My Dear Alec:Iam delighted that you will return in the nick of time for the London season. You will put the noses of the Christian Scientists out of joint, and the New Theologians will argue no more in the columns of the halfpenny papers. For you are going to be the lion of the season. Comb your mane and have it neatly curled and scented, for we do not like our lions unkempt; and learn how to flap your tail; be sure you cultivate a proper roar because we expect to shiver delightfully in our shoes at the sight of you, and young ladies are already practising how to swoon with awe in your presence. We have come to the conclusion that you are a hero, and I, your humble servant, shine already with reflected glory because for twenty years I have had the privilege of your acquaintance. Duchesses, my dear boy, duchesses with strawberry leaves around their snowy brows, (like the French grocer, I make a point of never believing a duchess is more than thirty,) ask me to tea so that they may hear me prattle of your childhood's happy days, and I have promised to bring you to lunch with them, Tompkinson, whom you once kicked at Eton, has written an article in Blackwood on the beauty of your character; by which I take it that the hardness of your boot has been a lasting, memory to him. All your friends are proud of you, and we go about giving the uninitiated to understand that nothing of all this would have happened except for our encouragement. You will be surprised to learn how many people are anxious to reward you for your services to the empire by asking you to dinner. So far as I am concerned, I am smiling in my sleeve; for I alone know what an exceedingly disagreeable person you are. You are not a hero in the least, but a pig-headed beast who conquers kingdoms to annoy quiet, self-respecting persons like myself who make a point of minding their own business.Yours ever affectionately,Richard Lomas.
My Dear Alec:
Iam delighted that you will return in the nick of time for the London season. You will put the noses of the Christian Scientists out of joint, and the New Theologians will argue no more in the columns of the halfpenny papers. For you are going to be the lion of the season. Comb your mane and have it neatly curled and scented, for we do not like our lions unkempt; and learn how to flap your tail; be sure you cultivate a proper roar because we expect to shiver delightfully in our shoes at the sight of you, and young ladies are already practising how to swoon with awe in your presence. We have come to the conclusion that you are a hero, and I, your humble servant, shine already with reflected glory because for twenty years I have had the privilege of your acquaintance. Duchesses, my dear boy, duchesses with strawberry leaves around their snowy brows, (like the French grocer, I make a point of never believing a duchess is more than thirty,) ask me to tea so that they may hear me prattle of your childhood's happy days, and I have promised to bring you to lunch with them, Tompkinson, whom you once kicked at Eton, has written an article in Blackwood on the beauty of your character; by which I take it that the hardness of your boot has been a lasting, memory to him. All your friends are proud of you, and we go about giving the uninitiated to understand that nothing of all this would have happened except for our encouragement. You will be surprised to learn how many people are anxious to reward you for your services to the empire by asking you to dinner. So far as I am concerned, I am smiling in my sleeve; for I alone know what an exceedingly disagreeable person you are. You are not a hero in the least, but a pig-headed beast who conquers kingdoms to annoy quiet, self-respecting persons like myself who make a point of minding their own business.
Yours ever affectionately,Richard Lomas.
Alec smiled when he read the letter. It had struck him that there would be some attempt on his return to make a figure of him, and he much feared that his arrival in Southampton would be followed by an attack of interviewers. He was coming in a slow German ship, and at that moment a P. and O., homeward bound, put in at Gibraltar. By taking it he could reach England one day earlier and give everyone who came to meet him the slip. Leaving his heavy luggage, he got a steward to pack up the things he used on the journey, and in a couple of hours, after an excursion on shore to the offices of the company, found himself installed on the English boat.
But when the great ship entered the English Channel, Alec could scarcely bear his impatience. It would have astonished those who thought him unhuman if they had known the tumultuous emotions that rent his soul. His fellow-passengers never suspected that the bronzed, silent man who sought to make no acquaintance, was the explorer with whose name all Europe was ringing; and it never occurred to them that as he stood in the bow of the ship, straining his eyes for the first sight of England, his heart was so full that he would not have dared to speak. Each absence had intensified his love for that sea-girt land, and his eyes filled with tears of longing as he thought that soon now he would see it once more. He loved the murky waters of the English Channel because they bathed its shores, and he loved the strong west wind. The west wind seemed to him the English wind; it was the trusty wind of seafaring men, and he lifted his face to taste its salt buoyancy. He could not think of the white cliffs of England without a deep emotion; and when they passed the English ships, tramps outward bound or stout brigantines driving before the wind with their spreading sails, he saw the three-deckers of Trafalgar and the proud galleons of the Elizabethans. He felt a personal pride in those dead adventurers who were spiritual ancestors of his, and he was proud to be an Englishman because Frobisher and Effingham were English, and Drake and Raleigh and the glorious Nelson.
And then his pride in the great empire which had sprung from that small island, a greater Rome in a greater world, dissolved into love as his wandering thoughts took him to green meadows and rippling streams. Now at last he need no longer keep so tight a rein upon his fancy, but could allow it to wander at will; and he thought of the green hedgerows and the pompous elm trees; he thought of the lovely wayside cottages with their simple flowers and of the winding roads that were so good to walk on. He was breathing the English air now, and his spirit was uplifted. He loved the grey soft mists of low-lying country, and he loved the smell of the heather as he stalked across the moorland. There was no river he knew that equalled the kindly Thames, with the fair trees of its banks and its quiet backwaters, where white swans gently moved amid the waterlilies. His thoughts went to Oxford, with its spires, bathed in a violet haze, and in imagination he sat in the old garden of his college, so carefully tended, so great with memories of the past. And he thought of London. There was a subtle beauty in its hurrying crowds, and there was beauty in the thronged traffic of its river: the streets had that indefinable hue which is the colour of London, and the sky had the gold and the purple of an Italian brocade. Now in Piccadilly Circus, around the fountain sat the women who sold flowers; and the gaiety of their baskets, rich with roses and daffodils and tulips, yellow and red, mingled with the sombre tones of the houses, the dingy gaudiness of 'buses and the sunny greyness of the sky.
At last his thoughts went back to the outward voyage. George Allerton was with him then, and now he was alone. He had received no letter from Lucy since he wrote to tell her that George was dead. He understood her silence. But when he thought of George, his heart was bitter against fate because that young life had been so pitifully wasted. He remembered so well the eagerness with which he had sought to bind George to him, his desire to gain the boy's affection; and he remembered the dismay with which he learned that he was worthless. The frank smile, the open countenance, the engaging eyes, meant nothing; the boy was truthless, crooked of nature, weak. Alec remembered how, refusing to acknowledge the faults that were so plain, he blamed the difficulty of his own nature; and, when it was impossible to overlook them, his earnest efforts to get the better of them. But the effect of Africa was too strong. Alec had seen many men lose their heads under the influence of that climate. The feeling of an authority that seemed so little limited, over a race that was manifestly inferior, the subtle magic of the hot sunshine, the vastness, the remoteness from civilisation, were very apt to throw a man off his balance. The French had coined a name for the distemper and called itfolie d'Afrique. Men seemed to go mad from a sense of power, to lose all the restraints which had kept them in the way of righteousness. It needed a strong head or a strong morality to avoid the danger, and George had neither. He succumbed. He lost all sense of shame, and there was no power to hold him. And it was more hopeless because nothing could keep him from drinking. When Macinnery had been dismissed for breaking Alec's most stringent law, things, notwithstanding George's promise of amendment, had only gone from bad to worse. Alec remembered how he had come back to the camp in which he had left George, to find the men mutinous, most of them on the point of deserting, and George drunk. He had flown then into such a rage that he could not control himself. He was ashamed to think of it. He had seized George by the shoulders and shaken him, shaken him as though he were a rat; and it was with difficulty that he prevented himself from thrashing him with his own hands.
