CHAPTER VI
GLADYS
Hurry as he might, it was nearly half-past seven before Rodney Elmore reached that restaurant in Jermyn Street at which he was due at seven. The fault was Stella's. Had she not spun out the parting to such an unconscionable length, he would have been able to be there in time. But he could not explain this to Gladys Patterson, who had never heard of the girl. She rose, as he came in, from a seat in the vestibule, with a face which mirrored the anxiety she had felt.
"Whatever is the matter? I thought that something had happened, and you weren't coming."
"My dearest child, I've been the victim of a series of accidents; I was beginning to wonder myself if I should ever get here."
Then he told another lie-invented on the spur of the moment. He had not troubled to prepare one on the way; he was not sure of the mood in which he might find her; one story might suit one mood another another. With him, to lie was as easy as to breathe; he himself was often hardly conscious he was lying, he lied so like truth.
"So you see, I've been half off my head, and in a deuce of a stew. Perhaps you'll tell me what you'd have done in my position. But, thank goodness, I'm here at last. The worst of it is, I haven't ordered dinner, or reserved a table; we shall have to take pot-luck; let's hope that the table d'hôte is worth eating." It so chanced that there was a table, and that the menu of the set dinner read quite well. Presently they were fronting each other at a little table in a corner of the room, each in the best possible frame of mind. She had forgotten the strain of waiting in her delight that he had come, while he was charmed to find her in so good a temper. Indeed, he seemed to be in the very highest spirits, and when he was that no one could be better company. Then the food was good; that was a point on which they both were excellent judges. On the occasion of that first dinner in Russell Square each had played on the other a pleasant comedy; to make a good impression on the strange cousin, who might have views on such matters, Gladys had drunk nothing but water, and, for some similar reason, Rodney had done the same. It was only when, later, they were on more intimate terms, that they learned that neither was a teetotaller. It was rather funny. As a matter of fact, so far as the pleasures of the table were concerned, Gladys was in very truth her father's child; not only could she appreciate good food well cooked, but she was by way of being a connoisseur of certain wines; and in such respects Rodney was an excellent second.
Before the dinner was half way through she was looking at him with something in her eyes which spoke to a similar something which was in his. He had forgotten the episode of the afternoon as if it had never been. This was the sort of girl he loved to have in front of him on the other side of a table-one who would eat what he ate, drink what he drank, do as he did; to whom he could say whatever he pleased. They joked on the subject of the absent Mr. Patterson.
"I wonder," she said, "what would happen if he walked in here at this very moment."
Rodney also wondered, for a second, in silence.
"For one thing, he'd spoil our evening, because he'd start you straight away off home."
"Would he? I should take some starting. I never am particularly afraid of him, and I'm not in the least when I've had two glasses of Montebello-rattling good bottle, this is. Thank you; that's the third. What beats me is why you're afraid of him. You don't strike me as being a person who's afraid of much. What would it matter if he did give you the key of the street, so far as his office is concerned? You'd easily find a better one. There's a mystery somewhere. Don't imagine, my dear old man, that I don't know so much. Why has he such an objection to you? And why are you so much in awe of him? Now's your time-out with it. Make a clean breast of it-between this glass and the next."
class="normal""I can't tell you why he objects to me, but I can assure you that I don't stand in awe of him."
"Rubbish! If you don't, why have you kept away from me in the way you have done? – you exasperating boy! I console myself with the reflection that if I'm losing your society you're losing mine; because I'll bet a trifle that you're just as fond of seeing me every other day or so as I am of seeing you."
"You're right there. If I saw you all day and every day I shouldn't mind."
"I'm not so sure of that; there's a limit. It might be all right for a time; but, my hat! wouldn't you get bored after a month of nothing else but my society!"
"What price you-after a month of nothing else but me?"
She seemed to reflect before she answered.
"You see, it's like this; if you and I were alone together for a month, or longer-"
"I'd be willing to make it longer."
"Would you?"
She looked at him with shining eyes.
"Rodney, you're a dear. If we were to be alone together for so long as that, we should have to alter the pace. I fancy that where a man and a woman are concerned it's the pace that kills."
"What do you mean by that, oh, wise one?"
"If you had one pound of chocs to eat you might gobble them down as fast as you please, and no harm would be done."
"You've tried it?"
"Perhaps! But if you had a ton you would have to go, oh so carefully, or you would be so sick. But we meet so seldom that when we do we want to gobble; I know that, so far as I am concerned, I want to get as much of you as I possibly can during the short time we are together."
"Same here-only more so."
They smiled at each other across the little table. Then, glancing down, she transferred her attention to what was on her plate.
