A TANGLED TRINITY
An observer might have imagined Dick possessed of a just grievance
against his tailor; it took him such a while to get into his coat. He
was doing so to the accompaniment of "Rule, Britannia," pursed-up lips
fashioning it. The difficulty with his coat was one of his own creation;
he was thoroughly enjoying the situation and prolonging it as long as
possible. The whistling served as a sort of slow music to his little
drama.
There was not even a whisper of Masters' leaving England. Indeed, it was
pretty certain that had he been going abroad, Dick would have been on
hand as his travelling companion. He was, as he termed it, rubbing it
in. Brothers are awful brutes at times.
"Dick! Dear Dick!"
She had come to him affectionately; had put her arms round his neck.
"Hold on there! Don't go slobbering on my front again; it is all limp
and wet now. I don't want to get inflammation of the lungs through
wearing a damp shirt! You are too liberal with your grief, Sis; keep
some of it for your handkerchief."
"I'm not crying. Dick--Dick--dear, dear old Dick." She was whispering in
his ear in an artful way that she had never known him able to resist.
"You know you would not like to make me miserable--your own loving
sister----"
He was grinning from ear to ear. The humour of the situation appealed to
him as he interrupted:
"None of your blarney; none of your soft sawder! What's the meaning of
this sudden overflowing, spring-up-in-a-moment affection? I was an
idiot, fool, stupid, a few minutes ago."
"Dear Dick!"
"Yes, that's all very well. But what is it? This sudden discovery of my
value means you want something."
She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered again. A very low
whisper; he only just caught it:
"Don't let him go, Dick."
"Let who go?"
She knew that to be an evasion; that he was wilfully misunderstanding
her. Just shook him and whispered earnestly:
"Please!"
Dick was magnanimous; he could afford to be. His deep-laid scheme had
proved successful.
"Well, I'll see what I can do. But what are you going to do about the
Chantrelles?"
A change came over her face; every scrap of softness seemed to fade out
of it. In a voice full of determination she said:
"The Chantrelles will leave here before the day is over!"
"Rule, Britannia" once more thrilled the air as the whistler caught his
sister in his arms.
"You're a brick, old girl." He kissed her. "Things will pan out all
right after all. Now, shall I stay and bear a hand, or would you rather
handle the precious couple all by yourself?"
There was a steely glitter in her eye--it boded ill for the absent
ones--as she answered vindictively:
"I think I can manage alone!"
"I think you can, old girl!... Do you know," he added with mock
severity, "when you look a little demon like that, I don't somehow fancy
trusting my friend into your keeping. One good turn----; you know the
rest. I believe I should be carrying that out by preventing his marrying
you."
"He hasn't asked me yet!"
She spoke saucily with sparkling eyes; yet with a rosy blush on her
face.
"That's true; perhaps he won't! There's hope for the poor beggar after
all! He came all the way from the Mediterranean framing words how he
should ask you to marry him, and he had a narrow escape on the dinner
party night. Perhaps you killed him then by your nice behaviour; killed
any desire he might have had to marry you." Then he added maliciously:
"Let's hope so, for his sake."
"Dick! You are a perfect horror!"
"It was 'Dear Dick' a minute ago! But there--you're as uncertain as the
weather."
The shot went home; told in the flushed, shamefaced look; Dick inquired:
"What are you going to say to the Chantrelles?"
"That is my business. They will travel up by the afternoon train. Your
business is to go to Prince Charlie, and see that he comes here to-night
to dinner."
He sobered down in a moment at that; answered seriously:
"No, old girl, that is out of the question. Nothing I could say would
induce him to that. He simply hates the Chantrelles."
"I have told you--they won't be here."
"Even the knowledge of their absence wouldn't make him come to your
house, after the way in which you behaved to him last time."
"All the same," she said defiantly, "a place shall be set for him at
table."
"Look here, old girl, I'm willing to help you, but don't make a pocket
idiot of yourself. I tell you nothing I could say would induce him
to----"
"Well, you can get him to go for a walk, I suppose, can't you?"
"You know we always go for a walk late every afternoon--weather
permitting or otherwise."
"Very well; this afternoon walk eastwards. You know the seat at the end
of the Parade?"
"You mean, that one by the wall, which Gracie calls Our Seat?"
"Yes. Make your way there; walk to that, sit down and wait--till I
come."
It dawned on him then: her intent. Admiration of her diplomacy found
vent in the strains of "Rule, Britannia."
"Don't say anything, Dick. Promise me that. Not a word to Prince Charlie
about--about--anything."
"But when you turn up at the seat, what am I to do? I suppose it will be
a case of two's company, three's none?"
"Oh, you can go and pick shells and seaweed on the beach!"
"What! In the dark? Is thy brother a dog that he should do these things?
I'll find my way back by myself. You think he'll see you home?"
"You can rely on it he will."
Mrs. Seton-Carr had confidence in herself. Perhaps it was as well; few
things are won without that.
"All right. We shall be there about five o'clock."
"So shall I."
"Right.... There are the Chantrelles coming up the road; I'll clear out
the back way. If they are going, I'd rather be spared saying farewells.
I might introduce some choice expressions of my opinion of them."
