"Well, and what did you say?"
"I should tell you she went down on her knees. What should you have
said, eh, my boy? What could I say? They've got you when they put it
that way. Especially a woman like she is! I tell you she was simply
terrific. I tell you I wouldn't go through it again--not for
something."
Edwin responsively shook.
"I just threw up the sponge and came. I told Huskisson a thundering
lie, to save my face, and away I came, and I've been with her ever
since. Dashed if I haven't!"
"Who's Huskisson?"
"My partner. If anybody had told me beforehand that I should do such a
thing I should have laughed. Of course, if you look at it calmly, it's
preposterous. Preposterous--there's no other word--from my point of
view. But when they begin to put it the way she put it--well, you've
got to decide quick whether you'll be sensible and a brute, or whether
you'll sacrifice yourself and be a damned fool... What good am I here?
No more good than anybody else. Supposing there _is_ danger? Well, there
may be. But I've left twenty or thirty influenza cases at Ealing.
Every influenza case is dangerous, if it comes to that."
"Exactly," breathed Edwin.
"I wouldn't have done it for any other woman," Charlie recommenced.
"Not much!"
"Then why did you do it for her?"
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. "There's something about her... I
don't know--" He lifted his nostrils fastidiously and gazed at the fire.
"There's not many women knocking about like _her_... She gets hold of
you. She's nothing at all for about six months at a stretch, and then
she has one minute of the grand style... That's the sort of woman she
is. Understand? But I expect you don't know her as we do."
"Oh yes, I understand," said Edwin. "She must be tremendously fond of
the kid."
"You bet she is! Absolute passion. What sort is he?"
"Oh! He's all right. But I've never seen them together, and I never
thought she was so particularly keen on him."
"Don't you make any mistake," said Charlie loftily. "I believe women
often are like that about an only child when they've had a rough time.
And by the look of her she must have had a pretty rough time. I've
never made out why she married that swine, and I don't think anyone else
has either."
"Did you know him?" Edwin asked, with sudden eagerness.
"Not a bit. But I've sort of understood he was a regular outsider. Do
you know how long she's been a widow?"
"No," said Edwin. "I've barely seen her."
At these words he became so constrained, and so suspicious of the look
on his own face, that he rose abruptly and began to walk about the room.
"What's the matter?" demanded Charlie. "Got pins and needles?"
"Only fidgets," said Edwin.
"I hope this isn't one of your preliminaries for clearing out and
leaving me alone," Charlie complained. "Here--where's that glass of
yours? Have another cigarette."
There was a sound that seemed to resemble a tap on the door.
"What's that noise?" said Edwin, startled. The whole of his epidermis
tingled, and he stood still. They both listened.
The sound was repeated. Yes, it was a tap on the door; but in the
night, and in the repose of the house, it had the character of some
unearthly summons.
Edwin was near the door. He hesitated for an instant afraid, and then
with an effort brusquely opened the door and looked forth beyond the
shelter of the room. A woman's figure was disappearing down the passage
in the direction of the stairs. It was she.
"Did you--" he began. But Hilda had gone. Agitated, he said to
Charlie, his hand still on the knob: "It's Mrs Cannon. She just
knocked and ran off. I expect she wants you."
Charlie jumped up and scurried out of the room exactly like a boy,
despite his tall, mature figure of a man of thirty-five.