And at last had come the final madness and the brutal murder. Alec set his mind to consider once more those hazardous days during which by George's folly they had been on the brink of destruction. George had met his death on that desperate march to the ford, and lacking courage, had died miserably. Alec threw back his head with a curious movement.
'I was right in all I did,' he muttered.
George deserved to die, and he was unworthy to be lamented. And yet, at that moment, when he was approaching the shores which George, too, perhaps, had loved, Alec's heart was softened. He sighed deeply. It was fate. If George had inherited the wealth which he might have counted on, if his father had escaped that cruel end, he might have gone through life happily enough. He would have done no differently from his fellows. With the safeguards about him of a civilised state, his irresolution would have prevented him from going astray; and he would have been a decent country gentleman—selfish, weak, and insignificant perhaps, but not remarkably worse than his fellows—and when he died he might have been mourned by a loving wife and fond children.
Now he lay on the borders of an African swamp, unsepulchred, unwept; and Alec had to face Lucy, with the story in his heart that he had sworn on his honour not to tell.
Alec's first visit was to Lucy. No one knew that he had arrived, and after changing his clothes at the rooms in Pall Mall that he had taken for the summer, he walked to Charles Street. His heart leaped as he strolled up the hill of St. James Street, bright by a fortunate chance with the sunshine of a summer day; and he rejoiced in the gaiety of the well-dressed youths who sauntered down, bound for one or other of the clubs, taking off their hats with a rapid smile of recognition to charming women who sat in victorias or in electric cars. There was an air of opulence in the broad street, of a civilisation refined without brutality, which was very grateful to his eyes accustomed for so long to the wilderness of Africa.
The gods were favourable to his wishes that day, for Lucy was at home; she sat in the drawing-room, by the window, reading a novel. At her side were masses of flowers, and his first glimpse of her was against a great bowl of roses. The servant announced his name, and she sprang up with a cry. She flushed with excitement, and then the blood fled from her cheeks, and she became extraordinarily pale. Alec noticed that she was whiter and thinner than when last he had seen her; but she was more beautiful.
'I didn't expect you so soon,' she faltered.
And then unaccountably tears came to her eyes. Falling back into her chair, she hid her face. Her heart began to beat painfully.
'You must forgive me,' she said, trying to smile. 'I can't help being very silly.'
For days Lucy had lived in an agony of terror, fearing this meeting, and now it had come upon her unexpectedly. More than four years had passed since last they had seen one another, and they had been years of anxiety and distress. She was certain that she had changed, and looking with pitiful dread in the glass, she told herself that she was pale and dull. She was nearly thirty. There were lines about her eyes, and her mouth had a bitter droop. She had no mercy on herself. She would not minimise the ravages of time, and with a brutal frankness insisted on seeing herself as she might be in ten years, when an increasing leanness, emphasising the lines and increasing the prominence of her features, made her still more haggard. She was seized with utter dismay. He might have ceased to love her. His life had been so full, occupied with strenuous adventures, while hers had been used up in waiting, only in waiting. It was natural enough that the strength of her passion should only have increased, but it was natural too that his should have vanished before a more urgent preoccupation. And what had she to offer him now? She turned away from the glass because her tears blurred the image it presented; and if she looked forward to the first meeting with vehement eagerness, it was also with sickening dread.
And now she was so troubled that she could not adopt the attitude of civil friendliness which she had intended in order to show him that she made no claim upon him. She wanted to seem quite collected so that her behaviour should not lead him to think her heart at all affected, but she could only watch his eyes hungrily. She braced herself to restrain a wail of sorrow if she saw his disillusionment. He talked in order to give time for her to master her agitation.
'I was afraid there would be interviewers and boring people generally to meet me if I came by the boat by which I was expected, so I got into another, and I've arrived a day before my time.'
She was calmer now, and though she did not speak, she looked at him with strained attention, hanging on his words.
He was very bronzed, thin after his recent illness, but he looked well and strong. His manner had the noble self-confidence which had delighted her of old, and he spoke with the quiet deliberation she loved. Now and then a faint inflection betrayed his Scottish birth.
'I felt that I owed my first visit to you. Can you ever forgive me that I have not brought George home to you?'
Lucy gave a sudden gasp. And with bitter self-reproach she realised that in the cruel joy of seeing Alec once more she had forgotten her brother. She was ashamed. It was but eighteen months since he had died, but twelve since the cruel news had reached her, and now, at this moment of all others, she was so absorbed in her love that no other feeling could enter her heart.
She looked down at her dress. Its half-mourning still betokened that she had lost one who was very dear to her, but the black and white was a mockery. She remembered in a flash the stunning grief which Alec's letter had brought her. It seemed at first that there must be a mistake and that her tears were but part of a hateful dream. It was too monstrously unjust that the fates should have hit upon George. She had already suffered too much. And George was so young. It was very hard that a mere boy should be robbed of the precious jewel which is life. And when she realised that it was really true, her grief knew no bounds. All that she had hoped was come to nought, and now she could only despair. She bitterly regretted that she had ever allowed the boy to go on that fatal expedition, and she blamed herself because it was she who had arranged it. He must have died accusing her of his death. Her father was dead, and George was dead, and she was alone. Now she had only Alec; and then, like some poor stricken beast, her heart went out to him, crying for love, crying for protection. All her strength, the strength on which she had prided herself, was gone; and she felt utterly weak and utterly helpless. And her heart yearned for Alec, and the love which had hitherto been like a strong enduring light, now was a consuming fire.
But Alec's words brought the recollection of George back to her reproachful heart, and she saw the boy as she was always pleased to remember him, in his flannels, the open shirt displaying his fine white neck, with the Panama hat that suited him so well; and she saw again his pleasant blue eyes and his engaging smile. He was a picture of honest English manhood. There was a sob in her throat, and her voice trembled when she spoke.
'I told you that if he died a brave man's death I could ask no more.'
She spoke in so low a tone that Alec could scarcely hear, but his pulse throbbed with pride at her courage. She went on, almost in a whisper.
'I suppose it was predestined that our family should come to an end in this way. I'm thankful that George so died that his ancestors need have felt no shame for him.'
'You are very brave.'
