The composition of the letter to Wivernsea needed all the powers Miss Chantrelle could bring to bear upon it. They were in no way of a mean order.
She did not, however, grudge time or labour; the expenditure was in a good cause: Percy had been on the matrimonial stocks too long; his was the kind of beauty which age withered rather than ripened.
A little sigh of content escaped her when, at last, she had finished writing. Leaning back in her chair, the end of the penholder between her lips, she read:
My Dearest Mab,—Isn'tit a tiny little world? Just fancy—my brother and I are coming back to England on the same boat your brother is travelling by! Dear old Dick! He looks so strong and well; better I think than I haveeverseen him look. With him is Mr. Masters—oh, of course, I ought tocongratulate you, oughtn't I?—but I will leave that till I see you. It is a good job you are not of a jealous disposition, Mab, or I am afraid there would be a rough time ahead for you: Mr. Masters is such adreadfulflirt! He has been most popular with all the ladies on board, and madeviolentlove to me within twenty-four hours of meeting me! He did not succeed inmycase, though (not because of you, my darling Mab, because I had not heard of your engagement to him then) but I do not like a man who makes love to every woman he meets; whom you run across in odd parts of the boat engrossed in conversation with some pretty girl, generallya different one each time. But there, I must not say anything against him, or you will never forgive me. Besides, if you don't mind it, what does it matter? Of course, there's no real harm in what he does—don't think I want to insinuate that, it is the last thing I mean—as the girls must know he is only flirting; perhaps his heart is with you all the time. How beautiful it must be to have such faith as yours—I am afraid I'm not gifted that way. You must beveryfond of him if all he says is true: that you dote on the ground he walks on, etc., etc., etc. Asked if the marriage day had been fixed, he replied that that only rested with himself! Fancy that;Aren'tthe men growing dreadfully cheeky? Your brother has asked us to come down to Wivernsea for Christmas. Ineversaw a man grow so awfully white as Percy did when he heard of your forthcoming marriage to Mr. Masters. Till then I had had no idea that he—but there, that would be telling tales out of school. We are coming to spend Christmas,unless, dear Mabel, you would rather we did not. If for that orany reasonyou would rather we did not come just now,wireto us, care of Charing Cross cloak room, when you get this.We shall quite understandthat it is not convenient just now. You know what a dear, impulsive boy Dick is; heabsolutely insistson our coming; says you will bereallypleased to see us. I do hope so, darling. I have a recollection of many,manyhappy days spent with you.Withallmy love,Believe me,dearestMabel,Yourever truefriend,Amy.
My Dearest Mab,—Isn'tit a tiny little world? Just fancy—my brother and I are coming back to England on the same boat your brother is travelling by! Dear old Dick! He looks so strong and well; better I think than I haveeverseen him look. With him is Mr. Masters—oh, of course, I ought tocongratulate you, oughtn't I?—but I will leave that till I see you. It is a good job you are not of a jealous disposition, Mab, or I am afraid there would be a rough time ahead for you: Mr. Masters is such adreadfulflirt! He has been most popular with all the ladies on board, and madeviolentlove to me within twenty-four hours of meeting me! He did not succeed inmycase, though (not because of you, my darling Mab, because I had not heard of your engagement to him then) but I do not like a man who makes love to every woman he meets; whom you run across in odd parts of the boat engrossed in conversation with some pretty girl, generallya different one each time. But there, I must not say anything against him, or you will never forgive me. Besides, if you don't mind it, what does it matter? Of course, there's no real harm in what he does—don't think I want to insinuate that, it is the last thing I mean—as the girls must know he is only flirting; perhaps his heart is with you all the time. How beautiful it must be to have such faith as yours—I am afraid I'm not gifted that way. You must beveryfond of him if all he says is true: that you dote on the ground he walks on, etc., etc., etc. Asked if the marriage day had been fixed, he replied that that only rested with himself! Fancy that;Aren'tthe men growing dreadfully cheeky? Your brother has asked us to come down to Wivernsea for Christmas. Ineversaw a man grow so awfully white as Percy did when he heard of your forthcoming marriage to Mr. Masters. Till then I had had no idea that he—but there, that would be telling tales out of school. We are coming to spend Christmas,unless, dear Mabel, you would rather we did not. If for that orany reasonyou would rather we did not come just now,wireto us, care of Charing Cross cloak room, when you get this.We shall quite understandthat it is not convenient just now. You know what a dear, impulsive boy Dick is; heabsolutely insistson our coming; says you will bereallypleased to see us. I do hope so, darling. I have a recollection of many,manyhappy days spent with you.
