Part 5 (2/2)

Simpkins was tempted to buy two seats in the stalls and could have done so without question in these after-war times when almost the only people who have enough money for their laundresses are the profiteers. But tradition prevailed and he took her up to the dress circle,-where n.o.body dressed. The people were coming reluctantly into the theater in the usual manner of Londoners. English people are not ardent theater goers and have to be dragged in to see a play almost in the same manner as in the old days of barnstorming, when the manager beat a drum on the threshold of the tent, the hero and the heroine stood at his elbow and made pathetic appeals to pa.s.sers-by, and the villain, lurking in the background, grimaced at all the girls.

The orchestra had just begun to tune up and the sc.r.a.ping of fiddles sent a tingle through Lola's veins. It put her in the mood, as it always did, to forget life, her own personality and the presence of Simpkins, and place herself into the character of the play's heroine. From an unexpected pocket Simpkins brought out a small box of chocolates. He was one of those strange people who, although they have just risen from a hearty meal, cannot go through an evening at the theater without munching something. ”'Ave one,” he said. ”They're nice.”

”You think of everything,” said Lola, and in order not to hurt his feelings, took one and dropped it under the seat. ”There's going to be a good house,” she added.

”Irene always draws 'em in. By Gum, she's given me some good evenings in her time. She's what I call safe. You can bank on her. She dresses like a lady, too, and that gets me. Good old Irene.” And then he put his face rather close to Lola's. ”Some one said you thought of going on the stage before you joined us. That's not true, is it?”

”No,” said Lola. ”Not in the least true. I discussed it with my aunt. In fact, to be quite honest, I put it to her head like a pistol.”

”Oh, I see.” Simpkins heaved a sigh of relief. If Lola were to go on the stage,-and all these young officers buzzing about, treating marriage as though it were a betting transaction--

”I think,” said Lola with nave gravity, ”that it's better to play a leading part in life than to be in the chorus on the stage. Cleverer acting is required, too, don't you think so?”

A leading part in life? Simpkins was worried. Would she consider the wife of a man who owned the ”Black Bell” at Wargrave to be a leading part? ”You're not ambitious, are yer?” he asked, peering at her patrician profile.

”Oh,” she said, ”Oh,” and suddenly threw out her hands.

And then the lights went out and the buzz of talking ceased gradually as though bees were retiring in platoons from a feeding place.

IV

They walked to Trafalgar Square. Lola was still in the old garden of Miss Nell among the Creoles and the music of the Mardi Gras frolickers.

She had no ears for the expert criticisms of her escort. There were plenty of unoccupied taxis scouting for fares but Lola pulled up under the shadow of the National Gallery to watch the big play of life for a moment or two. From force of a habit which she had not yet conquered, she looked up at the sky, half expecting to see the great white beams of searchlights swing and stammer until they focussed upon something that looked like a silver fish, and then to twinge under the quick reports of anti-aircraft guns. Twice during the War she had been caught on that spot during a raid and had stood transfixed to the pavement between fright and a keen desire to see the show. Memories of those never-to-be-forgotten incidents, small as they were and of no consequence in the story of the War-the loss of a few well-fed noncombatants who made themselves targets for stray shrapnel because they wouldn't dip like rabbits into funk holes-came back to her then, as well they might. The War's evidences forced themselves every day upon the notice even of those who desired to forget,-the processions of unemployed with their rattling collection boxes among the ugliest of them all.

Big Ben struck the quarter and Lola returned to earth. ”Simpky,” she said, ”cab, quick.” And he called one and gave the address. And then she began again to hear what the valet was saying. He had used up Miss Nell o' New Orleans and had come to Miss Lola of Queen's Road, Bayswater.

”Look 'ere, can't we do this often, you and me? We can always sneak off when there's a dinner on or Lady Feo's out in the push. It don't cost much and I've got plenty of money.”

”I should like to very much,” said Lola. ”Once a fortnight, say. You see, I go home every Wednesday night. I don't think we ought to do it more often than once a fortnight because, after all, I feel rather responsible to Auntie and I don't want to set a bad example to the other girls.”

”Well, promise you won't go out with the other men. I let you into the 'ouse first, don't forget that, and that was a sort of omen to me and if you could bring yourself to look upon me as-well--” He broke off nervously and ran his hand over his forehead, which was damp with excitement.

But Lola was not in the least nonplussed. She had had so much practice.

She was an expert in mentally making all sorts and conditions of men her brothers. She said, ”Simpky,”-although the man looked extremely un-Russian,-”you mustn't spoil me. Also you must remember that Ellen Glazeby has hopes. She's a friend of mine.”

”Oh, my G.o.d,” said Simpkins, with a touch of melodrama. ”If I'd been engaged to 'er and on the verge of marriage, and then 'ad seen you,-or even if I'd been married for a couple of years and was 'appy and 'ad seen you--Religious as I am--”

Lola turned to him with extreme simplicity. ”But I'm a good girl, Simpky,” she said.

And he gave a funny throaty sound, like a frog at night with its feet in water; and one of his hands fluttered out and caught hold of the end of Lola's piece of fur, and this he pressed to his lips. ”Oh, my G.o.d,” he said again, words failing.

And so Lola was rather glad when the cab drew up at the house in Dover Street.

A car arrived at the same time and honked impatiently and imperiously.

Simpkins leapt from the taxi and said, ”Pull out of the way, quick.” It did so. And as Lola descended and stood at the top of the area steps, she saw Fallaray go slowly up to the front door with rounded shoulders, as though he were Atlas with the weight of the world on his back. He was followed by a man whose step was light and eager.

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