“I’m not surprised,” said Miss Voile in a shaking voice, “that Rachel
turned you down.”
“But she didn’t,” said Rage comfortably. “It was I who, er, withdrew.
What shall we do to-morrow?”
Cicely rose to her feet and smoothed down her dress.
“Why,” she said, “should we do anything?”
“Because we get on so well. You don’t want to be loved, because men mean
nothing to you. Well, I should think I’m one of the few men living who
could withstand successfully your physical and mental charms. Besides,
you find me convenient—very convenient. On the other hand, while I’ve
not the slightest desire to bear down any woman, most of the women I
know seem to expect to be overwhelmed. Of course I except my Aunt Ira.
She’s in a class of her own.”
“Is she so strong?” said Cicely.
“It’s not exactly strength. It’s sheer weight. She’s rather like lava.
Her personality submerges—flattens. After half an hour of her I’m all
over at the knees. Add to this that she’s a bigoted mid-Victorian, has
made a will in my favour and is enormously rich, when you’ll see that
our relations are delicate indeed. She’s very hot on what she calls
‘round’ dances and the decay of chaperonage.”
“She would like Biarritz, wouldn’t she?” said Miss Voile.
Her companion shuddered.
“The bare idea,” he said, “is bad for my heart. What were we saying? Oh,
I know. I was indicating the convenience of our future conjunction.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Cicely slowly. “Let’s get up early and go
up into the mountains.”
“What exactly,” said Rage, “do you mean by ‘early’? By the time I’m able
to differentiate between the bell and light switches which dangle over
my bed, and so obtain breakfast, it’s usually about eight.”
“Let’s leave at five, Toby.”
“Five!” screamed Toby. “Why, that’s B.C.—Before Cock-crow. You oughtn’t
to talk about such hours.”
“All right,” said Cicely. “I’ll get someone else to take me. I wonder if
Teddy Bligh would.”
“Firkin’s the man,” said Rage. “He’s mug enough for anything. You ask
Firkin.”
A dreamy look stole into Cicely’s eyes.
“The trouble is,” she said, “that either of them’ll make love.”
“Well, it would be asking for trouble, wouldn’t it, Cicely dear? Up at
dawn, and then hey! for the mountains in the half-light and a
two-seater. What?”
“Don’t you think,” said Miss Voile, “that, as I want to so much, it’d be
a friendly act if you were to step into the breach?”
“I think it’d be more than friendly,” said Rage. “Almost—almost
familiar.”
“Once you’re up,” said Cicely, “you feel most awfully fit.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Toby. “It’s a compelling phrase that, isn’t it?
‘Once you’re up.’”
Miss Voile began to laugh.
“I give in,” she said. “Fix your own time, Toby, and I’ll be there.”
Captain Rage pulled his moustache.
“My dear good child,” he said, “I don’t want to spoil your day. If it’ll
really amuse you to leave at five——”
“Oh, I should love it, Toby. I’ve always wanted to drive up into the
dawn. You see, with summer time it’ll be four really.”
“Yes, I—I’d thought of that,” said Toby.
“And we’ll have the roads to ourselves, and you can let her out
and—and—oh, it’ll be glorious.”
“So be it,” said Toby Rage. “Five B.C. to-morrow as ever is.”
“Oh, you darling!” cried Cicely.
“And listen,” continued Toby. “Quarter ’f an hour I’ll give you for the
sake of your pretty face. But at five-fifteen sharp I shall return to
bed.”
Cicely blew him a kiss.
“Ugh,” said Toby.
* * * * *
The blue landaulette rolled over the saddle of Sévignac and began to
descend slowly into the valley of Laruns.
“Pull the check-string,” said Mrs. Medallion. “I wish to admire the
view.”
Her companion put out her head and called on the driver to stop.