Withallmy love,Believe me,dearestMabel,Yourever truefriend,Amy.
Withallmy love,Believe me,dearestMabel,Yourever truefriend,Amy.
As she folded the letter and directed its envelope she muttered:
"I think this puts a spoke in Prince Charlie's wheel! If I know anything of Mabel's pride, this won't ensure open arms and the warmest of welcomes for him."
She hesitated a moment, then laughed; continued:
"There is no scrap of fear of my letter ever being produced. Her pride would not allow her to do that, and she overruns with it."
Amy Chantrelle was a clever woman; that fact has been recorded. In addition to knowing what to say and how to say it, she correctly foresaw just the effect it would produce. Her study of womankind was a very close one.
The letter sent to Wivernsea carried all its intended evil. The descent of a bombshell could not have had a more disturbing effect. After perusal of it, Mrs. Seton-Carr was simply furious. Amy had not relied on the widow's pride in vain. Moreover, her belief in the proverb was justified: throw enough mud, some of it sticks.
The letter was read over and over again. Each time an effort was made to disbelieve its contents, each time the bad impression became deeper: that there is no smoke without fire.
Laughter would have resulted at the impertinence of Masters' conduct, as detailed in the letter, if she had not cared for the man. That was the weak point.
Not a day passed without her thoughts being full of him. The letter came as ablow; a blow of the severely hurting sort. Wounded pride is hard of healing: there is generally some poison in the wound; it is apt to spread too, and endanger the hurt.
By the same mail which brought the Chantrelle episode she received a letter from her brother Dick. It told her that he was coming down to Wivernsea to spend his Christmas; that Prince Charlie was coming too.
Apart from the pleasure of receiving a letter from him written with an unshaking hand and the natural joy she felt at his buoyant style of writing, what he said was a big annoyance to her.
His letter exuded praise of Masters in every sentence. It was easy to read between the lines that he looked upon himself as that gentleman's future brother-in-law. This to Mrs. Seton-Carr could only fit as a confirmation of her friend Amy's letter.
Pride and a readily aroused temper usually battle together with conspicuous success. Mabel worked herself up to such a pitch of excitement that she positively cried. To think that this man—she knew in her heart of hearts that she loved him—should have the effrontery to talk of her so!
Was it to be nothing but insult from him? Could she not—was it not possible to—payhim back somehow? What had she done that he should single her out for annoyance? Whatever it might be, when was she to feel herself free from his cowardly attacks?
If only he were open about the matter; but he was not. Then came remembrance of the time of Gracie's convalescence; how he had ever treated her with uniform courtesy. She remembered, and sighed. The crown of sorrow is the remembrance of happier days.
The inaudible feet of Time continued their never-ending progress. It was not a period in which Mrs. Seton-Carr was at ease; the amount of patience in which she possessed her soul could have been easily balanced on a needle point.
The steamer bringing the quartette reached England. The four passengers kept together; travelled down to Wivernsea in the same carriage. Reached it early in Christmas week.
Dick's reluctance to allow Masters to go to his old lodgings was manifest. There were many spare rooms at Ivy Cottage, he said, so why not go there? In his opinion it was simply idiotic to pig in at digs. But Masters had ideas of his own; at that moment they did not fit in with his friend's.
The Chantrelles went on with Dick toIvy Cottage. It was arranged that Masters should turn up there in the evening in time for dinner.
He had been a trifle reluctant to accept that invitation at Dick's hand, but did so. He could have kicked himself, later, for doing so. As for Dick, the nearer they drew to the point where separation must come, the more full of admiration and real affection he became. He rested uneasily whenever his friend was out of his sight.
Masters impatiently ticked off the hours till the arrival of dinner-time. He wanted so to see the woman he loved. Wanted a quiet ten minutes, that he might pour out his heart to her. He was willing to ask her forgiveness on his knees—had she not knelt to him? Had a heart-aching, a tongue-itching, to tell her that she was the one woman in the world for him.
