It's a good proposition, old man. You couldn't employ a couple of hours better. I have been in London Society of all sorts for the best part of my life, and I tell you that Stella Keane is the most charming girl I have ever met."
The speaker was little Tommy Esmond, short, genial, and rotund of person. Tommy knew everybody who was anybody, and everybody knew the mercurial Tommy.
Guy Spencer puffed leisurely at his cigar, and regarded his rotund little friend with an amused smile. Spencer was about thirty, Tommy was old enough to be his father. But he wore well.
"Most excellent Tommy, how many times have I heard you say the same thing? Every girl you come across is the most charming you have ever met—until one sees you the next week. And then, the last girl has the super-charm—like the young lady you just mentioned, Miss Stella Keane."
But Esmond was not to be rebuffed by a clumsy attempt at humour on the part of a young man so much his junior. Besides, Tommy was impervious to humour. It fell off him, like water from a duck's back. In his way he was a very strenuous little man, he had no time to frivol.
"Don't try to be funny, old man: it doesn't suit you. Be sensible, and come round with me to Mrs. L'Estrange's flat and be introduced to Miss Keane."
"It's an interesting suggestion, Tommy, but before I decide tell me first—who is Mrs. L'Estrange, and secondly, who and what is Miss Keane?"
And Tommy Esmond launched forth on a full flow of narrative. Mrs. L'Estrange was the first cousin of a well-known Irish earl, and was—well, in somewhat reduced circumstances, and had a snug little flat in the Cadogan district.
"Mrs. L'Estrange is quite satisfactorily explained," remarked Guy, interrupting his rather voluble friend. "Now what do you really know about Miss Keane?"
Here, Esmond was a little less precise. Mrs. L'Estrange he knew quite well, had known her ever since he had been in London; her ancestry and connections were unimpeachable.
Miss Keane, it would appear, had been suddenly projected into the L'Estrange household, as it were, from space. He understood that she was a distant connection, a far-off cousin, but he could give no particulars.
Tommy, with the born instinct of the true diplomatist, was always ready to present everything in its best light, but he lacked the one essential quality of the born diplomatist—he was not very successful when he came to camouflaging facts.
Spencer's smile was more amused than ever, as he regarded his genial friend. Spencer was only thirty, and Tommy was at least old enough to be his father. But there were times when the younger man thought he saw more clearly than the elder.
"Let us put it at this, Tommy. Mrs. L'Estrange, being in somewhat straitened circumstances, supplements her meagre income by card-playing, at which I have no doubt she is an adept."
And here, the usually placid Tommy interposed hotly: "You may say of Mrs. L'Estrange what you like. But, if you propose to offer any derogatory remarks about Miss Keane, I would rather not listen to them."
And Spencer kept a curb on his tongue. Was this fat, comical-looking little man, a most unromantic figure, violently in love with Miss Stella Keane, and her sworn champion? Far be it from him to disturb his faith in this seductive siren, if it were so.
"It's all right, old chap," he said quietly. "I am not going to make any remarks, derogatory or otherwise, about Miss Keane. I think I will adopt your suggestion. Let us adjourn to Mrs. L'Estrange's flat. If one loses fifty or a hundred one may have a good time."
"You will see the most charming girl in London," cried Esmond in enthusiastic tones. It struck Spencer, as a peculiar phase of his t friend's detachment, that, being in love with the girl himself, he should be so anxious to introduce her to a younger man, who might, presumably, be his rival.
For there could be no question of rivalry between the two men, apart from their ages. Spencer was tall, athletic, handsome: Tommy Esmond was—just Tommy Esmond—rotund, comical in appearance, and insignificant.
Moreover, Spencer had other qualifications which are not without their influence on the fair sex. He had a considerable fortune, and he was the next in succession to an ancient earldom. If the Earl of Southleigh, a widower, did not marry again, he would succeed to the title and estates. He was, in every sense of the term, an eligibleparti.
The long, weary war was drawing to its close. The two men were dining at the fashionable "Excelsior" and were now about half-way through their dinner.
Spencer had the bearing of a soldier, and he would have been at the Front long ago, but no doctor could be found who would pass him. To all appearance, he possessed the thews and sinews of an athlete, but the stalwart, manly frame covered an incurably weak heart, which played him strange tricks at times. He was serving his country in the best way open to him, and doing good, sound clerical work in a Government Office.
