxing match; I have promised to join a couple of
fellows at the Sports Club."
"A boxing match, how horrible--disgusting!"
"Well, I admit that it's not exactly a pretty sight sometimes; but I
like to see an active muscular fellow, that knows how to use his fists;
I do a little in that line myself. I won't be in till all hours,--so
I'll take a latch-key."
Before her ladyship could offer any further objection, he had kissed
her on her powdered cheek, nodded to his stepfather, and departed.
"Quite his own master!" remarked his mother, as she heard the whistle
for a taxi, "and I had promised to take him to the Rutherfords' 'at
home!' Last night he was at the Opera,--it's almost impossible to get
hold of him."
"You'll find some young woman will get hold of him," snarled Lord
Torquilstone. "I hope she'll be, er! er! respectable. It's just those
young fellows home on leave--that the worst of women pounce on."
Upon this subject, arose an immediate argument, Lady Torquilstone
declaring, that "no man with good blood in his veins, would be likely
to marry out of his class." Her husband held the opposite view, and
backed his opinion, with an imposing string of names. The argument
waxed louder, and presently developed into a personal quarrel, and
(unmindful of the grey parrot's warning cry, of "Hullo! Hullo! Police!
Police!") they continued exchanging nasty thrusts, until a footman
brought in the ten o'clock post, and her ladyship having collected her
letters, left the smoking-room, fortified with the consciousness, that
the last word, had been _hers_.
* * * * *
It was the day of a very "Big" race at Sandown, the weather was
perfection, and half society, and all the racing world poured out of
London in a long succession of specials.
Captain Mayne and a brother officer, had secured the last two seats
in a smoking carriage; the train was just about to start, when the
door was wrenched open, and a tall young man, leapt in, and hauled a
girl after him. A stout individual by the window, rose, and offered
the lady his place, and he and her companion, stood,--blocking up
the compartment. "By Jove, that was a near squeak," exclaimed the
young man, breathless, but triumphant. Mayne recognized him as an
acquaintance--the Honourable Tony Lamerton.
"Yes!" panted his companion, "what a race! I wonder what has become of
the others?"
"Left behind, I'll bet. I'll swear her ladyship could never leg it down
the platform, as you did!"
"Then pray, what am I to do for a chaperon?" and the girl laughed.
There was something in the voice and laugh, that sounded oddly familiar
to Mayne, and suddenly leaning forward, he looked round the substantial
figure, which was planted directly in front of him. The first glance,
gave an impression of a remarkably pretty girl; then with a shock, it
dawned upon him, that the pretty girl was _Nancy_! A Nancy altered
almost beyond recognition: beauty the crown of her youth!
It seemed to Mayne that nothing remained of the original flapper,
but her merry blue eyes, and sweet, high-pitched voice. Her face was
rounded, her complexion--if real,--was dazzling. She was dressed with
surpassing elegance, in a gauzy white gown, touched with green; a large
hat wreathed with green feathers, half concealed masses of reddish
brown hair, a string of splendid pearls encircled her throat, and in
her little white gloved hand, she held a gold bag, and a card of the
races. Undoubtedly her aunt was a woman of wealth, and did not spare it
upon her niece.
The niece was so engaged in laughing and chattering with Tony Lamerton,
that Mayne had ample time to collect his wits, and make a prolonged and
critical inspection. Nancy carried herself, with an air of graceful
confidence, and the manner of one who was aware of her own value; and
yet the face wore the same eager, almost childish expression; and a
look of innocent mockery danced in the eyes that were raised to Tony
Lamerton. Here was a beauty! an assured, and fashionable young woman;
she and Tony appeared to be on the best of terms, and he noticed that
the Guardsman's attention, was entirely absorbed by his lovely charge.
As the train cleared the suburbs, a clear young voice, said, "How
dreadfully hot it is!! may we not have the other window down?" and as
the stout gentleman instantly moved to obey her request, Nancy became
suddenly aware of Derek Mayne! He was seated in the far corner, and
hitherto concealed behind a bulky screen.
His grave dark eyes, encountered her startled glance, with the most
penetrating composure. Yes, it certainly _was_ Captain Mayne,--but
little changed, beyond the transformation effected by London clothes,
a tall hat and a buttonhole. How different to the rough Shikari garb,
in which she had been accustomed to see him! When their eyes met in
recognition, Nancy was sensible of an overwhelming shock; she gave
little outward sign, beyond a quick indrawing of her breath, but her
heart had made such a violent plunge, that it seemed about to leap out
of her mouth!
Here within three yards of her, was the last man in the world, she
expected, or wished to see. A man, she had almost succeeded in turning
out of her mind, and to whom for weeks she never cast a thought. The
discovery left her nerveless; every morsel of colour deserted her face
and lips. The last time they met, was when they had stood beside her
father's grave: that was exactly two years and four months ago, and
although she had instantly averted her eyes, he was still before them;
vividly different to her somewhat faded mental picture--that of a
worried restless young man, smoking endless cigarettes, as he paced the
terrace at Fairplains.
During this little scene, Tony and the stout gentleman had taken it
in turn to struggle with an obstinate window sash, and as the former
turned about, his eyes fell upon an old acquaintance. In a voice of
hearty welcome, he exclaimed,
"Hullo! Mayne, when did you get back?"
"Three weeks ago."
"And never came near us,--how is that?"
"I've been down at Maynesfort."
"Oh yes, to see the old man! Getting on all right, isn't he? and now
you're doing a bit of town, eh?--What are you backing for the big race?"
As Mayne discussed the favourites and weights, he noticed that Nancy
had recovered her composure and colour; her self-possession was
marvellous; but then he was not aware, that she had been through a
rigorous training in a stern school, and had learnt to successfully
repress her feelings and emotions. For the moment, she appeared to be
engrossed in the study of her race card; but unless Mayne was greatly
mistaken, it was not altogether the oscillation of the express, which
caused that pretty little hand, to shake quite perceptibly!