Things are not always disposed as man proposes; he did not tell her that. The quiet ten minutes did not come. When he entered Ivy Cottage before dinner it was with a light heart, the happiest man in Wivernsea. He left it after, with a heart of lead, the most miserable of men.
Beneath the surface, the dinner party was not a success; yet it cannot be said to have flagged. Almost every one was ingood spirits, in too good spirits, apparently, to trouble about the quiet man who sat next to Dick.
Dick was thunderstruck at his friend's reticence. Thought at first that he must be, ridiculous as it seemed, suffering from shyness. Mrs. Seton-Carr thought she was getting a little of her own back! She got more; more than all.
Common decency prevented her cutting Masters dead. But, as nearly as was consistent with common politeness, that was what happened. As fuel to fire was the open and violent flirtation of the hostess with Percy Chantrelle.
Exultant as she was of her success, flushed as was her cheek with triumph—she knew Masters was smarting—she feared that she almost overdid it. But the pulsations of Percy's heart were accelerated; beat fast with hope: so did his sister's.
It was impossible to avoid seeing Mrs. Seton-Carr's flushed excitement. Masters noted too the soft glances she shot across the table Percy Chantrelle's way; noticed them with a feeling at his heart which was more than painful.
The author was in possession of more than his usual keenness. Perhaps it out-balanced his power of cool observation. Anyway, hesaw not beneath the surface. The soundness of his deductions suffered by reason thereof.
They were happy enough, the brother and sister; the only real happiness there was around the table. Mabel was playing a part: playing it well; wore her mask with success. Her laugh rang out merrily at each of Chantrelle's jokes. But just as full as her face and voice were of mirth, so was her heart full of ache and pain.
Mrs. Seton-Carr would have given worlds just then to be able to rise from her table; she needed so greatly to go to her room for a good cry. But a Lucifer-like pride upheld her. Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone. She knew that.
The men did not remain long in union after the retirement of the ladies. To two-thirds of the trinity the cigars seemed flavourless. As a matter of fact, their respective elements lacked the power of combination.
The third factor, Chantrelle, was happy enough; triumph made him so. But there was no infection in his merriment. As a smoking-room raconteur he was usually a big success. But to-night his best stories fizzled out to lame and impotent conclusions.
The laugh of approval was conspicuously absent.
The men left the smoke-room; there was no calumet of peace there. All Percy's efforts to be entertaining ended in—perhaps appropriately—smoke. They joined the ladies, to find harmony and concord; music was under way.
Masters was full of thought; deep misery kind. Whatever charm music may have to soothe a savage breast, it had none for him. He was ever a failure at social functions: was conspicuously so to-night; detested them, in fact, with a whole-souled detestation.
As to Dick, the gloom which had fallen on him during dinner seemed too thick for penetration. Merry Dick belied his nickname; had no more merriment in him than has a mute at a funeral.
In the drawing-room Masters was as miserable as he had been in the dining and smokerooms.Turned over photographs; sought in vain for something to make him look less of a fool than he felt. At last came to the end of his endurance tether; under a plea of some work he had to post to a publisher by the early morning's mail, hastily excused himself.
"It's a glorious night, old chap." Dick, speaking hoarsely, and getting into his great-coat. "I'll walk home with you. We will smoke a cigar together."
Masters said good-night; shook hands. Noticed the burning heat of Mrs. Seton-Carr's, as for a moment her hand rested in his—but did not accord the true reason for it. She was even laughing with Chantrelle at the very moment she said good-night; was a natural actress: a woman.
"How quiet Mr. Masters is." The cat purring: Amy speaking, as the door closed. "But I suppose, socially, authors are as dull as ditch water. Keep all their clever thoughts for their books. It is selfish of them in the extreme."
Amy laughed gaily; continued in that strain. Laughter is the allotment of those who win; the Chantrelles felt justified in the belief that they were in no way losing.
Mrs. Seton-Carr professed accord in the opinion of Masters' dulness; the sea voyagehad not improved him. Society was not the thing he shone in; in fact, she had found him rather depressing; was glad he left so early. Lies! Lies—each and every one of the opinions she expressed.
The two men who had left the bungalow walked along the Parade for a time without speaking. Each was full of emotion. Dick's found vent first; he blurted out:
"I'm—I'm awfully sorry, old man!"