"When do you suggest we should put in an appearance at Mrs. L'Estrange's?" he asked presently.
"It will take us another half-hour to get through this abundant meal. You will then have your coffee, and you will want a good and long cigar. We began rather late, you will remember. By the time you have got through your smoke, we will make a move. We shall then find them in full swing."
Guy nodded, and went on with his dinner. He was quite willing to go to the L'Estrange flat: he had no other engagement this evening, and it would be something to do. But he was not greatly interested about meeting the most beautiful girl in London. In spite of his friend's almost lyrical outbursts, he expected that Miss Stella Keane would prove a very ordinary young woman.
Suddenly Tommy Esmond uttered an exclamation. "Look, there they are," he whispered excitedly across the table. "Mrs. L'Estrange and her cousin. The man with them is Colonel Desmond, the man who won the Victoria Cross in the Boer war."
Tommy's round face was red with pleasurable emotion. Was there any doubt, thought Spencer, that the little man was tremendously smitten by the beautiful Miss Keane? would it result in a marriage, he wondered? Tommy was well-off, and a person of some importance in his little social world. And if Miss Keane was as lovely as his fond imagination painted her, it was quite evident that she was poor. Penniless young girls have before now accepted the shelter of a safe home, even when offered by comical-looking little elderly men.
The three newcomers moved to a vacant table; Mrs. L'Estrange, a woman of middle age, dressed rather more youthfully than was quite in good taste, their escort, a tall figure in khaki, very upright and soldierly in his bearing, in spite of his sixty years, and last, but by no means least, the beautiful Miss Keane.
Yes, at the first glance, the young man decided that she fully deserved his friend's somewhat extravagant praise. If everybody in London was not raving over her, it was simply due to the fact that her cousin's circle was not important, and that she had found nobody of sufficient social influence to launch her with the necessarycachet.
If she had made herdébutat one of the great houses, stamped with the approval of any one of London's distinguished hostesses, Society journals would have gone into rhapsodies over her, and she would have been one of the reigning beauties of the hour, far, far beyond the aspirations of little Tommy Esmond.
His own special taste rather inclined towards fair women, his cousin, Lady Nina, of whom he was very fond, being a charming specimen of that type. But he was no bigot in the matter of feminine beauty, and he was prepared to admit that there were some dark women who could compare favourably with their blonde sisters.
But Stella Keane was not very dark. She had soft brown eyes, glossy dark hair, and a beautiful creamy complexion, a mouth like Cupid's bow, revealing when she smiled, teeth of a dazzling ivory. Her figure would have been pronounced perfect by the most critical and fastidious artist.
"What do you think of her?" asked the delighted Tommy, after he had given his friend a decent time for his inspection.
Tommy was a man whose friends had got into the habit of smiling at him, even when they agreed with him. Spencer smiled at him quite as often as any of his acquaintance, but at this moment he was perfectly grave.
"You are quite right, old man, this time," he said quietly. "She is really beautiful, and her carriage is splendid. She looks like a young Empress—or, rather, she fulfils one's idea of what a young Empress should be."
Tommy beamed. He drank in the words of unstinted praise like wine. The little blue eyes, usually devoid of expression, seemed suffused with a soft emotion. There was something pathetic in his devotion to this radiant young woman who looked like a youthful Empress.
"And she is as good and sweet as she looks," he murmured in a voice that he could not keep steady. "When she talks to you seriously and lets you know what she really thinks and feels, by gad, Spencer, it makes a battered old worldling like myself feel unworthy to be in her presence. For she has a beautiful soul and mind as well as a beautiful body."
Spencer could only look sympathetic. Poor little Tommy, he certainly seemed to talk like a lover. And what did Miss Keane think of it all? She must have more than a mere tolerance for him, or she would not have allowed him those peeps into her mind and soul to which he alluded with such unrestrained rapture.
It was some time before Esmond's intense gaze attracted the attention of the party, and when it did, he was rewarded with a most affable smile from Mrs. L'Estrange, and one of quite pronounced friendliness from Miss Keane. The Colonel also bestowed a genial nod.
After a pause, Tommy spoke somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid this rather upsets our little plans. Mrs. L'Estrange is a most conscientious diner: she will be here, at the lowest calculation, for an hour and a half, counting the coffee and cigarettes. They won't be back at the flat under a couple. You wouldn't care to wait so long."
