Part 15 (2/2)

She was watching him closely, and now the pupils of her beautiful eyes became dilated.

”You know something,” she said slowly, ”which you are keeping from me.”

He laughed and turned aside.

”I know that I am compelled to leave England again, Rita, for a time; and I should be a happier man if I knew that you were not so utterly dependent upon Kazmah.”

”Oh, Lucy, are you going away again?”

”I must. But I shall not be absent long, I hope.”

Rita sank down upon the settee from which she had risen, and was silent for some time; then: ”I will try, Lucy,” she promised. ”I will go to Margaret Halley, as she is always asking me to do.”

”Good girl,” said Pyne quietly. ”It is just a question of making the effort, Rita. You will succeed, with Margaret's help.”

A short time later Sir Lucien left England, but throughout the last week that he remained in London Rita spent a great part of every day in his company. She had latterly begun to experience an odd kind of remorse for her treatment of the inscrutably reserved baronet. His earlier intentions she had not forgotten, but she had long ago forgiven them, and now she often felt sorry for this man whom she had deliberately used as a stepping-stone to fortune.

Gray was quite unable to conceal his jealousy. He seemed to think that he had a proprietary right to Mrs. Monte Irvin's society, and during the week preceding Sir Lucien's departure Gray came perilously near to making himself ridiculous on more than one occasion.

One night, on leaving a theatre, Rita suggested to Pyne that they should proceed to a supper club for an hour. ”It will be like old times,” she said.

”But your husband is expecting you,” protested Sir Lucien.

”Let's ring him up and ask him to join us. He won't, but he cannot very well object then.”

As a result they presently found themselves descending a broad carpeted stairway. From the rooms below arose the strains of an American melody. Dancing was in progress, or, rather, one of those orgiastic ceremonies which pa.s.sed for dancing during this pagan period. Just by the foot of the stairs they paused and surveyed the scene.

”Why,” said Rita, ”there is Quentin-glaring insanely, silly boy.”

”Do you see whom he is with?” asked Sir Lucien.

”Mollie Gretna.”

”But I mean the woman sitting down.”

Rita stood on tiptoe, trying to obtain a view, and suddenly: ”Oh!” she exclaimed, ”Mrs. Sin!”

The dance at that moment concluding, they crossed the floor and joined the party. Mrs. Sin greeted them with one of her rapid, mirthless smiles. She was wearing a gown noticeable, but not for quant.i.ty, even in that semi-draped a.s.sembly. Mollie Gretna giggled rapturously. But Gray's swiftly changing color betrayed a mood which he tried in vain to conceal by his manner. Having exchanged a few words with the new arrivals, he evidently realized that he could not trust himself to remain longer, and: ”Now I must be off,” he said awkwardly. ”I have an appointment-important business. Good night, everybody.”

He turned away and hurried from the room. Rita flushed slightly and exchanged a glance with Sir Lucien. Mrs. Sin, who had been watching the three intently, did not fail to perceive this glance. Mollie Gretna characteristically said a silly thing.

”Oh!” she cried. ”I wonder whatever is the matter with him! He looks as though he had gone mad!”

”It is perhaps his heart,” said Mrs. Sin harshly, and she raised her bold dark eyes to Sir Lucien's face.

”Oh, please don't talk about hearts,” cried Rita, willfully misunderstanding. ”Monte has a weak heart, and it frightens me.”

”So?” murmured Mrs. Sin. ”Poor fellow.”

”I think a weak heart is most romantic,” declared Mollie Gretna.

But Gray's behavior had cast a shadow upon the party which even Mollie's empty light-hearted chatter was powerless to dispel, and when, shortly after midnight, Sir Lucien drove Rita home to Prince's Gate, they were very silent throughout the journey. Just before the car reached the house: ”Where does Mrs. Sin live?” asked Rita, although it was not of Mrs. Sin that she had been thinking.

”In Limehouse, I believe,” replied Sir Lucien; ”at The House. But I fancy she has rooms somewhere in town also.”

He stayed only a few minutes at Prince's Gate, and as the car returned along Piccadilly, Sir Lucien, glancing upward towards the windows of a tall block of chambers facing the Green Park, observed a light in one of them. Acting upon a sudden impulse, he raised the speaking-tube.

”Pull up, Fraser,” he directed.

The chauffeur stopped the car and Sir Lucien alighted, glancing at the clock inside as he did so, and smiling at his own quixotic behavior. He entered an imposing doorway and rang one of the bells. There was an interval of two minutes or so, when the door opened and a man looked out.

”Is that you, Willis?” asked Pyne.

”Oh, I beg pardon, Sir Lucien. I didn't know you in the dark.”

”Has Mr. Gray retired yet?”

”Not yet. Will you please follow me, Sir Lucien. The stairway lights are off.”

A few moments later Sir Lucien was shown into the apartment of Gray's which oddly combined the atmosphere of a gymnasium with that of a study. Gray, wearing a dressing-gown and having a pipe in his mouth, was standing up to receive his visitor, his face rather pale and the expression of his lips at variance with that in his eyes. But: ”h.e.l.lo, Pyne,” he said quietly. ”Anything wrong-or have you just looked in for a smoke?”

Sir Lucien smiled a trifle sadly.

”I wanted a chat, Gray,” he replied. ”I'm leaving town tomorrow, or I should not have intruded at such an unearthly hour.”

”No intrusion,” muttered Gray; ”try the armchair, no, the big one. It's more comfortable.” He raised his voice: ”Willis, bring some fluid!”

Sir Lucien sat down, and from the pocket of his dinner jacket took out a plain brown packet of cigarettes and selected one.

”Here,” said Gray, ”have a cigar!”

”No, thanks,” replied Pyne. ”I rarely smoke anything but these.”

”Never seen that kind of packet before,” declared Gray. ”What brand are they?”

”No particular brand. They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe.”

Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir Lucien came at once to the point.

”I really called, Gray,” he said, ”to clear up any misunderstanding there may be in regard to Rita Irvin.”

Quentin Gray looked up suddenly when he heard Rita's name, and: ”What misunderstanding?” he asked.

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