"But, of course, if we weren't to part for a month-or more-it would be different."
"True, oh, queen! And suppose we were to marry!"
"I don't think I'd mind."
"I'm pretty nearly sure I shouldn't."
"That's very sweet of you to say so. Only-there's dad!"
"There's very much dad!"
"He can forbid my seeing you, and that kind of thing, if he pleases; and if he finds out that I've been disobedient he'll make himself extremely disagreeable. Still, I fancy I could manage him. But if I were to marry you against his wishes, I don't believe I'd ever get another penny from him, living or dead; and as you have no immediate promise of becoming a millionaire, that would be awkward for both of us."
"It would. All the same, don't you think it would be comfy if we were secretly engaged-in the event of anything happening to him?"
class="normal""What's going to happen?"
"Anything-living the sort of life he does."
"Are you hinting that there's anything the matter with his health?"
"My dear girl, you've only to use your eyes to be aware that a doctor would tell him that he's the kind of man who ought to swear off everything. And does he?"
"You make me feel all shivery. You talk as if you expected him to die right off."
"We've all had sentence of capital punishment pronounced against us, and, though we don't know when it will be put into execution, in such a case as his it's possible to guess that it mayn't be very long postponed."
"Rodney! I don't like to hear you talk like that. He's fond of asking me questions about you; I hate telling lies; if we were engaged, and he were in one of his cross-examining moods, I might find myself in a fix."
He played with his knife while a waiter was bringing another course.
"Consider something else. Let me put a hypothetical case. Suppose a girl were to make a dead set at me, I might like to be able to tell her that I'm engaged already."
"Who's the girl?"
"The girl, like the case, is hypothetical; but I can conceive of circumstances in which I should like to feel that we were engaged."
class="normal""You've changed your mind. A short time ago you were all the other way."
"I've been considering matters. Say, for example, that your father puts his foot down, and that we don't see each other again for an indefinite period. Do you not think that then I should not like to feel that we were engaged?"
"You can feel that we're engaged all you want to, without our setting it down in black and white. Aren't you as sure of me as if I were your wife already? Don't you know that if circumstances permitted I would become your wife? Do you wish me to understand that I'm not as sure of you?"
"Gladys, you're a goose. So far as I'm concerned, I'm inclined to the opinion that I'd like you to be my wife to-night."
"It's you who are the goose. As if we didn't understand each other far too well to render it necessary to have things placed on a ceremonious footing. We can do without formulas."
CHAPTER VII
MARY
On the Sunday Rodney Elmore kept his engagement with the third young woman, with the punctiliousness on which, in such matters, he prided himself. He went down to Brighton on the Pullman, Limited, and was met at the station by Mary Carmichael. He exclaimed, at sight of her:
"You angel! – to come and meet me!"
"I'm not quite sure that I did come to meet you, in the strict sense. I'd nothing to do; I've always a feeling that the queerest lot of people come by this train, the oddest sort of week-enders-didn't you notice how the platform reeked of perfume? – so that its arrival's generally worth seeing. Besides, between ourselves, I'd a kind of notion that Tom might come by it. If he had I should have ignored you utterly, and should have explained that something within told me he was coming, and that was why I was here. Wouldn't he have been enraptured?"
As he listened-and, in his observant way, took in the details of her appearance-Rodney was conscious, not for the first time, of how beneficent Providence had been in making girls in such variety. Stella, emblematic of the domestic virtues; Gladys, for physical pleasure; Mary, suggestive of the arch in the sky, which, though a man may walk for many days, he shall never find the end of. To his thinking she was as many-tinted as a rainbow; as beautiful, as elusive. He doubted if the average man were her husband whether he would have any but the dimmest comprehension of her at the finish; she had a knack of surprising even him. He had known her a good long time, yet he admitted to himself that in many respects she was still wholly beyond his comprehension, and he prided himself, not without reason, on his gift for understanding persons of the opposite sex.
They went down towards the Hove lawns in a fly, and were still in Queen's Road when she said:
"So you've done it at last."
He turned towards her as if a trifle startled.
"Done what?"
"Asked Stella to be your wife."
"How on earth do you know that?"
"My simple-minded babe, aren't I the very dearest friend Stella has in the world? And didn't she, directly you left her yesterday afternoon, send me a telegram conveying the news? Do you think she would keep it a moment longer than she could help from me, especially as she is perfectly well aware that I've been on tip-toe for it for goodness alone knows how long? And aren't I expecting a letter of at least half a dozen pages to-morrow morning to tell me all about it? I wired my congratulations to her at once, and I almost wired them to you; then I thought I'd keep them till you came this morning. My congratulations, Rodney, dear."