He looked rather wistfully at his companion. He, for his own part, would have waited half the night.
"Don't let us commit ourselves, old man, but await events. We haven't finished our dinner yet, and the service is deucedly slow. We can put in a lot more time. You can pay your respects at a fitting moment, and perhaps they will ask us to their table. I must confess I should like to see Miss Keane at closer quarters, and talk to her. Although I don't expect she will reveal as much to me as she does to you."
Tommy looked pleased again; he was very bent upon introducing Spencer to his beautiful young friend. It would come about presently: if not here, in the lounge. Already, Mrs. L'Estrange had sent a few covert glances in the direction of their table. There was little doubt she knew who his companion was, and would be quite pleased to number him amongst her acquaintance.
"Has Miss Keane many admirers? She should have," remarked Spencer presently. He noticed that Esmond's eyes were always turned in the direction of that particular table.
"Not any serious ones, I fancy. A few young fellows send her flowers, but nothing more. It is quite an unsuitableménagefor a girl of her attractions. The majority of thehabituésare middle-aged men who go there simply to gamble. The few young ones come for a flutter, and disappear when they have had enough."
"Does the young lady play?"
"I have never seen her. She has told me scores of times that she loathes gambling. Her father ruined himself by it. I believe she is really very unhappy there. And I gather Mrs. L'Estrange has not the best of tempers, particularly when she has had bad luck."
"Hobson's choice, I expect," suggested Spencer sympathetically. Miss Keane was facing him, giving him ample opportunity to examine the beautiful countenance, and it struck him that there was an underlying expression of sadness on the perfect features, especially when in repose.
"I fear so," was Esmond's answer. "She is very reticent about her own affairs, as any gentlewoman would be. But from certain things she has let drop, I make out her own means are very slender, and her cousin's hospitality is a boon to her."
Half an hour passed, and Spencer lit a big cigar. The two men chatted on various topics. Mrs. L'Estrange and the Colonel were still doing full justice to the excellent dishes offered them. Miss Keane was apparently satisfied, and sat quietly watching her companions, and throwing in an occasional remark.
And suddenly came the loud sound of maroons. Everybody started. A few seconds later the clamour and roaring of our own guns burst forth. There was no doubt as to what was happening. The Germans were making one of their unwelcome visits.
"By heavens, it's a raid, and we are in the thick of it," cried Tommy Esmond, rising excitedly. He was a nervous little man, and his face had grown a shade pale at the sound of the first boom.
In a few moments there was a stampede from the dining-room. The guests hurried as fast as they could to the basement and cellars.
Tommy, in his progress, was impeded by two burly men who were making their way leisurely. Spencer was a few feet in front of him, making for the crowd that surged round the doors. As he looked around the deserted tables, he saw Miss Keane standing alone, her eyes almost rigid with terror, her hands clutching convulsively the back of the chair on which she had been sitting. It was evident that the Colonel had quickly removed Mrs. L'Estrange from the scene of danger, and she had been too panic-stricken to follow them.
He crossed over to her. "Excuse me," he said gently. "I am a friend of Mr. Esmond's. How is it you are alone? Did your companions desert you?"
"Colonel Desmond took my cousin, and told me to keep close behind them. when I got up, my limbs seemed unable to move. I feel as if I were paralysed."
He took her arm and put it through his. It was evident she had been rendered immobile by terror.
"I will take care of you," he said soothingly. "Downstairs you will be quite safe. But we will let this crowd get through first."
Tommy Esmond came bustling up, all anxiety. Truth to tell, he did not feel over brave, but his anxiety for himself was lost in the contemplation of her white face and stricken eyes.
Slowly, cheered by the presence of the two men, a little colour flowed back into her cheeks, and she smiled wanly.
"I am a fearful coward," she explained. "I go all to pieces in even the mildest thunderstorm."
And it was in this wise, amid the crash of falling bombs, and the roar and clamour of our own guns, that Guy Spencer made the acquaintance of Stella Keane.
They found shelter in one of the big cellars of the Restaurant, and Miss Keane by degrees got back some of her courage. There were about twenty other persons in the same refuge, and she probably derived fortitude from their temporary companionship, and common danger. Tommy Esmond recovered himself very quickly, and hastened to observe the conventions.