She shook her head slowly.
'No, it's not courage; it's despair. Sometimes, when I think what his father was, I'm thankful that George is dead. For at least his end was heroic. He died in a noble cause, in the performance of his duty. Life would have been too hard for him to allow me to regret his end.'
Alec watched her. He foresaw the words that she would say, and he waited for them.
'I want to thank you for all you did for him,' she said, steadying her voice.
'You need not do that,' he answered, gravely.
She was silent for a moment. Then she raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. Her voice now had regained its usual calmness.
'I want you to tell me that he did all I could have wished him to do.'
To Alec it seemed that she must notice the delay of his answer. He had not expected that the question would be put to him so abruptly. He had no moral scruples about telling a deliberate lie, but it affected him with a physical distaste. It sickened him like nauseous water.
'Yes, I think he did.'
'It's my only consolation that in the short time there was given to him, he did nothing that was small or mean, and that in everything he was honourable, upright, and just dealing.'
'Yes, he was all that.'
'And in his death?'
It seemed to Alec that something caught at his throat. The ordeal was more terrible than he expected.
'In his death he was without fear.'
Lucy drew a deep breath of relief.
'Oh, thank God! Thank God! You don't know how much it means to me to hear all that from your own lips. I feel that in a manner his courage, above all his death, have redeemed my father's fault. It shows that we're not rotten to the core, and it gives me back my self-respect. I feel I can look the world in the face once more. I'm infinitely grateful to George. He's repaid me ten thousand times for all my love, and my care, and my anxiety.'
'I'm very glad that it is not only grief I have brought you. I was afraid you would hate me.'
Lucy blushed, and there was a new light in her eyes. It seemed that on a sudden she had cast away the load of her unhappiness.
'No, I could never do that.'
At that moment they heard the sound of a carriage stopping at the door.
'There's Aunt Alice,' said Lucy. 'She's been lunching out.'
'Then let me go,' said Alec. 'You must forgive me, but I feel that I want to see no one else to-day.'
He rose, and she gave him her hand. He held it firmly.
'You haven't changed?'
'Don't,' she cried.
She looked away, for once more the tears were coming to her eyes. She tried to laugh.
'I'm frightfully weak and emotional now. You'll utterly despise me.'
'I want to see you again very soon,' he said.
The words of Ruth came to her mind:Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldst take knowledge of me, and her heart was very full. She smiled in her old charming way.
When he was gone she drew a long breath. It seemed that a new joy was come into her life, and on a sudden she felt a keen pleasure in all the beauty of the world. She turned to the great bowl of flowers which stood on a table by the chair in which she had been sitting, and burying her face in them, voluptuously inhaled their fragrance. She knew that he loved her still.
Thefickle English weather for once belied its reputation, and the whole month of May was warm and fine. It seemed that the springtime brought back Lucy's youth to her; and, surrendering herself with all her heart to her new happiness, she took a girlish pleasure in the gaieties of the season. Alec had said nothing yet, but she was assured of his love, and she gave herself up to him with all the tender strength of her nature. She was a little overwhelmed at the importance which he seemed to have acquired, but she was very proud as well. The great ones of the earth were eager to do him honour. Papers were full of his praise. And it delighted her because he came to her for protection from lionising friends. She began to go out much more; and with Alec, Dick Lomas, and Mrs. Crowley, went much to the opera and often to the play. They had charming little dinner parties at theCarltonand amusing suppers at theSavoy. Alec did not speak much on these occasions. It pleased him to sit by and listen, with a placid face but smiling eyes, to the nonsense that Dick Lomas and the pretty American talked incessantly. And Lucy watched him. Every day she found something new to interest her in the strong, sunburned face; and sometimes their eyes met: then they smiled quietly. They were very happy.
One evening Dick asked the others to sup with him; and since Alec had a public dinner to attend, and Lucy was going to the play with Lady Kelsey, he took Julia Crowley to the opera. To make an even number he invited Robert Boulger to join them at theSavoy. After brushing his hair with the scrupulous thought his thinning locks compelled, Dick waited in the vestibule for Mrs. Crowley. Presently she came, looking very pretty in a gown of flowered brocade which made her vaguely resemble a shepherdess in an old French picture. With her diamond necklace and a tiara in her dark hair, she looked like a dainty princess playing fantastically at the simple life.
'I think people are too stupid,' she broke out, as she joined Dick. 'I've just met a woman who said to me: "Oh, I hear you're going to America. Do go and call on my sister. She'll be so glad to see you." "I shall be delighted," I said, "but where does your sister live?" "Jonesville, Ohio," "Good heavens," I said, "I live in New York, and what should I be doing in Jonesville, Ohio?"'
'Keep perfectly calm,' said Dick.
'I shall not keep calm,' she answered. 'I hate to be obviously thought next door to a red Indian by a woman who's slab-sided and round-shouldered. And I'm sure she has dirty petticoats.'
'Why?'
'English women do.'
'What a monstrous libel!' cried Dick.
At that moment they saw Lady Kelsey come in with Lucy, and a moment later Alec and Robert Boulger joined them. They went in to supper and sat down.
'I hate Amelia,' said Mrs. Crowley emphatically, as she laid her long white gloves by the side of her.
'I deplore the prejudice with which you regard a very jolly sort of a girl,' answered Dick.
'Amelia has everything that I thoroughly object to in a woman. She has no figure, and her legs are much too long, and she doesn't wear corsets. In the daytime she has a weakness for picture hats, and she can't say boo to a goose.'
'Who is Amelia?' asked Boulger.
'Amelia is Mr. Lomas' affianced wife,' answered the lady, with a provoking glance at him.
'I didn't know you were going to be married, Dick,' said Lady Kelsey, inclined to be a little hurt because nothing had been said to her of this.
'I'm not,' he answered. 'And I've never set eyes on Amelia yet. She is an imaginary character that Mrs. Crowley has invented as the sort of woman whom I would marry.'
'I know Amelia,' Mrs. Crowley went on. 'She wears quantities of false hair, and she'll adore you. She's so meek and so quiet, and she thinks you such a marvel. But don't ask me to be nice to Amelia.'
'My dear lady, Amelia wouldn't approve of you. She'd think you much too outspoken, and she wouldn't like your American accent. You must never forget that Amelia is the granddaughter of a baronet.'
'I shall hold her up to Fleming as an awful warning of the woman whom I won't let him marry at any price. "If you marry a woman like that, Fleming," I shall say to him, "I shan't leave you a penny. It shall all go the University of Pennsylvania."'
'If ever it is my good fortune to meet Fleming, I shall have great pleasure in kicking him hard,' said Dick. 'I think he's a most objectionable little beast.'
'How can you be so absurd? Why, my dear Mr. Lomas, Fleming could take you up in one hand and throw you over a ten-foot wall.'
'Fleming must be a sportsman,' said Bobbie, who did not in the least know whom they were talking about.
