“Here you are,” she said quietly, passing the writing-pad.
Toby stared at the letter as at a death-warrant.
_MY DEAR AUNT IRA,_
_This is just a line to thank you very much for all your
kindness yesterday and to say how much I am looking forward to
seeing you here on Thursday. I quite expect it will be fine, for
the weather seems settled now, and I think you will enjoy the
run. It is impossible to mistake the road, which runs through
some lovely country as well as that charming and historical old
town, Bayonne. I shall expect you about half-past one, and shall
be at the entrance to the hotel from one on in case you are
before time._
_I have no news except that Miss Voile and I have broken off our
engagement, as we do not think we should get on together._
_Always your affectionate nephew,_
_TOBY._
P.S.—There is another road by Bidache, but I should not come by
that because it is longer and not so easy to follow.
“You see,” explained Cicely, “the two outstanding characteristics of
Mrs. Medallion are, first of all, her contrariness, and, secondly, her
conviction that all men are fools. Well, I’ve given her a glorious
opportunity of indulging the former, and I’ve supported the latter by a
piece of documentary evidence of which she will talk for years. In fact,
I should think she’d have it framed. After this, she’d rather die than
come to Biarritz. The bare idea of your waiting for hours at the
entrance to the hotel, not daring to go away in case she arrives, will
give her a better appetite for lunch than any Hula Hula that ever was
shaken.”
Captain Rage lifted his eyes to heaven.
“Trust a woman,” he said, “to put it across a woman. Of course, I take
off my hat. It’s a work of art. That postscript alone. . . .”
He ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it very carefully, and, after
staring upon it, took out a cigarette-case and bestowed the paper
inside.
“Well, that’s that,” said Cicely, getting upon her feet.
“Here,” said Toby. “You’re—you’re not thinkin’ of going, are you?”
“Why not?” said Cicely calmly. “We came here to fix up that letter, and
now it’s fixed.”
Toby swallowed.
“I know,” he said. “But it seems a pity to rush off. I—I rather like
this spot. Look at the sea over there, all—all glassy. Reminds me of
some hymn.”
By a superhuman effort Miss Voile maintained her gravity.
“I’ve got to get back,” she said.
“Oh, not yet,” said Toby. “Not yet. Besides, I—I’ve—I wanted to tell
you about Rachel.”
Miss Voile appeared to hesitate.
Then she sat down.
“What about Rachel?” she said.
“Well, I—I made up Rachel,” said Toby. “You know. Invented the nymph.”
He stared uneasily upon his finger-nails. “God knows why. I think I had
some idea of makin’ you think I was an old campaigner, with a trick or
two up his sleeve.” He hesitated. “Well, I’d like you to know I’m not.
I’ve danced attendance once or twice—most men have—and been properly
stung for my pains. But that’s as far as it’s gone. I’ve—I’ve never
been engaged—before.”
“I’m glad you told me,” said Cicely. She turned a glowing face. “I knew
it, of course.” Toby started. “All along. But I’m glad you told me.”
There was a long silence.