"It is a queer time and place in which to make introductions," he remarked genially. "But even in times of peril, one should preserve the usages of good society. I don't suppose you know the name of your gallant rescuer. Let me make you known, in a formal fashion. Mr. Spencer—Miss Keane."
The beautiful Stella bowed her dark head, and the ghost of a smile flitted over her still pale face.
"I know Mr. Spencer very well by sight. When I have recovered my wits, I will thank him properly and prettily. Perhaps he will come and see us at my cousin's flat."
"I was bringing him on there to-night, as a matter of fact," explained Esmond. "But I presume all that is knocked on the head, even supposing we get out of this disgusting hole in reasonable time. Mrs. L'Estrange won't be in a mood to receive visitors, after this disquieting experience, I am sure."
"I am afraid you don't know Mrs. L'Estrange," replied the girl, with a little mocking laugh. Her tones were not yet quite steady, but she was rapidly recovering herself. "The card tables were laid before we started, and we intended to be back early. If we get out safely from this disgusting hole, as you call it, my cousin will resume her ordinary pursuits, as if nothing had occurred to disturb them."
Desultory conversation, the irresponsible chatter of the drawing-room kind, was almost impossible under the circumstances. And although Miss Keane did her best to assume a brave front, it was easy to see that she was inwardly quivering. At every roar of the guns, she shivered all over, and her cheek alternately flushed and then grew deadly pale with her inward terror.
"Poor child," whispered Spencer to his companion; "she must be a bundle of nerves. Every second, she is experiencing the pangs of death in anticipation. By the way, the gallant Desmond doesn't seem to have troubled himself much about her. If I hadn't taken her forcibly away, I believe she would be rooted to that chair now."
Esmond shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, a chap like Desmond doesn't know the meaning of fear, and he can't understand the sensation in others. The other woman took possession of him, and dragged him away. No doubt, he thought she was following. Mrs. L'Estrange, so far as I can judge, would never think of anything but number one."
And as Spencer's glance stole to the fair face, he felt a strange feeling of pity for her. The poignant happenings of the last few moments had revealed to him her loneliness, the tragedy of her dependence upon others. In a supreme moment of peril, she, who ought to have lovers and friends by the score, was left by herself, and thrown upon the compassion of a stranger.
An anxious half-hour passed, and then messengers came down with tidings of a reassuring nature. The raiders had been driven off, after inflicting considerable damage. Gay London was free to pursue its natural course of pleasure.
At once the tension was relaxed. Drooping forms resumed an erect carriage, the roses bloomed again in the pale cheeks of the women. There was a flutter, a stir. They all moved away from the refuge which had been so welcome, and now had become unbearable.
In the hall they encountered the Colonel, cool and collected, as if he were on parade, Mrs. L'Estrange fluttering and full of protestations.
"Oh, my poor Stella! I have been distracted about you. Why did you not follow us? I thought you were close behind us all the time, till we got to one of these abominable cellars, and looked back to find you were missing."
The Colonel pulled at his moustache a little nervously.
"I shall never forgive myself, Miss Keane, not to have assured myself you were with us at the start. I would have come back to search for you, but Mrs. L'Estrange was in such a nervous state I could not leave her."
Miss Keane answered him very coldly, and to her cousin she did not vouchsafe any reply.
"Please do not apologise. It was a question ofsauve qui peut. Fortunately, I found some kind friends who took compassion on a forlorn damsel, shaking and terror-stricken." She turned to Mrs. L'Estrange. "Mr. Esmond is, of course, an old friend. But you do not know Mr. Spencer who got to me first."
Mrs. L'Estrange was quite equal to the occasion; she extended her perfectly-gloved hand with an air of effusive cordiality.
"A thousand thanks to you both. My darling Stella was fortunate in finding such protectors. We are both terrible cowards, I don't know which is the greater."
"I, without question," flashed out Miss Keane. "Otherwise I should have had the sense to scurry away like yourself. We were both frightened rabbits, but you could run to a place of safety while I stood paralysed."
Mrs. L'Estrange turned away the awkward thrust with a charming smile. "I have made up my mind to one thing," she remarked with an air of conviction. "Never, so long as the War lasts, will I dine out of my own home. This night's experience has taught me a lesson. I don't want a second one."