There was a faint tinge of nervousness in Masters' responding laugh; he was not a man to assimilate pity very well, even his best friends'. Throwing away the cigar, which had gone out, he lighted his pipe; the match betrayed a shaking hand.
"Thanks.... Cloudless night; looks like being a fine day to-morrow, doesn't it?"
The effort to change the subject proved futile; Dick spoke impulsively:
"Hang the weather!... You don't think I knew anything of this, dear old chap——"
"No! No!"
"—or you know I should have——"
"Yes, yes. I know."
"Mab has always professed to positively loathe Percy; tolerated him because she liked his sister. He is a bit of a bounder, you know."
"Your sister does not seem to share in that opinion of yours."
He could not quite keep the bitterness out of the way in which he said that.
"No!"
The brother admitted it; spoke just as bitterly. When they reached his lodgings Masters said:
"Come round, will you?"
"You—you won't come on to the cottage to——"
"Oh, no! No!"
"No. I didn't expect you would. I had counted on things being so different! Counted on a merry Christmas."
Dick laughed as he said, thought of, a merry Christmas: the unpleasant, ironic laugh of a disappointed man. Just then he was as full of disappointment as he could well hold.
"I had gone in for a certain amount of accountancy too."
Masters made the response with a little catch in his voice, which the assumed laugh could not disguise. He had stopped and was standing with his hand on Dick's shoulder.
"Do you remember that last time I held you like this, dear boy? I was so full of joy then, so blinded by it, to what I was doing, that you accused me of squeezingyou to hurting point." A sigh punctuated his speech. "I don't feel like hurting you now."
"Squeeze the life out of me, if it will be any relief to your feelings." Dick spoke gruffly. "It's your life. I shouldn't be living at all if it were not for you."
He was a good boy was Dick, with a heart in him; a heart in the right place. It grieved him to see even the suspicion of a tear in the eye of the friend he loved so well.
His own brown eyes looked into the author's with silent, dog-like fidelity and sympathy. Masters was not insensible to it. It was an eloquent silence; expressed far more to him than words could have done.
"I made a mistake, Dick; that's all. I suppose all of us do; the world seems so full of them.... And let this be the last of it, dear old man, will you? Don't recur to it ever again; please. The sore is fresh, and—and—I don't mind owning to you, it hurts. Please don't let us talk about it—ever again—please."
Dick grasped the hand extended to him; held it in a long, tight grip. Put his other hand on his companion's shoulder, and was about to speak. Then felt that speech would be a failure; simply said gruffly:
"I'll see you in the morning, old man; I'll walk round. Good-night."
Not another word passed between them; a tight hand-grip and they parted. Masters to his rooms, Dick homeward bound—a journey he made with the blood coursing through his veins at boiling point. He had more than a little of his sister's temper.
Dick was simply furious at the manner in which Mabel had treated Masters. He dared not trust himself to more talk that night. Just looked into the drawing-room at the bungalow, professed weariness, said a hurried good-night and retired to his room.
In the morning, Gracie offered strong evidence that she had a tongue in her head; was full of the return of Prince Charlie. She had heard of his arrival with delight; was running over with anxiety to see him. Instinctively she felt that Uncle Dick was the ways and means. When she heard that he was going to call on Masters that morning, she emulated the limpet; he could not have shaken her off had he tried.
"Get your things on, Puss," said Dick, as the breakfast things were being cleared away, "and I'll take you round to see him."
Miss Chantrelle professed the most acute astonishment. Not so much by what she said, but the way she acted. Wasn't Mr.Masters coming in to lunch?... Nor to dinner? Not at all that day?... Those carefully combed eyebrows of hers almost disappeared under her fringe—she was so surprised!
Gracie had scampered off and returned in full war-paint: best hat, best shoes, best coat and, crowning glory, new muff! She did hope Prince Charlie would notice it and ask her all about it. But if he did not, she could tell him. That is one of the advantages of being very young.
When Gracie and Dick had gone out, Miss Chantrelle improved the opportunity with her hostess. Nearly drove that lady to the brink of madness by her anxiety to know if they had quarrelled; what it meant; why he wasn't coming, etc.
Mabel did not know; really, the matter was of little interest to her. His presence made very little difference; she wondered Amy could bother about him.
That was what she was able to bring herself to say. But the effort was a big one; she was not a conspicuous success in lies of the top-notch kind.