'He is,' answered Mrs. Crowley. 'He's been used to the saddle since he was three years old, and I've never seen the fence that would make him lift a hair. And he's the best swimmer at Harvard, and he's a wonderful shot—I wish you could see him shoot, Mr. MacKenzie—and he's a dear.'
'Fleming's a prig,' said Dick.
'I'm afraid you're too old for Fleming,' said Mrs. Crowley, looking at Lucy. 'If it weren't for that, I'd make him marry you.'
'Is Fleming your brother, Mrs. Crowley?' asked Lady Kelsey.
'No, Fleming's my son.'
'But you haven't got a son,' retorted the elder lady, much mystified.
'No, I know I haven't; but Fleming would have been my son if I'd had one.'
'You mustn't mind them, Aunt Alice,' smiled Lucy gaily. 'They argue by the hour about Amelia and Fleming, and neither of them exists; but sometimes they go into such details and grow so excited that I really begin to believe in them myself.'
But Mrs. Crowley, though she appeared a light-hearted and thoughtless little person, had much common sense; and when their party was ended and she was giving Dick a lift in her carriage, she showed that, notwithstanding her incessant chatter, her eyes throughout the evening had been well occupied.
'Did you owe Bobbie a grudge that you asked him to supper?' she asked suddenly.
'Good heavens, no. Why?'
'I hope Fleming won't be such a donkey as you are when he's your age.'
'I'm sure Amelia will be much more polite than you to the amiable, middle-aged gentleman who has the good fortune to be her husband.'
'You might have noticed that the poor boy was eating his heart out with jealousy and mortification, and Lucy was too much absorbed in Alec to pay the very smallest attention to him.'
'What are you talking about?'
Mrs. Crowley gave him a glance of amused disdain.
'Haven't you noticed that Lucy is desperately in love with Mr. MacKenzie, and it doesn't move her in the least that poor Bobbie has fetched and carried for her for ten years, done everything she deigned to ask, and been generally nice and devoted and charming?'
'You amaze me,' said Dick. 'It never struck me that Lucy was the kind of girl to fall in love with anyone. Poor thing. I'm so sorry.'
'Why?'
'Because Alec wouldn't dream of marrying. He's not that sort of man.'
'Nonsense. Every man is a marrying man if a woman really makes up her mind to it.'
'Don't say that. You terrify me.'
'You need not be in the least alarmed,' answered Mrs. Crowley, coolly, 'because I shall refuse you.'
'It's very kind of you to reassure me,' he answered, smiling. 'But all the same I don't think I'll risk a proposal.'
'My dear friend, your only safety is in immediate flight.'
'Why?'
'It must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that you've been on the verge of proposing to me for the last four years.'
'Nothing will induce me to be false to Amelia.'
'I don't believe that Amelia really loves you.'
'I never said she did; but I'm sure she's quite willing to marry me.'
'I think that's detestably vain.'
'Not at all. However old, ugly, and generally undesirable a man is, he'll find a heap of charming girls who are willing to marry him. Marriage is still the only decent means of livelihood for a really nice woman.'
'Don't let's talk about Amelia; let's talk about me,' said Mrs. Crowley.
'I don't think you're half so interesting.'
'Then you'd better take Amelia to the play to-morrow night instead of me.'
'I'm afraid she's already engaged.'
'Nothing will induce me to play second fiddle to Amelia.'
'I've taken the seats and ordered an exquisite dinner at theCarlton.'
'What have you ordered?'
'Potage bisque.'
Mrs. Crowley made a little face.
'Sole Normande.'
She shrugged her shoulders.
'Wild duck.'
'With an orange salad?'
'Yes.'
'I don't positively dislike that.'
'And I've ordered asoufflewith an ice in the middle of it.'
'I shan't come.'
'Why?'
'You're not being really nice to me.'
'I shouldn't have thought you kept very well abreast of dramatic art if you insist on marrying everyone who takes you to a theatre,' he said.
'I was very nicely brought up,' she answered demurely, as the carriage stopped at Dick's door.
She gave him a ravishing smile as he took leave of her. She knew that he was quite prepared to marry her, and she had come to the conclusion that she was willing to have him. Neither much wished to hurry the affair, and each was determined that he would only yield to save the other from a fancied desperation. Their love-making was pursued with a light heart.
At Whitsuntide the friends separated. Alec went up to Scotland to see his house and proposed afterwards to spend a week in Lancashire. He had always taken a keen interest in the colliery which brought him so large an income, and he wanted to examine into certain matters that required his attention. Mrs. Crowley went to Blackstable, where she still had Court Leys, and Dick, in order to satisfy himself that he was not really a day older, set out for Paris. But they all arranged to meet again on the day, immediately after the holidays, which Lady Kelsey, having persuaded Lucy definitely to renounce her life of comparative retirement, had fixed for a dance. It was the first ball she had given for many years, and she meant it to be brilliant. Lady Kelsey had an amiable weakness for good society, and Alec's presence would add lustre to the occasion. Meanwhile she went with Lucy to her little place on the river, and did not return till two days before the party. They were spent in a turmoil of agitation. Lady Kelsey passed sleepless nights, fearing at one moment that not a soul would appear, and at another that people would come in such numbers that there would not be enough for them to eat. The day arrived.
But then happened an event which none but Alec could in the least have expected; and he, since his return from Africa, had been so taken up with his love for Lucy, that the possibility of it had slipped his memory.
Fergus Macinnery, the man whom three years before he had dismissed ignominiously from his service, found a way to pay off an old score.
Of the people most nearly concerned in the matter, it was Lady Kelsey who had first news of it. The morning papers were brought into herboudoirwith her breakfast, and as she poured out her coffee, she ran her eyes lazily down the paragraphs of theMorning Postin which are announced the comings and goings of society. Then she turned to theDaily Mail. Her attention was suddenly arrested. Staring at her, in the most prominent part of the page, was a column of printed matter headed:The Death of Mr. George Allerton. It was a letter, a column long, signed by Fergus Macinnery. Lady Kelsey read it with amazement and dismay. At first she could not follow it, and she read it again; now its sense was clear to her, and she was overcome with horror. In set words, mincing no terms, it accused Alec MacKenzie of sending George Allerton to his death in order to save himself. The words treachery and cowardice were used boldly. The dates were given, and the testimony of natives was adduced.
The letter adverted with scathing sarcasm to the rewards and congratulations which had fallen to MacKenzie as a result of his labours; and ended with a challenge to him to bring an action for criminal libel against the writer. At first the whole thing seemed monstrous to Lady Kelsey, it was shameful, shameful; but in a moment she found there was a leading article on the subject, and then she did not know what to believe. It referred to the letter in no measured terms: the writer observed thatprima faciethe case was very strong and called upon Alec to reply without delay. Big words were used, and there was much talk of a national scandal. An instant refutation was demanded. Lady Kelsey did not know what on earth to do, and her thoughts flew to the dance, the success of which would certainly be imperilled by these revelations. She must have help at once. This business, if it concerned the world in general, certainly concerned Lucy more than anyone. Ringing for her maid, she told her to get Dick Lomas on the telephone and ask him to come at once. While she was waiting, she heard Lucy come downstairs and knew that she meant to wish her good-morning. She hid the paper hurriedly.