At this juncture, Tommy Esmond interposed. "I was going to bring my friend Spencer round to you to-night. But I suppose you feel a bit too shattered, eh? You would like to get home and rest."
"Oh dear, no!" replied the lady vivaciously. "I never alter my habits for anything or anybody. Let us all go along at once. I will go with Colonel Desmond. You and Mr. Spencer can continue your charge of Stella."
But Guy had a small duty to perform. "I think if you will excuse me, I will join you a little later. I want to go round to inquire after my uncle and cousin. He is a very old man, and I should like to know he is quite safe."
So it was arranged. The others drove off to Mrs. L'Estrange's flat, and Spencer, finding he would have some time to wait for a taxi, walked to Carlton House Terrace, where Lord South-leigh had his town house.
The footman who opened the door informed him that his lordship and Lady Nina were still in the dining-room with a small party. The earl had taken it all very calmly, and his daughter, who, unlike poor Stella Keane, was a young woman of remarkable courage, had not been disturbed at all.
"Are they alone, Robert?"
"No, sir, two old friends of his lordship's came to dinner to-night and are still with them. But, of course, they will be glad to see you."
However, his duty being performed, and learning that all was satisfactory, Spencer thought he might as well get along to the flat. He had been strangely attracted by the beautiful girl, whom even her obvious terror and lack of self-control could not deprive of her charm.
"No, I won't come in. Tell them I called round to make sure they were all safe. And say to her ladyship I will look in to-morrow afternoon about tea-time."
He went into his club for a few moments to see if there were any letters, and half an hour later was at Mrs. L'Estrange's door.
She occupied the first floor of an imposing block of flats, recently erected in one of the semi-fashionable quarters of London. She might not be in very affluent circumstances, as Esmond had hinted, but she would have to pay a very handsome rent for her abode.
The door was opened by a decorous-looking butler, with the air of one who had served in good families. A man passed out as Spencer entered. He was a good-looking young fellow of about twenty-five, in khaki. Spencer knew him well by sight as the eldest son and heir of a rich brewer.
His face did not wear a very happy expression. It did not require a Sherlock Holmes to surmise that his visit had been an expensive one, and that he was hurrying away to avoid further temptation.
In the centre of a rather spacious hall, Stella Keane and Tommy Esmond stood chatting.
She greeted the newcomer with a bright and friendly smile. She no longer looked pale, in fact he thought there was a slight suspicion of rouge on the fair cheeks. She was too goodlooking to need the aid of art, but perhaps she wanted to conceal the ravages inflicted on her beauty by that terrible time at the "Excelsior."
"You are not very long after us. I conclude you found your friends were quite safe."
She had gathered from the garrulous Tommy what she had not known before, that Spencer was next in succession to the earldom, also that Lord Southleigh had a very pretty daughter, who was an accomplished young sportswoman, a daring rider to hounds, an adept at golf, fishing, and other pastimes of a strenuous nature.
She had pricked up her ears at mention of the cousin. Artfully she pumped Tommy as to whether there was any tender feeling between the relatives.
But Tommy could give no information on this point. Spencer was a very reticent man about his private affairs, he explained. Personally, he should not consider him particularly susceptible to female influence. But he had heard that the old earl, who had a shockingly weak heart, and was likely to go off at any moment, would have viewed a marriage between the cousins with favour.
She mused over his words. He did not think him particularly susceptible to female influence. And yet she was sure there was admiration, open, undisguised admiration, in the glances he had bestowed upon her to-night. He was evidently not deeply in love with his pretty sporting cousin, or she would have been Mrs. Guy Spencer before now, assuming, of course, that she was ready to obey her father's wishes.
It was after a short silence that Miss Keane put a somewhat abrupt question to him: "Are you fond of play, Mr. Spencer? Everybody is who comes here."
"Not really. I am a very lukewarm gambler. I don't mind a little flutter now and then, as a diversion. I always enjoy a small gamble at Monte Carlo, for example, but I never get carried away. When I have lost enough, I stop. Nothing could induce me to stake anothersou."
"Can you stop as easily when you are winning? That, I fancy, is where the selfcontrol comes in. But I think I am rather glad you are not one of the infatuated ones. I was brought up in an atmosphere of gambling."
There was a pathetic shadow in the beautiful brown eyes as she spoke. Spencer's interest in her, a girl he had only known for a couple of hours, quickened. The glance he turned on her was full of sympathy, although he did not utter a word. It said as plainly as if he had spoken: "Tell me more about yourself, you will find an attentive listener."
