Part 11 (1/2)

A scrawny black cat rose and arched its back as Lola, telling the taxi man to wait, ran up the steps. One of those loose bells that jangle indiscreetly woke the echoes in the sleeping street, and the door was opened by the invincible Mrs. Rumbold, tired-eyed, with yawn marks all over her face. ”Well, here you are, dearie,” she said, as cheerful as usual, ”absobally-lootely to the minute. The old man ain't turned up yet. But you're not going to keep the taxi waiting, are you?”

”Yes,” said Lola.

”Gor blimey.” The comment was a perfectly natural one under the circ.u.mstances.

And while Lola changed back again into the day clothes of the lady's maid, Mrs. Rumbold lent a willing hand and babbled freely. It was good to have some one to speak to. Her legless son had been put to bed two hours before, asking himself, ”Have they forgotten?”

Finally the inevitable question, which Mrs. Rumbold, for all her lessons in discretion, simply could not resist. ”Where have yer bin, dearie?”

And Lola said, ”The Savoy. I dined with a knight in s.h.i.+ning armor with a white cross on his chest.”

”Oh,” said Mrs. Rumbold, ”he was going on to a fancy ball, I suppose.

Lord, how these boys love to dress themselves up.” But a lurking suspicion of something that was not quite right edged its way into that good woman's thoughts. What was little Lola Breezy from the shop round the corner doing with a gent as 'ad enough money to dine at the Savoy and sport about in old-time costumes? ”Well, of course, as I said before, you can only live once. But watch your step, dearie. Lots of banana skins about.”

And Lola threw her arms round the woman's neck and kissed her warmly.

”Fate has swept the pavement for me,” she said, once more as Feo would have spoken. ”I shall not make any slip.”

IV

Ernest Treadwell faced her at the bottom of the steps, and beneath the peak of his flabby cap his eyes were filled with fright.

”Is anything the matter with Father or Mother?”

”No,” he said.

”Why do you look like that, then?” Her hand fell away from his coat. If there was nothing wrong with her parents--

He edged her away from the cab and spoke quickly, without the usual stammer and timidity. He was laboring under a pa.s.sion of apprehension.

It made him almost rude. ”I came this way round from the Tube and saw you get out of this cab dressed up like a-a lady. What are you doing?

Where've you been?” He caught her by the wrist, excited by a sense of impending evil. Oh, G.o.d, how he loved this girl!

And Lola remembered this, although her brain was filled with pictures of the Savoy, of Chalfont and of Fallaray. Irritation, in which was mingled a certain degree of haughtiness, was dropped immediately. She knew that she had always been enthroned in this boy's heart. She must respect his emotion.

”Don't worry about me, Ernie,” she said, soothingly. ”Lady Feo gave me the dress. I changed into it at Mrs. Rumbold's and brought it back for her to work on again. It isn't quite right.”

”But where could you go to wear a thing like that-and the cloak? You looked so-so unlike--” He could only see her as she used to be behind the shop counter and out for walks with him.

And Lola gave a little rea.s.suring laugh because an answer was not ready.

If instead of Ernest Treadwell the man who held her up had been Simpkins! ”One of the girls had two stalls for the St. James's-her brother's in the box office-and so we both dressed up and went. It was great fun.” Why did these men force her into lying? She took her hand away.

”Oh,” he said, ”I see,” his fear rising like a crow and taking wings.

”And now if you've finished playing the glaring inquisitor, I'll say good night.” She gave him her hand again.

Covered with the old timidity, he remained where he stood and gazed.