He was more taken aback than he would have cared to own. What an idiot he had been! Had he had his senses about him he would have given Stella to understand that the new relationship between them must be kept private till it suited him to make it public. That she should have telegraphed to Mary the moment he had left her! Could anything be more awkward? If to Mary, why not to others? To her mother, her father, her brother, her cousins, and her aunts; and she had crowds of dearest friends. Possibly by now the news was known to fifty people; they would spread it over the face of the land. Had he foreseen such a state of things he would have torn his tongue out rather than have said what he did in Regent's Park. Imbecile that he was; he had forgotten altogether that that was just the tale a girl of a sort loves to tell. Had he had his wits about him he might have known that she would be all eagerness to proclaim her happiness to her friends. To have had a private understanding with Stella might have been fun. He might have lied to her; played the traitor; done as he pleased-it would not have mattered if her heart was broken so long as she suffered in silence. But the affair assumed quite a different complexion if her confounded relations were to have their parts in it. He would have to endure all kinds of talkee-talkee from her mother. That oaf Tom might want to thrust his blundering foot into what was no concern of his. Worst of all, there was her father. Rodney was quite certain that he would want to regularise the position at once; that he himself would be helpless in his hands. Mr. Austin would require a clear statement of his intentions; having got it, he would see that it was adhered to. Being opposed to long engagements, he would want to fix the wedding day-and he would fix it. Rodney was uncomfortably conscious that he had made such a conspicuous ass of himself that, being delivered into her father's strong hands, almost before he knew it he might find himself the husband of Stella Austin.
He shuddered at the thought-a fact which was observed by the young lady at his side.
"Whatever is the matter? You shook the fly! You haven't thanked me for my congratulations, nor do you seem so elated as I expected. You know I'm not sure that it was quite nice of you to propose to another girl on the very day before the one on which you knew you were coming down to me. For all you could tell, I was expecting you to propose to me."
"If I'd only thought there was the slightest chance, wouldn't I have loved to."
"I suppose for the sake of practice."
"Well-there are girls with whom one would like to practise love-making."
"That's a nice thing to say, and you an engaged man of less than four-and-twenty hours' standing. There's a taximeter-stop him! Pay the driver of this silly old cab and let's get into the taxi."
The transfer was effected, the driver of the "silly old cab" expressing himself on the subject with some frankness. When they were in the taxi the lady set forth the idea which had been in her mind.
"I don't want to go on to the horrid lawns and see the stupid people in their ugly dresses; I can't take you to aunt's house, because, as you know, she's away, and I don't want the servants to talk; I don't want to lunch at either of the hotels, because I hate them all; I do want to go where we can be all by ourselves, so I suggest the Devil's Dyke. This taxi will romp up; it's the most vulgar place I know, so we go where we please and do as we choose-everybody does up there."
So it was the Devil's Dyke. The taxi did "romp up." They had lunch at the hotel, and afterwards went out on to the downs, Rodney carrying a rug which he had borrowed from the hotel over his arm. They had not to go far over the slopes before they had left the few people who were up there behind, and were as much alone as if they had the world to themselves. Rodney spread the rug on the grass at the bottom of one of those little hollows shaped like cups which are to be found thereabouts by those who seek. On it they reclined; the gentleman lit a cigar, the lady a cigarette. They were as much at home with each other as either could desire. Their conversation was frankness itself.
"When I feel like liking it," observed the lady, "this is just the sort of thing I do like. You're engaged, and I'm engaged, so we ought to be nice to each other. Do you mind my kissing you?"
"Not a bit."
She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, he removing his cigar to enable her to do it. Then she blew her cigarette smoke in his face and laughed. He said nothing; he was thinking that there was a good deal to be said for being on such terms with three nice girls. After all, there might be something in the Mohammedan's idea of paradise. She was silent for a moment; then inquired:
"Why did you ask Stella after all? Because you knew she'd like you to?"
He considered his reply.
"No; not altogether. Of course, at the beginning I never meant to, then all of a sudden I felt as if I had to. I had a sort of feeling that it would be such fun."
"And was it fun?"
"Distinctly; I wouldn't mind going through it all over again."
"Wouldn't you? Now you'll have to marry her."
"Shall I?"
"Don't you want to marry her?"
"I do not."
"That's unfortunate, because you certainly will have to."
"We'll see."
"Stella'll see-or, rather, her family will. If it were any other but the Austin family I should have said that a person of your eel-like slipperiness-"
"Thank you."