"My father and mother were both desperate gamblers. They staked and lost everything they had at cards, on the race-course, at Monte Carlo. My poor cousin, Mrs. L'Estrange, has the same fever in her veins."
Now that he had invited her confidence, he was a little embarrassed by it. He did not know her well enough to condole with her. By way of relieving the tension, he uttered a few trite remarks on the subject of gambling generally.
"Very sad when people are bitten by it to that extent. In my small experience, and I am only speaking of cards, I have found that, at the end of twelve months, you leave off pretty well where you started, good players or bad. You lose a hundred this week, you win a hundred the next, and so on, and so forth. If you are a good player, you get bad cards; if a duffer, you get good cards. And so the bad player has a pretty even chance with his more skilful opponent."
Miss Keane threw aside her momentary sadness, and laughed at his scientific exposition.
"You have evidently thought it all out," she said brightly. "But please don't inflict these cheerful theories on my cousin. She is a most tragic being when she loses. She thinks herself, and I believe is, one of the most scientific bridge-players in England, and she cannot be brought to understand why the duffers should have a look in."
At this juncture Tommy Esmond interposed. It may have occurred to him that they were wasting precious time. They had come here for the special purpose of gambling.
"What do you say to joining the others? We are in the very temple of gambling, and I know my young friend would like a little flutter."
"Certainly. When I last peeped in, Amy looked the spirit of despair. I think she must have been losing heavily."
She turned to lead the way, but at that instant the door-bell rang, and she halted, in readiness to greet the visitor, whoever it might be; and there entered a florid-looking, stout man, who advanced towards her with effusion, and both hands outstretched.
"My dear Stella, I have been thinking of you ever since the raid began; I know how terribly you suffer when they are on. And I knew you were dining out to-night. I am rejoiced to see you safe and sound. I came round here the moment I could get away."
Miss Keane flushed slightly as he took her hands and wrung them impressively to show his gratitude at her escape from peril. Tommy Esmond had given him a cool nod. But she felt Spencer's calm, critical gaze upon this ebullient expression of young English manhood.
It was not so much what he said, as his manner of saying it. Bounder was written all over him, in his appearance, his manners, his gestures.
She answered him very briefly, almost curtly, as if she were administering a cold douche. Then the flush deepened as she turned to Spencer.
"May I introduce my cousin, Mr. Dutton?"
The florid man bowed with an exaggerated air of cordiality. Spencer, who had taken a violent dislike to him from the first second he saw him, acknowledged the salutation with chilling gravity; and Stella Keane could almost read his thoughts, as his gaze travelled from one to the other.
How could this imperial-looking girl have such an unmitigated bounder for a relative? What was the mystery about her that could make a creature like this claim kinship with her?
Mrs. L'Estrange was evidently a great believer in light: the electric bulbs glowed softly, but brilliantly, over the two rooms devoted to the service of the card-players.
On the sideboards were arranged decanters of whisky, and soda-water in bottles and syphons. Whether he lost or won, the gambler, triumphant or despairing, could quaff to his success, or solace his despair.
The elderly, youthfully-dressed woman advanced towards the new visitors, with a beaming expression of countenance.
"Mr. Spencer, you will join us. What is your favourite game?"
"Bridge," said Spencer, shortly. He was already a bit in love with Stella Keane, but he was by no means favourably inclined to her gushing, elderly cousin.
He soon formed a party of four, and became absorbed, for the moment, in the game. Tommy Esmond was playing the same game, at a table some distance from him. Tommy was not supposed to be wealthy, but he evidently had money enough to indulge in a quiet gamble now and then.
He remembered every incident of that night. His partner was a subordinate member of the Government, and a good sound player, lacking a little perhaps in the qualities of initiative and rapid decision. His opponents were a young man in the Foreign Office, and a slender, hawk-nosed young woman of about thirty.
All through he held abominable cards, but, truth to tell, he was not very interested in the game. Whether he won or lost a hundred pounds did not interest him very greatly.
But what did interest him, to every fibre of his being, was that Stella Keane hovered about his table. His eyes continually sought hers, and she did not seem to avoid his glance. At times he was sure he could detect a slight smile of intimacy. After all, had he not rescued her, half dead with fright, in the dining-room of the "Excelsior"?