When Lucy came in and kissed her, she said:
'What is the news this morning?'
'I don't think there is any,' said Lady Kelsey, uneasily. 'Only thePosthas come; we shall really have to change our newsagent.'
She waited with beating heart for Lucy to pursue the subject, but naturally enough the younger woman did not trouble herself. She talked to her aunt of the preparations for the party that evening, and then, saying that she had much to do, left her. She had no sooner gone than Lady Kelsey's maid came back to say that Lomas was out of town and not expected back till the evening. Distractedly Lady Kelsey sent messages to her nephew and to Mrs. Crowley. She still looked upon Bobbie as Lucy's future husband, and the little American was Lucy's greatest friend. They were both found. Boulger had gone down as usual to the city, but in consideration of Lady Kelsey's urgent request, set out at once to see her.
He had changed little during the last four years, and had still a boyish look on his round, honest face. To Mrs. Crowley he seemed always an embodiment of British philistinism; and if she liked him for his devotion to Lucy, she laughed at him for his stolidity. When he arrived, Mrs. Crowley was already with Lady Kelsey. She had known nothing of the terrible letter, and Lady Kelsey, thinking that perhaps it had escaped him too, went up to him with theDaily Mailin her hand.
'Have you seen the paper, Bobbie?' she asked excitedly. 'What on earth are we to do?'
He nodded.
'What does Lucy say?' he asked.
'Oh, I've not let her see it. I told a horrid fib and said the newsagent had forgotten to leave it.'
'But she must know,' he answered gravely.
'Not to-day,' protested Lady Kelsey. 'Oh, it's too dreadful that this should happen to-day of all days. Why couldn't they wait till to-morrow? After all Lucy's troubles it seemed as if a little happiness was coming back into her life, and now this dreadful thing happens.'
'What are you going to do?' asked Bobbie.
'What can I do?' said Lady Kelsey desperately. 'I can't put the dance off. I wish I had the courage to write and ask Mr. MacKenzie not to come.'
Bobbie made a slight gesture of impatience. It irritated him that his aunt should harp continually on the subject of this wretched dance. But for all that he tried to reassure her.
'I don't think you need be afraid of MacKenzie. He'll never venture to show his face.'
'You don't mean to say you think there's any truth in the letter?' exclaimed Mrs. Crowley.
He turned and faced her.
'I've never read anything more convincing in my life.'
Mrs. Crowley looked at him, and he returned her glance steadily.
Of those three it was only Lady Kelsey who did not know that Lucy was deeply in love with Alec MacKenzie.
'Perhaps you're inclined to be unjust to him,' said Mrs. Crowley.
'We shall see if he has any answer to make,' he answered coldly. 'The evening papers are sure to get something out of him. The city is ringing with the story, and he must say something at once.'
'It's quite impossible that there should be anything in it,' said Mrs. Crowley. 'We all know the circumstances under which George went out with him. It's inconceivable that he should have sacrificed him as callously as this man's letter makes out.'
'We shall see.'
'You never liked him, Bobbie,' said Lady Kelsey.
'I didn't,' he answered briefly.
'I wish I'd never thought of giving this horrid dance,' she moaned.
Presently, however, they succeeded in calming Lady Kelsey. Though both thought it unwise, they deferred to her wish that everything should be hidden from Lucy till the morrow. Dick Lomas was arriving from Paris that evening, and it would be possible then to take his advice. When at last Mrs. Crowley left the elder woman to her own devices, her thoughts went to Alec. She wondered where he was, and if he already knew that his name was more prominently than ever before the public.
MacKenzie was travelling down from Lancashire. He was not a man who habitually read papers, and it was in fact only by chance that he saw a copy of theDaily Mail. A fellow traveller had with him a number of papers, and offered one of them to Alec. He took it out of mere politeness. His thoughts were otherwise occupied, and he scanned it carelessly. Suddenly he saw the heading which had attracted Lady Kelsey's attention. He read the letter, and he read the leading article. No one who watched him could have guessed that what he read concerned him so nearly. His face remained impassive. Then, letting the paper fall to the ground, he began to think. Presently he turned to the amiable stranger who had given him the paper, and asked him if he had seen the letter.
'Awful thing, isn't it?' the man said.
Alec fixed upon him his dark, firm eyes. The man seemed an average sort of person, not without intelligence.
'What do you think of it?'
'Pity,' he said. 'I thought MacKenzie was a great man. I don't know what he can do now but shoot himself.'
'Do you think there's any truth in it?'
'The letter's perfectly damning.'
Alec did not answer. In order to break off the conversation he got up and walked into the corridor. He lit a cigar and watched the green fields that fled past them. For two hours he stood motionless. At last he took his seat again, with a shrug of the shoulders, and a scornful smile on his lips.
The stranger was asleep, with his head thrown back and his mouth slightly open. Alec wondered whether his opinion of the affair would be that of the majority. He thought Alec should shoot himself?
'I can see myself doing it,' Alec muttered.
A fewhours later Lady Kelsey's dance was in full swing, and to all appearances it was a great success. Many people were there, and everyone seemed to enjoy himself. On the surface, at all events, there was nothing to show that anything had occurred to disturb the evening's pleasure, and for most of the party the letter in theDaily Mailwas no more than a welcome topic of conversation.
Presently Canon Spratte went into the smoking-room. He had on his arm, as was his amiable habit, the prettiest girl at the dance, Grace Vizard, a niece of that Lady Vizard who was a pattern of all the proprieties and a devout member of the Church of Rome. He found that Mrs. Crowley and Robert Boulger were already sitting there, and he greeted them courteously.
'I really must have a cigarette,' he said, going up to the table on which were all the necessary things for refreshment.
'If you press me dreadfully I'll have one, too,' said Mrs. Crowley, with a flash of her beautiful teeth.
'Don't press her,' said Bobbie. 'She's had six already, and in a moment she'll be seriously unwell.'
'Well, I'll forego the pressing, but not the cigarette.'
Canon Spratte gallantly handed her the box, and gave her a light.
'It's against all my principles, you know,' he smiled.
'What is the use of principles except to give one an agreeable sensation of wickedness when one doesn't act up to them?'
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Dick and Lady Kelsey appeared.
'Dear Mrs. Crowley, you're as epigrammatic as a dramatist,' he exclaimed. 'Do you say such things from choice or necessity?'
He had arrived late, and this was the first time she had seen him since they had all gone their ways before Whitsun. He mixed himself a whisky and soda.
'After all, is there anything you know so thoroughly insufferable as a ball?' he said, reflectively, as he sipped it with great content.
'Nothing, if you ask me pointblank,' said Lady Kelsey, smiling with relief because he took so flippantly the news she had lately poured into his ear. 'But it's excessively rude of you to say so.'
