Part 20 (1/2)

And that was too much for Feo. She threw the clothes back and kicked up her heels like a schoolgirl. But before she could congratulate her lady's maid on a delightful bit of acting and an egregious piece of impertinence that was worth all the Sundays in London to watch, the telephone bell rang and brought her back to facts.

”Just see who that is, will you? And before you say I'm here, find out who it is.”

”Yes, my lady,” said Lola. The little game was over. It hadn't lasted long. But if it had put her ladys.h.i.+p into a generous mood--

It was Mrs. Winchfield, calling up from Aylesbury.

”Oh, well,” said Feo, with the remembrance of great dullness. ”Give me the 'phone and get my bath ready. And tell them to let me have lots of breakfast in half an hour, here. I could eat a horse.”

”Very good, my lady.”

And when Lola returned, having carried out her orders and still tingling with the triumph of having proved her courage and her wit, she found Lady Feo lying in the middle of the room, on her back, doing exercises.

”All the dullards have left the Winchfields',” she said. ”There's to be a pucca man there this afternoon, one I've had my eye on for weeks.

Quick's the word, Lola. Get me dressed and into the car. This is Sunday and I'm in London. It's perfectly absurd. I shall stay the night, of course, and I shan't want you till to-morrow at six. What'll you do?

Lunch at the Carlton?”

”I shall go home, my lady.” But the twinkle returned.

”Oh, yes, of course. I spoilt your holiday, didn't I? By the way, does your mother know that you're in society now?”

And Lola replied, ”The bath is ready, my lady.”

And once more Feo laughed, lit a cigarette and went towards the bathroom. Here she turned and looked at the now mouse-like Lola with a peculiarly mischievous glint in her eyes. ”Wouldn't it be a frightful spree if I went after Peter Chalfont and told him all I know about you?”

Two minutes later she was singing in the bath.

Tell Peter Chalfont!-But Lola knew that this was an empty threat. Mr.

Fallaray's wife was a sportsman. _Mr. Fallaray's wife_.

For the first time in all this business, these words stood out in ghastly clearness, with all that they meant to Lady Feo and her, who was ”after” Mr. Fallaray. Was she, Lola, a sportsman too? The question came suddenly, like a bomb dropped from a Zeppelin, and drew the girl up short. But the answer followed quickly and it was Yes, yes, because this woman was _not_ Fallaray's wife and never had been.

But there was more than a little irony in the fact that she liked Lady Feo, was grateful to her, had seen many of her best points and so far as the Carlton episode went, recognized in her a most unusual creature, imbued with a spirit of mischief which was almost like that of a child.

And yet for all that, she _was_ Fallaray's wife.-It was more than conceivable, as Lola could guess, that if the whole story were confided in detail, with the de Breze background all brought out, Lady Feo would first of all laugh and then probably help her little lady's maid for the fun of the thing, and to be able, impishly, one night when she met Fallaray coming back from the House worn and round-shouldered, to stand in front of him, jumping to conclusions, and say, ”Ha, ha! Sooner or later you _all_ come off your pedestal, don't you? But look out, Master Messiah. If the world spots you in the first of your human games, pop goes the weasel, and you may as well take to growing roses.”

Still singing, and back again in the highest spirits, Feo breakfasted in her room and Lola dressed her for the country. Not once but many times during the hour that followed she endeavored to pump Lola about Chalfont and as to the number of times that she had gone out into ”life.” But Lola was a match for her and evaded all questions; sometimes with a perfectly straight face, sometimes with an answering twinkle in her eye.

Although she was piqued by the girl's continued elusiveness, Feo was filled with admiration at her extraordinary self-control,-a thing that she respected, being without it herself. And then Lola, with a little sigh, and as though drawn at last, got to _her_ point in this strange and intimate talk. ”I'm afraid I shall never be able to see Sir Peter again,” she said sadly. ”I have only one evening frock and he has seen it twice.”

At which Feo went to her wardrobe, flung open the doors, took down dress after dress, threw them on her bed and said, ”Take your choice. Of course, you can't always wear the same old frock. Sir Galahad has a quick eye. Take what stockings you need also and help yourself to my shoes. There are plenty more where these came from,-you little devil. If you catch that man, and I shan't be a bit surprised if you do, you will have done something that nearly every girl in society has taken a shot at during the last five years. I make one bargain with you, Lola, in return for these things. Spend your honeymoon at Chilton Park and let me present you at Court.”

An icy hand had touched her heart again. A honeymoon at Chilton Park,-with Chalfont.

IV

And so Lola was free to go home again and spend the remainder of Sunday with her people, after all. But when, having tidied up and dressed herself, she ran downstairs into the servants' sitting room on her way to the area steps, there sat Simpkins, a crestfallen and tragic figure, looking at a horizon which no longer contained the outline of his dream upon the banks of the Thames. He got up as Lola entered,-done for, but in the spirit of a protector, a Cromwellian spirit. ”Where 'ad you bin last night?” he asked, ”in them clothes?” He had not slept for thinking of it. His Lola, dressed like a lady, coming in with a tear-stained face, late at night, alone, from a devouring world. All his early chapel stuff had been revived at the sight. Disappointment had stirred it up.

Another cross-examination! Wasn't the world large enough for so small a little figure to escape notice?