Once she bent over him and whispered, her cool, fragrant breath fanning his cheek: "You are having shocking bad luck. You haven't held a single decent card."
He whispered back: "What did I tell you a little time ago? I flatter myself I am a fairly good bridge-player, but what could one do with those cards of mine?"
She fluttered away, with still the shadow of that intimate smile upon her beautiful mouth, the smile that seemed to say they had only known each other for a few hours, under romantic and dramatic circumstances, but there was between them an affinity of spirit.
He played on steadily for over an hour, and then a halt was cried. The young gentleman from the Foreign Office and the hawknosed young woman had scored. Guy Spencer rose from the table, the poorer by a hundred and fifty pounds. He wrote his cheque with a light heart. A hundred and fifty pounds was not a great price to pay for the introduction to Stella Keane.
Mrs. L'Estrange came impressively towards him.
"Oh, Mr. Spencer, I hope you have not lost. If so, I fear you will never come near me again." His glance roved in the direction of Stella, talking, as it appeared earnestly, to that bounder of a cousin. There came a steely look into his clear, resolute eyes.
"If you will allow me, I shall be delighted to come here often to see you and Miss Keane. I suppose I had better pick up my old friend Tommy Esmond, if he is not too engrossed." But when he approached Esmond, that little rotund gentleman waved him away, in most genial fashion.
"Run away, dear boy. It is Eclipse first, and the rest nowhere. I am winning hands down." Certainly he bore the mien of a conqueror. And there, behind his chair, stood Stella Keane.
She welcomed Spencer with that faint, intimate smile which had already stirred his pulses.
"I fear I brought you bad luck," she said, in her low, caressing voice. "But to Mr. Esmond I have been the harbinger of good fortune. Are you really going?"
"I always go when I have won enough, or lost enough. You remember I gave you a little homily on gambling generally, not so long ago."
She took her hand off Esmond's chair. "Well, I will leave my good influence behind, and look after the parting guest."
She walked leisurely with him in the direction of the hall. It was deserted, but the light was brilliant, as it was in every other corner of the flat.
She held out her hand impulsively. "Mr. Spencer, I have not thanked you properly for your kindness to me to-night. Terror-stricken, paralysed with fear, I should have been clinging to that chair now, if you had not rescued me in time. How can I thank you?"
Spencer laughed lightly. "One would think from your excessive gratitude that you had not experienced a great deal of kindness in your life. And yet that would be impossible."
She flushed a little; his gaze was perhaps more full of admiration, of frank and open compliment than could be justified by the briefness of their acquaintance. And yet it only expressed what he was inwardly thinking.
Here was a girl who had only to look at her mirror to learn she was endowed with singular beauty. She must also know that she combined with her more than ordinary fairness an unusual charm of manner.
How had it come about that one with such striking qualifications should exhibit a certain underlying sadness, as if the world had already proved a very disappointing place? Youth and good looks usually secure for their owner a good time. Girls with half her attractions could find plenty of admirers. What evil fate dogged her that she had to regard a perfectly common act of kindness as something to be exceptionally grateful for?
"I have never been petted nor spoiled, even as a child," she answered gravely. "My father and mother were ignorant of the duties, as they were of the instincts, of parenthood. And since my poor pretence of a home was broken up, I have been a derelict and a wanderer, sometimes a tolerated guest, rarely, I fear, a very welcome one in the houses of other people."
"But you are happy here, surely?" he suggested. After saying so much, she could hardly regard the question as an impertinent one. He longed to hear her history. Well, if he came and cultivated her, and let her see how sympathetic he could be, one day she would tell him.
She shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference.
"My cousin is peculiar in many ways, and her devotion to play is an obsession. We have very little in common; still, it would not be fair to say she was difficult to get on with. I have been with her now for more than eighteen months, and although we have often held totally different opinions, I cannot remember that we have ever had a real quarrel. And, anyway, it is a home and a shelter, and that is something."
Not much enthusiasm here, certainly. Mrs. L'Estrange had been dismissed with a very negative kind of faint praise. Her excellence seemed to lie rather in the absence of bad qualities than the possession of good ones.
And yet, he could not bring himself to believe that Miss Keane was an ill-natured girl, or of an unresponsive temperament. He had to admit that his impressions of his hostess were not too favourable.