Matters continued in this way. Things are not always what they seem; it was by no means a pleasant little party at Ivy Cottage. When at home—which was a veryrare thing, for he spent most of his time at Masters' lodgings—Dick was sulky to the extreme of sullenness.
Affairs wore a different complexion a little later. When the rosy finger heralded the dawn of the day before Christmas, it was the precursor of brightness of another kind. Two incidents happened which changed the current of things.
Miss Chantrelle had the watchful, veiled eyes of the domestic cat. On the principle of striking the iron whilst hot, she urged her brother to propose marriage to their hostess forthwith. Thought that delays were dangerous.
She took him out for a walk to discuss the pros and cons of the proposal. Was a wise little woman, and a firm believer in the theory that walls have ears. Knowing what she knew, she mapped out the route her brother was to travel in his journey to Mrs. Seton-Carr's heart.
But there is such a thing as being too clever: so sharp that one cuts oneself. The average brain has a direct way of working; sees no by-paths, so wastes no time on them; goes straight to the point.
Amy's cleverness led to her undoing.
The coast being clear, Dick's storm-cloud burst. The Chantrelles out for their walk, he imagined them to be washing their domestic dirty linen, he took the floor.
Being alone, he meant having it out, as he termed it, with his sister. Had quite determined on doing it very quietly and calmly. Whistling a few bars of Rule Britannia by way of appropriate prelude, he said suddenly:
"I am expecting one or two important letters, Mab. I wish directly they come you would send them to the post, will you—re-directed to my club?"
"Re-directed—to—your—club!"
"Yes. I have not quite made up my mind where I shall put up, but I am bound to go into the club each day. You won't forget, will you?"
He made a pretended movement in the direction of the door. She was on her feet in a moment, stopping him; stood by hisside in dismay. Seized the lapels of his coat and looked at him reproachfully, horror-stricken; fear for him tearing at her heart-strings.
"Dick!"
"Hullo!"
"What—do—you—mean?"
"What do I me—. Surely I spoke plainly. I just want you to re-direct——"
"Yes, yes, yes. But you are here!"
"Ah! Now. But I am going up to London by the afternoon train."
"To—London!"
"Yes."
Mabel's heart sank. She read obstinacy in that frowning face of his; knew what sort of thing that was to fight; had had experience of it. She played what was usually a trump card.
"And at Christmas time, too! Christmas! You will leave me here alone?"
"Alone? Well—I like that! You have got your dear friends, the Chantrelles. There isn't much of a lonely look about you when Percy is around."
"Dick!"
"Hullo!"
"Don't be horrid!"
"Why? Do you claim a monopoly of the right to be so?"
"Dick!"
Her eyes were flashing now; her face had gone crimson-coloured, and her little foot was tapping the floor. She had emotions which ran up her thermometer with the rapidity of a lightning's flash. The altitude of their tempers just then was about equally high.
"Don't keep calling me Dick like that," he said. "It's irritating."
"What's the matter?"
"With me? Nothing!"
"There is."
"Very well, there is. Have your own way. I know that way—you are like the Pears' Soap boy—you won't be happy till you get it."
"Dick!" She almost spat out his name in her fierce emphasis. "You are not going—you shall not go to town to-day!"
"All being well," he replied calmly—white heat calm—"I shall catch the three-thirty-five up."
She was white too, with annoyance. Managed to choke down some of the things she was burning to say; was alive to what their effect would be if uttered. She knew Dick; experience had taught her how large was the amount of patience needed to cope with his impetuosity. Her foot heavily onthe pedal of her temper, she gave forth sweet sounds:
"What does this mean? Tell me, Dick. Why are you going?"
The voice was so very gentle that it hurt Dick to hurt her. But he persisted—the little wretch, to treat his best friend so!—she deserved it. Yawning, he said:
"Oh, I feel like spending a merry Christmas. The kind of thing that clings to Christmas cards and Dickens was so full of, you know. I am afraid there isn't enough merriment to go round here; not enough to satisfy a man with a large appetite for it."
"Why not?"
"Way it is dished up, I suppose: surroundings. I don't like your friends——"
"My friends!"
The foot slipped off the pedal: the note of temper sounded as she blazed out indignantly:
"Who asked them here?"
Dick shrugged his shoulders. Otherwise disregarded her interruption as he continued:
"—you positively insult mine."