'I don't mind yours, Lady Kelsey, because I can smoke as much as I please, and keep away from the sex which is technically known as fair.'
Mrs. Crowley felt the remark was directed to her.
'I'm sure you think us a vastly overrated institution, Mr. Lomas,' she murmured.
'I venture to think the world was not created merely to give women an opportunity to wear Paris frocks.'
'I'm rather pleased to hear you say that.'
'Why?' asked Dick, on his guard.
'We're all so dreadfully tired of being goddesses. For centuries foolish men have set us up on a pedestal and vowed they were unworthy to touch the hem of our garments. And itisso dull.'
'What a clever woman you are, Mrs. Crowley. You always say what you don't mean.'
'You're really very rude.'
'Now that impropriety is out of fashion, rudeness is the only short cut to a reputation for wit.'
Canon Spratte did not like Dick. He thought he talked too much. It was fortunately easy to change the conversation.
'Unlike Mr. Lomas, I thoroughly enjoy a dance,' he said, turning to Lady Kelsey. 'My tastes are ingenuous, and I can only hope you've enjoyed your evening as much as your guests.'
'I?' cried Lady Kelsey. 'I've been suffering agonies.' They all knew to what she referred, and the remark gave Boulger an opportunity to speak to Dick Lomas.
'I suppose you saw theMailthis morning?' he asked.
'I never read the papers except in August,' answered Dick drily.
'When there's nothing in them?' asked Mrs. Crowley.
'Pardon me, I am an eager student of the sea-serpent and of the giant gooseberry.'
'I should like to kick that man,' said Bobbie, indignantly.
Dick smiled.
'My dear chap, Alec is a hardy Scot and bigger than you; I really shouldn't advise you to try.'
'Of course you've heard all about this business?' said Canon Spratte.
'I've only just arrived from Paris. I knew nothing of it till Lady Kelsey told me.'
'What do you think?'
'I don't think at all; Iknowthere's not a word of truth in it. Since Alec arrived at Mombassa, he's been acclaimed by everyone, private and public, who had any right to an opinion. Of course it couldn't last. There was bound to be a reaction.'
'Do you know anything of this man Macinnery?' asked Boulger.
'It so happens that I do. Alec found him half starving at Mombassa, and took him solely out of charity. But he was a worthless rascal and had to be sent back.'
'He seems to me to give ample proof for every word he says,' retorted Bobbie.
Dick shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
'As I've already explained to Lady Kelsey, whenever an explorer comes home there's someone to tell nasty stories about him. People forget that kid gloves are not much use in a tropical forest, and they grow very indignant when they hear that a man has used a little brute force to make himself respected.'
'All that's beside the point,' said Boulger, impatiently. 'MacKenzie sent poor George into a confounded trap to save his own dirty skin.'
'Poor Lucy!' moaned Lady Kelsey. 'First her father died....'
'You're not going to count that as an overwhelming misfortune?' Dick interrupted. 'We were unanimous in describing that gentleman's demise as an uncommon happy release.'
'I was engaged to dine with him this evening,' said Bobbie, pursuing his own bitter reflections. 'I wired to say I had a headache and couldn't come.'
'What will he think if he sees you here?' cried Lady Kelsey.
'He can think what he likes.'
Canon Spratte felt that it was needful now to put in the decisive word which he always expected from himself. He rubbed his hands blandly.
'In this matter I must say I agree entirely with our friend Bobbie. I read the letter with the utmost care, and I could see no loophole of escape. Until Mr. MacKenzie gives a definite answer I can hardly help looking upon him as nothing less than a murderer. In these things I feel that one should have the courage of one's opinions. I saw him in Piccadilly this evening, and I cut him dead. Nothing will induce me to shake hands with a man on whom rests so serious an accusation.'
'I hope to goodness he doesn't come,' said Lady Kelsey.
Canon Spratte looked at his watch and gave her a reassuring smile.
'I think you may feel quite safe. It's really growing very late.'
'You say that Lucy doesn't know anything about this?' asked Dick.
'No,' said Lady Kelsey. 'I wanted to give her this evening's enjoyment unalloyed.'
Dick shrugged his shoulders again. He did not understand how Lady Kelsey expected no suggestion to reach Lucy of a matter which seemed a common topic of conversation. The pause which followed Lady Kelsey's words was not broken when Lucy herself appeared. She was accompanied by a spruce young man, to whom she turned with a smile.
'I thought we should find your partner here.'
He went to Grace Vizard, and claiming her for the dance that was about to begin, took her away. Lucy went up to Lady Kelsey and leaned over the chair in which she sat.
'Are you growing very tired, my aunt?' she asked kindly.
'I can rest myself till supper time. I don't think anyone else will come now.'
'Have you forgotten Mr. MacKenzie?'
Lady Kelsey looked up quickly, but did not reply. Lucy put her hand gently on her aunt's shoulder.
'My dear, it was charming of you to hide the paper from me this morning. But it wasn't very wise.'
'Did you see that letter?' cried Lady Kelsey. 'I so wanted you not to till to-morrow.'
'Mr. MacKenzie very rightly thought I should know at once what was said about him and my brother. He sent me the paper himself this evening.'
'Did he write to you?' asked Dick.
'No, he merely scribbled on a card:I think you should read this.'
No one answered. Lucy turned and faced them; her cheeks were pale, but she was very calm. She looked gravely at Robert Boulger, waiting for him to say what she knew was in his mind, so that she might express at once her utter disbelief in the charges that were brought against Alec. But he did not speak, and she was obliged to utter her defiant words without provocation.
'He thought it unnecessary to assure me that he hadn't betrayed the trust I put in him.'
'Do you mean to say the letter left any doubt in your mind?' said Boulger.
'Why on earth should I believe the unsupported words of a subordinate who was dismissed for misbehaviour?'
'For my part, I can only say that I never read anything more convincing in my life.'
'I could hardly believe him guilty of such a crime if he confessed it with his own lips.'
Bobbie shrugged his shoulders. It was only with difficulty that he held back the cruel words that were on his lips. But as if Lucy read his thoughts, her cheeks flushed.
'I think it's infamous that you should all be ready to believe the worst,' she said hotly, in a low voice that trembled with indignant anger. 'You're all of you so petty, so mean, that you welcome the chance of spattering with mud a man who is so infinitely above you. You've not given him a chance to defend himself.'
Bobbie turned very pale. Lucy had never spoken to him in such a way before, and wrath flamed up in his heart, wrath mixed with hopeless love. He paused for a moment to command himself.
'You don't know apparently that interviewers went to him from the evening papers, and he refused to speak.'
'He has never consented to be interviewed. Why should you expect him now to break his rule?'
Bobbie was about to answer, when a sudden look of dismay on Lady Kelsey's face stopped him. He turned round and saw MacKenzie standing at the door. He came forward with a smile, holding out his hand, and addressed himself to Lady Kelsey.
'I thought I should find you here,' he said.