"Leave that to me!"
Mabel spoke with bitter sweetness. One glance at her face convinced Dick
that he could do so with safety.
"Right!"
He disappeared through the back as the Chantrelles entered by the front
door. Mrs. Seton-Carr was waiting for them. She smiled pleasantly, iced
pleasantry, and invited them into the drawing-room. Seated, she faced
them. There, wasted no time in preliminaries; struck out:
"There is something I want to clear up, Mr. Chantrelle."
She fixed that gentleman with her eyes. On her face was a pleasant
smile; it never faded once during the interview.
"Yes?"
"About Mr. Masters," she continued. "There has been something
unpleasant--so far as he is concerned--said of the voyage home you all
made from the Mediterranean. Did you ever see him attempt to make love
to your sister?"
"Great Scott! No. He seemed to like her about as little as Amy liked
him."
From the corner of her eye, Mrs. Seton-Carr could see that her dear
friend Amy had grown very white--Amy had a quicker brain than had her
brother--but she never lost her hold on Percy's face; went on:
"Did he bear the reputation of a lady-killer? Of making love to every
woman on board?"
"My dear Mrs. Carr!" Percy laughed heartily as he replied, "I never saw
him talk to a woman! He had the reputation on board of being a
woman-hater. He was a perfect bear!"
Amy glanced at her brother reproachfully, meaningly--too late. Besides,
he was looking at his hostess and not at her; her telegraphic
communication was without effect. It was a pity, a thousand pities, from
Amy's point of view. She had to sit quiet and listen.
"Thanks so much," Mrs. Seton-Carr was saying sweetly. "You see, I was
told all that, and it was not a pleasant thing to be told. You must
understand that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Masters shortly--but I
think you knew that?"
Percy's face fell; all the merriment dropped out of it. A moment's
silence ensued; not what could fairly be labelled a dull moment. Then
Percy broke it; said slowly:
"No; I had not the slightest idea of such a thing."
"Is that possible? Surely your sister told you! She says in this letter
that when you heard of my forthcoming marriage to Mr. Masters you grew
white. Although why," she laughed, "you should grow white, I cannot
conceive. Our pleasant intercourse has always been quite platonic,
hasn't it? That was its charm; one has so few friends. You know that?"
"I--yes. Now I know it."
"I am sorry to say it, Mr. Chantrelle, to you; you always have behaved
as a gentleman to me; but this letter," she held it out to him, "written
by your sister whilst on the boat, is a tissue of lies from beginning to
end. The work of a woman absolutely unfitted--in my opinion--for decent
society!"
Brother and sister were on their feet in a moment. The atmosphere seemed
red-hot to them. They had had unpleasant moments in their somewhat
adventurous career, but this was the worst. Their hostess's words were
as the lashes of a whip.
Chantrelle muttered something about breaking the laws of hospitality; a
weak effort to stand up for his sister. It failed half-way. Then he
abandoned her to her fate.
"Take me away, Percy," his sister gasped. "I will not stay to be further
insulted."
"Miss Chantrelle has forestalled me." Mrs. Seton-Carr still spoke
quietly, still retained her seat. "That is precisely what I was about to
ask you to do, Mr. Chantrelle. One can lock up from a thief, but a
liar--a deliberate, scheming, unscrupulous liar--there is no guarding
against. Your sister, by her trickery, came near separating me from the
man who loves me, the man I love. I should not forgive it in fifty
lifetimes."
Miss Chantrelle made an effort to speak. Her lips moved, but for once in
her life she was unable to fashion words. She was a woman who trusted to
a well-oiled tongue for squeezing out of the tightest places. It failed
her now; the effort ended in a gasp.
"Go and pack your things, Amy."
Her brother spoke sternly. The white-faced woman almost staggered out of
the room without a word. She was terribly upset; none of us like to be
found out in our little lapses.
"Read the letter, Mr. Chantrelle; I request you to. It will convince you
that I am not more than necessarily bitter----"
"There is no need. Your word is sufficient."
Mr. Chantrelle bowed; had changed his tactics and was making the best of
his position. His sister had led him into this; he would stand by her up
to a point, but at the same time he would do what he could to save his
own skin. There was no sense in needless sacrifice.
"I know you well enough, know you could only behave as you are doing
with good reason," he continued. "I am heartily sorry. Amy is my sister;
I am bound to remember that whatever she has done." He held out his
hand. "Good-bye. I can only ask you to acquit me personally of any--but
there; explanations are perhaps better left alone. Good-bye--it will be
well for us not to meet again."
A note of feeling vibrated in his voice. A mere listener to the actual
words would have detected no false ring in them. Would, perhaps, have
admired him for the staunchness he exhibited towards his misguided
sister.
But his hostess stood face to face with him, and she saw that in his
eye--lack of sincerity--which discounted the ingenuousness of his
speech. Still Mrs. Seton-Carr agreed with it--in substance.
"Good-bye. Yes, it is certainly better so.... My maid shall go across to
the station for a porter and truck. They will be here by the time you
have packed."
They were. The Chantrelles left. Journeyed to London by the train Dick
had mentioned; the most crestfallen couple travelling in it.
It was the last of them.