"Insult!"
"I think that's the correct word; I can't find a more expressive one lying about."
"Pray who are the friends of mine that you do not like?"
"Refrain from the obvious! You haven't fifty thousand of them staying in the house just now!"
"The Chantrelles, you mean. I repeat, who invited them here? Answer me!"
She stamped her foot as she let loose her shaft. It went home this time: buried its head, rendering Dick furious. He had cursed himself a hundred times for being the cause of their presence. But for that——
"Look here, Mab, you and I don't want to quarrel."
A quarrel just then was the thing he was itching for; if he could have hit something or somebody it would have been an immense relief to his feelings; he went on:
"I have a friend; a man who saved my life! A man who devoted himself to me; but for whom, I should be now at the bottom of the sea."
"Dick!"
She hid her face in her hands. All the memories she had thrust aside, grateful memories, rushed back on her. She did not want Dick to see what she knew her face would show: horror of her own ingratitude to Masters. The recollection of all he had done for her brother flooded her.
"Oh, it's true! I'm not romancing. When I said good-bye to you in that Lambethbedroom, I meant it to be a good-bye. I went on board that boat with the full intention of making a hole in the water."
"Dick! Dick! Don't say it!"
"I do say it. I say it emphatically. Life didn't seem worth the living to me. Masters shared my cabin; nursed me; tended me; made me see things differently. In fact, made a man of me. When I think of him, and all he did for me, I cry from my heart: God bless him! God bless him!"
He turned his head that she might not see the tears filling his eyes; continued:
"When I think of the debt I owe him, a debt I would pay with my life cheerfully if it would help him, I—I—I——"
She interrupted him; was standing close to him again, white-faced, dry-eyed, breathing heavily.
"Dick! Dick!" she gasped. "You don't know how you are hurting me!"
"And I bring him here," he spluttered, "to your home. Because it was the only place I could bring him to; because I thought my sister loved me, that she would stretch out a warm hand of welcome to the man who saved me. What happens? What happens? She doesn't throw the plates and dishes at him, but, by God! I wish she had! It would have been better than the cold,cutting, contemptuous nature of her insults!"
He struggled to get free from her arms; they had found their way round his neck, and her head was on his bosom. But she held him too tightly. He was unfair; she knew it; not all the wrong was on her side.
"You think nothing of me, Dick!" Her sobbing expostulation: "You ignore the things he has done; the way he has behaved to me!"
"Yes," replied Dick grimly. "Perhaps it's just as well I do. Gracie tells me that in the dead of night he came, and sat up, and nursed her back to life! That's one of the things he did for you and the child you profess to love so much! He's good at nursing, is Prince Charlie, poor old chap!—I have had some. You have had some. But it seems to have struck us in different lights; to have inspired different feelings. Personally, I'd lay down my life for him! The grandest fellow I ever met; God bless him!"
"Dick! Dick! Dick!"
She covered her face with her hands; the tears were streaming through her fingers. He went on pitilessly; his blood was too hot now for softness.
"You don't see anything to be grateful for in what he did for you. On the contrary,his kindly affection for Gracie is a cause of complaint! You coolly tell me I don't know the things he has done, and how he has behaved to you! 'Prince Charlie'—yes. Gracie was right in naming him so. He is a prince; a Real Prince. The child has more gratitude in her little finger than you——"
She stopped him. Would not let him continue. Placed a hand over his mouth as she cried:
"Dick, you are breaking my heart!"
Although she had got her arms round him again, Mabel could not stop Dick's voice. He had something to say and was determined to say it; felt wound up to go.
"Breaking your heart!" he commented contemptuously. "You have already broken his; but you will have Percy to mend yours."
"Percy! How dare you suggest such a thing!"
He looked at her astonished; was startled into absolute amazement at the indignation in her voice as she broke away from him.
"Dare! Well——"
"Percy!" She repeated the name scornfully. "You know I hate, detest, despise, loathe him."
Her face was so very expressive just then that there could be no doubt she was saying what she meant. Dick was quick to realizethat. Was so astonished at the turn matters had taken that he could only ejaculate:
"Eh!"
A small word, but all he felt capable of shaping just then; was his way of expressing the unutterable mystification and astonishment which had gripped hold of him.