He was perfectly collected. He glanced around the room with a smile of quiet amusement. A certain embarrassment seized the little party, and Lady Kelsey, as she shook hands with him, was at a loss for words.
'How do you do?' she faltered. 'We've just been talking of you.'
'Really?'
The twinkle in his eyes caused her to lose the remainder of her self-possession, and she turned scarlet.
'It's so late, we were afraid you wouldn't come. I should have been dreadfully disappointed.'
'It's very kind of you to say so. I've been at theTravellers, reading various appreciations of my character.'
A hurried look of alarm crossed Lady Kelsey's good-tempered face.
'Oh, I heard there was something about you in the papers,' she answered.
'There's a good deal. I really had no idea the world was so interested in me.'
'It's charming of you to come here to-night,' the good lady smiled, beginning to feel more at ease. 'I'm sure you hate dances.'
'Oh, no, they interest me enormously. I remember, an African king once gave a dance in my honour. Four thousand warriors in war-paint. I assure you it was a most impressive sight.'
'My dear fellow,' Dick chuckled, 'if paint is the attraction, you really need not go much further than Mayfair.'
The scene amused him. He was deeply interested in Alec's attitude, for he knew him well enough to be convinced that his discreet gaiety was entirely assumed. It was impossible to tell by it what course he meant to adopt; and at the same time there was about him a greater unapproachableness, which warned all and sundry that it would be wiser to attempt no advance. But for his own part he did not care; he meant to have a word with Alec at the first opportunity.
Alec's quiet eyes now rested on Robert Boulger.
'Ah, there's my little friend Bobbikins. I thought you had a headache?'
Lady Kelsey remembered her nephew's broken engagement and interposed quickly.
'I'm afraid Bobbie is dreadfully dissipated. He's not looking at all well.'
'You shouldn't keep such late hours,' said Alec, good-humouredly. 'At your age one needs one's beauty sleep.'
'It's very kind of you to take an interest in me,' said Boulger, flushing with annoyance. 'My headache has passed off.'
'I'm very glad. What do you use—phenacetin?'
'It went away of its own accord after dinner,' returned Bobbie frigidly, conscious that he was being laughed at, but unable to extricate himself.
'So you resolved to give the girls a treat by coming to Lady Kelsey's dance? How nice of you not to disappoint them!'
Alec turned to Lucy, and they looked into one another's eyes.
'I sent you a paper this evening,' he said gravely.
'It was very good of you.'
There was a silence. All who were present felt that the moment was impressive, and it needed Canon Spratte's determination to allow none but himself to monopolise attention, to bring to an end a situation which might have proved awkward. He came forward and offered his arm to Lucy.
'I think this is my dance. May I take you in?'
He was trying to repeat the direct cut which he had given Alec earlier in the day. Alec looked at him.
'I saw you in Piccadilly this evening. You were dashing about like a young gazelle.'
'I didn't see you,' said the Canon, frigidly.
'I observed that you were deeply engrossed in the shop windows as I passed. How are you?'
He held out his hand. For a moment the Canon hesitated to take it, but Alec's gaze compelled him.
'How do you do?' he said.
He felt, rather than heard, Dick's chuckle, and reddening, offered his arm to Lucy.
'Won't you come, Mr. MacKenzie?' said Lady Kelsey, making the best of her difficulty.
'If you don't mind, I'll stay and smoke a cigarette with Dick Lomas. You know, I'm not a dancing man.'
It seemed that Alec was giving Dick the opportunity he sought, and as soon as they found themselves alone, the sprightly little man attacked him.
'I suppose you know we were all beseeching Providence you'd have the grace to stay away to-night?' he said.
'I confess that I suspected it,' smiled Alec. 'I shouldn't have come, only I wanted to see Miss Allerton.'
'This fellow Macinnery proposes to make things rather uncomfortable, I imagine.'
'I made a mistake, didn't I?' said Alec, with a thin smile. 'I should have dropped him in the river when I had no further use for him.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Nothing.'
Dick stared at him.
'Do you mean to say you're going to sit still and let them throw mud at you?'
'If they want to.'
'But look here, Alec, what the deuce is the meaning of the whole thing?'
Alec looked at him quietly.
'If I had intended to take the world in general into my confidence, I wouldn't have refused to see the interviewers who came to me this evening.'
'We've known one another for twenty years, Alec,' said Dick.
'Then you may be quite sure that if I refuse to discuss this matter with you, it must be for excellent reasons.'
Dick sprang up excitedly.
'But, good God! you must explain. You can't let a charge like this rest on you. After all, it's not Tom, Dick, or Harry that's concerned; it's Lucy's brother. You must speak.'
'I've never yet discovered that I must do anything that I don't choose,' answered Alec.
Dick flung himself into a chair. He knew that when Alec spoke in that fashion no power on earth could move him. The whole thing was entirely unexpected, and he was at a loss for words. He had not read the letter which was causing all the bother, and knew only what Lady Kelsey had told him. He had some hope that on a close examination various things would appear which must explain Alec's attitude; but at present it was incomprehensible.
'Has it occurred to you that Lucy is very much in love with you, Alec?' he said at last.
Alec did not answer. He made no movement.
'What will you do if this loses you her love?'
'I have counted the cost,' said Alec, coldly.
He got up from his chair, and Dick saw that he did not wish to continue the discussion. There was a moment of silence, and then Lucy came in.
'I've given my partner away to a wall-flower,' she said, with a faint smile. 'I felt I must have a few words alone with you.'
'I will make myself scarce,' said Dick.
They waited till he was gone. Then Lucy turned feverishly to Alec.
'Oh, I'm so glad you've come. I wanted so much to see you.'
'I'm afraid people have been telling you horrible things about me.'
'They wanted to hide it from me.'
'It never occurred to me that peoplecouldsay such shameful things,' he said gravely.
It tormented him a little because it had been so easy to care nothing for the world's adulation, and it was so hard to care as little for its censure. He felt very bitter.
He took Lucy's hand and made her sit on the sofa by his side.
'There's something I must tell you at once.'
She looked at him without answering.
'I've made up my mind to give no answer to the charges that are brought against me.'
Lucy looked up quickly, and their eyes met.
'I give you my word of honour that I've done nothing which I regret. I swear to you that what I did was right with regard to George, and if it were all to come again I would do exactly as I did before.'
She did not answer for a long time.
'I never doubted you for a single moment,' she said at last.
'That is all I care about.' He looked down, and there was a certain shyness in his voice when he spoke again. 'To-day is the first time I've wanted to be assured that I was trusted; and yet I'm ashamed to want it.'
'Don't be too hard upon yourself,' she said gently. 'You're so afraid of letting your tenderness appear.'
He seemed to give earnest thought to what she said. Lucy had never seen him more grave.
'The only way to be strong isneverto surrender to one's weakness. Strength is merely a habit. I want you to be strong, too. I want you never to doubt me whatever you hear said.'
'I gave my brother into your hands, and I said that if he died a brave man's death, I could ask for no more. You told me that such a death was his.'