"Might have wriggled away; but if you wriggle away it will be out of the frying-pan into the fire. For ever so long the family has been expecting you to ask Stella to marry you; you've fostered the expectation, and now that you have asked her, if you try to sneak out of your engagement, Mr. Austin will make things so uncomfortable that you'll find it easier to make Stella Mrs. E."
"And do you want to marry Tom?"
"I do not. All the same, I expect I shall."
"Why? If you don't want to?"
Miss Carmichael sent a cloud of smoke up into the air.
"A girl's position is so different from a man's. I must marry someone, and, so far as I can see, it may as well be Tom."
"Why must you marry someone?"
"Don't be absurd! Can you conceive me as a spinster? Rather than be an old maid I'd-marry you; I can't say anything stronger."
"You've a friendly way of paying compliments."
"My dear young fellow; as a-chum, when I'm in the mood, you're ripping, simply ripping; but as a husband-good Lord, deliver us! If Stella understood you only a quarter as well as I do she'd be only too glad to let you go the very first moment you showed the faintest inclination to bolt."
class="normal""And, pray, what sort of wife do you think you'll make?"
Again a pause, while more cigarette smoke went into the air.
"Depends on the man."
"I presume to what extent you can fool him."
"I can imagine a man to whom I would be all that a wife could be, the whole happiness of his whole life."
"I can't."
"That's because you don't understand me as well as I do you."
"What sort of wife do you think that you'll make Tom?"
"Oh, he'll be content."
"Poor devil!"
"I'm not so sure; it's a good thing to be content. Each time I put my arms about his neck he'll forgive me everything."
"So far as I gather, the difference between me as a husband and you as a wife consists in this: that while I'm going to be found out, you're not. I don't see why you should be so sure of the immunity you refuse to me."
"I admit that in this world one never can be sure of anything. I quite credit you with as much capacity to throw dust in a woman's eyes as I have to throw dust in a man's. Still, there is a difference between us of which I'm conscious, though just now I'm too lazy to attempt an exact definition. I really can't see why you object to Stella; she'll make you a good wife."
"Hang your good wives!"
"My child! Do you want a bad one? You should have no difficulty in being suited."
"Is a sinner likely to be happy if mated to a saint?"
"Would he be happier if mated to another sinner? In that case you might do well to marry me-which I doubt."
"I don't. I'm disposed to think that ours would be an ideal union."
"I wonder."
"Neither would expect the other to be perfect; each would allow the other a wider range of liberty for purely selfish reasons."
"I say, wouldn't it be rather a joke if you were to throw over Stella and I were to throw over Tom and we were to marry each other?"
"I'd do it like a shot if it weren't for one drawback-that we both of us are penniless."
"That is a nuisance, since we are both of us so fond of what money stands for. If you had five thousand a year perhaps I might marry you after all."
"I'm sure you would."
"Pray why are you sure? You've a conceit!"
"I am sure."
"If-I say if-I were to marry you, would you give me a good time?"
"The very best-a time after your own heart."
"Would you? Lots of frocks?"
"All the frocks your soul desired."
"Everything I wanted?"
"That's a tall order. I'm only human."
"That certainly is true. I shouldn't be surprised if you were more generous even than Tom."
"I don't call that sort of thing generosity. A man gives things to a woman he cares for because he has a lively sense of favours to come."
"That's candid. You've given me one or two trifles already. Has that been with a lively sense of favours to come?"
"Perhaps."
"You wretch! Would you care for me a little?"
"I care for you more than a little now, as you are perfectly well aware."
She turned and whispered something in his ear. He smiled, but kept silent. Presently she said aloud:
"It would be rather a joke if we were to marry. Now that the idea's got into my head I can't get it out again. It makes little thrills go all over me-dear little thrills. I hope that if ever you do marry me it will be before I have had to resort to any of women's aids to beauty. I should like you to have me just as I am, while I am really at my best and while I can still bear the most searching investigation. My complexion's my own; I use no powder, rouge, or pencil. I haven't a false tooth in my head or even a stopped one. I've only a weeny pad on the top of my head, which is rendered absolutely necessary by the present style of hairdressing-everything about me's true."
"Outside."
"Sir! I dare say we shouldn't make such a very bad pair. Would you-like to marry me?"
"Given an assured position, I would marry you."
"Well, then, I'll tell you what we might do. You might marry Stella, and-dispose of her with some nice painless thing like chloral; and I might marry Tom, and-delicately dispose of him. Then we should both of us have an assured position, and-we could marry."
"There's more in the idea than meets the eye."
She threw the fag-end of her cigarette away from her and laughed.
"You're simply ripping!" she exclaimed.