"Youknowit, Dick!" Boot on floor: tattoo resumed. "Don't stand there with that idiotic vacant look on your face, as if you were surprised to hear it."
Surprised! It was a feeble description; idiotic was distinctly better. He stood as one paralysed, listening whilst she excitedly continued:
"I have told you so dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of times!"
Trust a woman if she picks up figures to shed them with a lavish hand! The blank look on Dick's face intensified. He shook his head in utter hopelessness; the mystery was too much for him. He was dealing with a woman, and—and—well, he was only an average specimen of a man after all!
"Do I sleep?" He found voice at last; quoted: "Do I dream? Or are visions about?"
"I felt mad when I got the letter to say you insisted on the Chantrelles coming here for Christmas. But I didn't like to disappointyou, Dick, the moment of your home-coming, too."
"I insisted?" He was all eagerness as he blurted out the question. "Who says I insisted?"
"Amy in her letter said so——"
"The awful liar!"
"Nice way to talk of a lady!"
"Lady be—I mean she's not a lady if she set down such a thing in black and white. She so badgered me on the boat with hints for an invitation, that at last, in sheer desperation, I did ask them to come."
"Of course you did! And I wish they were a hundred thousand miles away!"
The blank look of astonishment crept on to his face again as he stuttered:
"You—wish—they——"
"Yes, yes, yes."
"Well, I'm——Do—you—mean—to—tell—me that you weren't glad to see them? When during the whole of the first dinner you did nothing but simper and make eyes and laugh with Percy, till the veriest fool in Christendom could have seen you were head over ears in love with him?"
"I hate him! I hate him! I Hate Him!"
His sister's vehemence partly cleared the clouds away. Acted as a douche on his badtemper, as a tonic to his good one; coolly he said:
"My dear girl, take my advice; you'd better send for the quack! Your mind's unhinged; that's what's the matter with you. You're fairly going dotty! If you hate him, what the dev—deuce did you want to pretend to make love to him for?"
"I d—did it"—she was sobbing in her handkerchief now; all the stiffening gone from her back—"to annoy P—Prince Ch—Ch—Charlie."
What there was left of the look of astonishment quite left his face. The scales fell; his eyes were fully opened. Thrusting his hands into his pockets he said vigorously, characteristically:
"Well—I'm—damned!"
Then hope sprang into his eyes; filled his bosom. There was a tangle somewhere, but he was getting his fingers on the ends: he needed to unravel it. Walking over to, he sat beside his sister, who was sobbing on the sofa.
"Just hold up the water supply, old girl." He spoke with all a brother's brutality. "Turn off the tap, and talk coherently, if it isn't too great a tax. I've only got a man's brain, so you might make an effort and leave off conundruming. The way you women twist up things—well, there! You seem totake a positive delight in making troubles for yourselves and everybody else; put up obstacles and cry because you can't get over them. Why did you want to annoy Masters?"
"He insul—sul—sul—ted me so."
Once more a look of amazement crept on Dick's face as he repeated:
"He—insulted—you—so?"
The idea of Prince Charlie's insulting a woman was—well, he almost laughed as he said:
"For many weeks past he had not seen you; for many weeks past I have been his close companion. During all that time he has spoken of you to me as if you were a goddess, instead of being a little devil with a temper vile enough to provoke a saint. He insult you!"
Then he did laugh—heartily. Began to see that there was a path out of the difficulty—it only needed finding. Let him find it—that was all!
"He c—c—could not have thought m—m—much of me, or he would not have f—f—flirted with every girl on board."
"Flirted! Prince Ch——" His laugh broke out again; into a roar this time. "Why, he was the most taciturn beggar on the boat, to everyone but me! Flirt! That's good. Beyond a 'Good morning,' I never heard himaddress a woman. If one at table asked him for the water-bottle, he acted as if she had done him a deadly wrong in speaking to him! He was not even on pass-the-salt-and-pepper terms with a lady on board. Flirt! This is really too rich!"
The laughter rang out again. His anger was all gone; his face was all sunshine. There was a comedy side to the affair, after all! That was the side of things Dick was sure to reach sooner or later; his nature tended that way. It served to detect the merest trace of humour in things.
"Dick!"
A misgiving was seizing her. She was putting two and two together and making a decidedly unpleasant four of it; said:
"Isn't it true that he made violent love to Amy directly she came on board?"