'I thought of you always, and everything I did was for your sake. Every single act of mine during these four years in Africa has been done because I loved you.'
It was the first time since his return that he had spoken of love. Lucy bent her head still lower.
'Do you remember, I asked you a question before I went away? You refused to marry me then, but you told me that if I asked again when I came back, the answer might be different.'
'Yes.'
'The hope bore me up in every difficulty and in every danger. And when I came back I dared not ask you at once; I was so afraid that you would refuse once more. And I didn't wish you to think yourself bound by a vague promise. But each day I loved you more passionately.'
'I knew, and I was very grateful for your love.'
'Yesterday I could have offered you a certain name. I only cared for the honours they gave me so that I might put them at your feet. But what can I offer you now?'
'You must love me always, Alec, for now I have only you.'
'Are you sure that you will never believe that I am guilty of this crime?'
'Why can you say nothing in self-defence?'
'That I can't tell you either.'
There was a silence between them. At last Alec spoke again.
'But perhaps it will be easier for you to believe in me than for others, because you know that I loved you, and I can't have done the odious thing of which that man accuses me.'
'I will never believe it. I do not know what your reasons are for keeping all this to yourself, but I trust you, and I know that they are good. If you cannot speak, it is because greater interests hold you back. I love you, Alec, with all my heart, and if you wish me to be your wife I shall be proud and honoured.'
He took her in his arms, and as he kissed her, she wept tears of happiness. She did not want to think. She wanted merely to surrender herself to his strength.
Lady Kelsey'sdevout hope that her party would finish without unpleasantness was singularly frustrated. Robert Boulger was irritated beyond endurance by the things Lucy had said to him; and Lucy besides, as if to drive him to distraction, had committed a peculiar indiscretion. In her determination to show the world in general, represented then by the two hundred people who were enjoying Lady Kelsey's hospitality, that she, the person most interested, did not for an instant believe what was said about Alec, Lucy had insisted on dancing with him. Alec thought it unwise thus to outrage conventional opinion, but he could not withstand her fiery spirit. Dick and Mrs. Crowley were partners at the time, and the disapproval which Lucy saw in their eyes, made her more vehement in her defiance. She had caught Bobbie's glance, too, and she flung back her head a little as she saw his livid anger.
Little by little Lady Kelsey's guests bade her farewell, and at three o'clock few were left. Lucy had asked Alec to remain till the end, and he and Dick had taken refuge in the smoking-room. Presently Boulger came in with two men, named Mallins and Carbery, whom Alec knew slightly. He glanced at Alec, and went up to the table on which were cigarettes and various things to drink. His companions had no idea that he was bent upon an explanation and had asked them of set purpose to come into that room.
'May we smoke here, Bobbie?' asked one of them, a little embarrassed at seeing Alec, but anxious to carry things off pleasantly.
'Certainly. Dick insisted that this room should be particularly reserved for that purpose.'
'Lady Kelsey is the most admirable of all hostesses,' said Dick lightly.
He took out his case and offered a cigarette to Alec. Alec took it.
'Give me a match, Bobbikins, there's a good boy,' he said carelessly.
Boulger, with his back turned to Alec, took no notice of the request. He poured himself out some whisky, and raising the glass, deliberately examined how much there was in it. Alec smiled faintly.
'Bobbie, throw me over the matches,' he repeated.
At that moment Lady Kelsey's butler came into the room with a salver, upon which he put the dirty glasses. Bobbie, his back still turned, looked up at the servant.
'Miller.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Mr. MacKenzie is asking for something.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You might give me a match, will you?' said Alec.
'Yes, sir.'
The butler put the matches on his salver and took them over to Alec, who lit his cigarette.
'Thank you.'
No one spoke till the butler left the room. Alec occupied himself idly in making smoke rings, and he watched them rise into the air. When they were alone he turned slowly to Boulger.
'I perceive that during my absence you have not added good manners to your other accomplishments,' he said.
Boulger wheeled round and faced him.
'If you want things you can ask servants for them.'
'Don't be foolish,' smiled Alec, good-humouredly.
Alec's contemptuous manner robbed Boulger of his remaining self-control. He strode angrily to Alec.
'If you talk to me like that I'll knock you down.'
Alec was lying stretched out on the sofa, and did not stir. He seemed completely unconcerned.
'You could hardly do that when I'm already lying on my back,' he murmured.
Boulger clenched his fists. He gasped in the fury of his anger.
'Look here, MacKenzie, I'm not going to let you play the fool with me. I want to know what answer you have to make to Macinnery's accusation.'
'Might I suggest that only Miss Allerton has the least right to receive answers to her questions? And she hasn't questioned me.'
'I've given up trying to understand her attitude. If I were she, it would make me sick with horror to look at you. But after all I have the right to know something. George Allerton was my cousin.'
Alec rose slowly from the sofa. He faced Boulger with an indifference which was peculiarly irritating.
'That is a fact upon which he did not vastly pride himself.'
'Since this morning you've rested under a perfectly direct charge of causing his death in a dastardly manner. And you've said nothing in self-defence.'
'I haven't.'
'You've been given an opportunity of explaining yourself, and you haven't taken it.'
'Quite true.'
'What are you going to do?'
Alec had already been asked that question by Dick, and he returned the same answer.
'Nothing.'
Bobbie looked at him for an instant. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
'In that case I can draw only one conclusion. There appears to be no means of bringing you to justice, but at least I can tell you what an indescribable blackguard I think you.'
'All is over between us,' smiled Alec, faintly amused at the young man's violence. 'And shall I return your letters and your photographs?'
'I assure you that I'm not joking,' answered Bobbie grimly.
'I have observed that you joke with difficulty. It's singular that though I'm Scotch and you are English, I should be able to see how ridiculous you are, while you're quite blind to your own absurdity.'
'Come, Alec, remember he's only a boy,' remonstrated Dick, who till now had been unable to interpose.
Boulger turned upon him angrily.
'I'm perfectly able to look after myself, Dick, and I'll thank you not to interfere.' He looked again at Alec: 'If Lucy's so indifferent to her brother's death that she's willing to keep up with you, that's her own affair.'
Dick interrupted once more.
'For heaven's sake don't make a scene, Bobbie. How can you make such a fool of yourself?'
'Leave me alone, confound you!'
'Do you think this is quite the best place for an altercation?' asked Alec quietly. 'Wouldn't you gain more notoriety if you attacked me in my club or at Church Parade on Sunday?'
'It's mere shameless impudence that you should come here to-night,' cried Bobbie, his voice hoarse with passion. 'You're using these wretched women as a shield, because you know that as long as Lucy sticks to you, there are people who won't believe the story.'
'I came for the same reason as yourself, dear boy. Because I was invited.'
'You acknowledge that you have no defence.'
'Pardon me, I acknowledge nothing and deny nothing.'
'That won't do for me,' said Boulger. 'I want the truth, and I'm going to get it. I've got a right to know.'
'Don't make such an ass of yourself,' cried Alec, shortly.