She was outwardly genial, and at times gushing. Yet he fancied he could read behind this plausible exterior the signs of a hard, worldly nature. There was no softness in her glance, no tenderness in her rather hard, staccato tones.
A girl with those glorious eyes, and mobile face, with the delicate complexion that flushed and paled by turns, must surely be sweet and sympathetic, and responsive to affection. How her voice had thrilled with emotion when she thanked him. If she was disappointed in her cousin, it must be the fault of the elder woman, who could not give what was demanded by the younger and more ardent temperament.
He would have lingered longer, trying to pierce the riddle from these disjointed remarks, but they were interrupted by Tommy Esmond, who came bustling into the hall, flushed with victory.
"Never had such luck in my life. Just wiped the floor with them," he explained excitedly. "You left your good influence behind, Miss Keane. A few minutes sufficed for victory."
"I am very glad, but I think my powers for good must be very limited, for I brought bad luck to your friend," was her smiling rejoinder.
He turned briskly to the young man. "It is a perfect night, Spencer. Shall we walk down to the Club to get a breath of fresh air, and turn in there for a quiet smoke?"
Spencer nodded assent, and held out his hand to Miss Keane.
"Well, good-bye for the present."
"And I hope you will come and see us again soon. Don't wait for Mr. Esmond to bring you: after our thrilling experiences of tonight, we are more than ordinary acquaintances. We are at home nearly every night, if you want to gamble. And, if you would like a little rational chat instead, come in one afternoon to tea."
"Thanks, I will. My card-playing fit has passed for a little time. Once again, goodbye."
And, as soon as they were in the street, Esmond burst in with the question he was longing to ask.
"Well, what do you think of her? Did I exaggerate?"
"Not in the least," answered Spencer, speaking less seriously than he felt, he did not quite know for what reason, unless it was that with a man of his friend's calibre, he always had a tendency to discuss things lightly. "No, I don't think you have exaggerated a bit this time; so many of your swans have been geese, but this is a real swan, at last. She is very lovely; even in her terror she looked beautiful, and she has a peculiar, elusive charm. She makes you want to know more of her, and penetrate the mystery which seems to hover around her.59
"I can't say I see any mystery, myself." Esmond spoke rather sharply, for such a good-natured little man.
"Perhaps it is too strong a word. But I take it, you know something of the ménage, and can enlighten me on one point. What is her position there: paid companion, a passing guest, or does she share the flat with her cousin on some sort of terms?"
It was a little time before Esmond answered. "I have never rightly got at that myself. Sometimes I have thought one thing, sometimes another. But I am pretty sure she is poor: in fact, she has admitted as much."
"Poverty is relative after all, and it depends on how she was brought up. She seems to dress well, and that cannot be done without money."
Yes, Esmond admitted that she was turned out well. But he either could not, or would not express any positive opinion upon the delicate subject of Miss Keane's finances.
"Does she ever play? She didn't touch a card while we were there, only flitted about from table to table."
No, Esmond had never seen her play since he had frequented the house. It was clear, therefore, she did not make any pocket-money out of gambling. He had to admit that she seemed to act as deputy hostess, and, he believed, wrote most of her cousin's notes; in other words, made herself useful.
All this information, such as it was, he imparted, as it seemed to Spencer, with some reluctance. Perhaps his keen admiration prompted him to hide anything that served to show her in a dependent position. And Spencer desisted from any further crossexamination on this head.
On one point, however, he was determined to elicit a positive expression of opinion from the cautious little man.
"What is the mystery of the bounder cousin? You must admit he has cad stamped all over him, his speech, his person, his gestures."
Tommy could establish no defence for the gentleman in question. "No, he is past criticism, I allow. The result of somemésalliance, I suppose; his mother a very common person doubtless. But then, many highly respectable people have skeletons like that in their cupboards."
"The mystery is that he finds his way, cousin as he may be, into any decent house. Mrs. L'Estrange we know to be a woman of good family. You would think she would lock and bolt the door against a creature like that. What is he supposed to be, if he has any profession beyond that of his intense bounderism?"
"Something in the City, I am told," replied Esmond shortly. "Something connected with finance; stockbroker or something."
"It must be a shady kind of finance, if he has anything to do with it," growled the young man. "To think of his claiming relationship with that exquisite girl."