"To Amy! To Amy! If there was one woman he avoided—positively avoided—more than another, it was Amy. He seemed to take a dislike to her directly she was introduced; and in justice to her, I am bound to say that she reciprocated. From her point of view, I suppose that was showing proper feeling. She was for ever trying to poison my mind against him. But I knew him, and I knew her. She preached to the winds!"
Dick had to pause. Having got hold ofthe offending root, his indignation was rising, getting the better of him.
"Make love to her!" he repeated. "Good Heavens! Beyond 'Good morning' and 'Good night' I don't suppose he spoke a hundred words to her on the whole voyage home."
"Then—I—I—have been made a fool——"
"Rather an easy task, I should imagine," interjected Dick, with truly brotherly contempt. "But who is responsible for the job? Whoever it was, couldn't have been killed with the hard work!"
"Wait."
She ran out of the room to her bedroom. Quickly opening a drawer, made a moment's search therein. Then returned with a letter in her hand—triumphant.
"It is not altogether correct form for a woman to show a man another woman's letter, but read that."
Dick sat down at the table and she smoothed the document out before him with a degree of gusto. It was her warrant of justification; the only title-deed she possessed to the behaviour of which she had been guilty.
He read it. His face became worth watching as he did so. Amusement, loathing, astonishment, all held sway on it at odd times. Despite his disgust though, there was big hopein the sediment. As he concluded he whistled his favourite "Rule Britannia."
"Well?"
She had been eagerly watching him. Read the answer in his face, but woman-like asked what she already knew:
"Isn't it true?"
"True!" He tossed the letter back to her as he answered. "From beginning to end it is a tissue of deliberate lies."
She heard rapturously. The moral worth of her friend Amy and the ultimate destination of Amy's soul, were matters for future commiseration. They sank into insignificance before the resuscitation of her faith in Masters. That mighty edifice had been obscured by clouds; the clouds were clearing and the proud summit was peeping through.
So glad was she, that she positively revelled in the admission of her own gullibility; said joyously:
"Lies! And I believed them!"
"That doesn't astonish me! I used to think you were a sensible girl, but now—well, there! But there's more than mere lies in that letter."
"What?"
"You can't see it? And you think yourself cute! Can't you read between the lines?"
"What?"
"I told Amy of Prince Charlie's love for you; that started the ball. What does she set herself to do? Poison your mind against him. Why? Note the lie about Percy's turning white when——Good Lord, you can see through it now, can't you? You don't want spectacles for that? Your own common sense will tell you—though you certainly don't seem to have a large supply on hand."
"I—she wanted me—wanted her brother to——"
"That's it! You've got the hammer on the nail head at last! That accounts for her questioning me as to how you were left under the will; whether the money was settled on you or not."
"What a perfect pair of beasts!"
"Hear, hear!"
"And you invited them here! How could you? They are not fit people to have in the house!"
"I like that! Upon my word! See how gone you were on Percy at din——"
"Dick! If you ever dare to say——"
"Well, I must see about packing up——"
"Packing up! Don't let me think you quite a complete idiot, Dick!"
"The train goes at three-thir——"
"Dick!" She stamped her foot in anger. "Why do you want to make it worse for methan it need be by your stupidity. You perfect horror, you!"
"Stupidity runs in the family, I suppose. You have been mighty wise, haven't you? Um—you don't want me to go, then?"
"And leave me in this hopeless muddle alone? It wouldn't be commonly human—to say nothing of brotherly!"
"Oh, well." He affected a resigned air to hide his smiles. "I suppose I'll have to stop if you put it like that. I'll just walk up to Prince Charlie's place and tell him I shan't be able to go up with him."
"To—go—up—with—him?"
Dismay caused her to voice the question in instalments. Dick stooped, pretended to tie up his shoe-lace, some act was necessary to hide from her the amused look in his eyes.
"Yes. I'd like to say good-bye to the dear old chap. He'll probably go abroad and stop there. Maybe I shall never see him again."
"Abroad! Never—see——"
Then she stopped dead in the middle of what she was saying; stood as one dumbfounded. Dick's eyes in his averted head were twinkling and his mouth twitching. She certainly had some ground for the opinion she expressed of him.
He was a brute of a brother.
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 hewas 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 yourkeeping. 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 methat. 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 onboard 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 toacquit 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.