Part 9 (1/2)

”Is Millie Stretton here?”

”Yes,” replied Frances Millingham. ”She has been here a week.”

”I couldn't come before,” said Pamela, rather remorsefully. ”My father was at home alone. How is Millie? I have not seen her for a long time.

Is she enjoying herself?”

Pamela's conscience had been reproaching her all that afternoon. She could plead in her own behalf that after the arrival of Tony's letter with its message of failure, she had deferred her visit into the country and had stayed in London for a week. But she had not returned to London since, and consequently she had not seen her friend. She had heard regularly from her, it is true; she also knew that there was yet no likelihood of the hoped-for change in the life of that isolated household in Berkeley Square. But there had been certain omissions of late in Millicent's letters which began to make Pamela anxious.

”Yes,” Frances Millingham replied; ”she seems to be happy enough.”

Lady Millingham related the names of her guests. There were twelve in all, but the first ten may be omitted, for they are in no way concerned with Pamela's history. The eleventh name, however, was that of a friend.

”John Mudge is here, too,” said Frances Millingham; and Pamela said, with a smile--

”I like him.”

John Mudge was that elderly man whom Allan Warrisden had seen with Pamela at Lady Millingham's dance, the man with no pleasure in his face. ”And Mr. Lionel Callon,” said Frances; ”you know him.”

”Do I?” asked Pamela.

”At all events, he knows you.”

It was no doubt a consequence of Pamela's deliberate plan never to be more than an onlooker, that people who did not arouse her active interest pa.s.sed in and out of her acquaintances.h.i.+p like shadows upon a mirror. It might be that she had met Lionel Callon. She could not remember.

”A quarter past seven,” said Frances Millingham, glancing at the clock. ”We dine at eight.”

Pamela dressed quickly in the hope that she might gain a few minutes before dinner wherein to talk to Millicent. She came down the stairs with this object a good quarter of an hour before eight, but she was to be disappointed. The stairs descended into the big inner hall of the house, and just below the roof of the hall they took a bend. As Pamela came round this bend the hall was exposed to her eyes, and she saw, below her, not Millicent at all, but the figure of a man. He was standing by the fireplace, on her left hand as she descended, looking into the fire indeed, so that his back was towards her. But at the rustle of her frock he swung round quickly and looked up. He now moved a few steps towards the foot of the stairs with a particular eagerness. Pamela at that moment had just come round the bend, and was on the small platform from which the final flight of steps began. The staircase was dimly lit, and the panelling of the wall against which it rested dark. Pamela took a step or two downwards, and the light of the hall struck upon her face. The man came instantly to a dead stop, and a pa.s.sing disappointment was visible upon his upturned face. It was evident that he was expecting some one else. Pamela on her side was disappointed, too, for she had hoped to find Millicent. She went down the stairs and stopped on the third step from the bottom.

”How do you do, Miss Mardale?” said the man. ”You have arrived at last.”

The man was Lionel Callon. Pamela recognised him now that they stood face to face; she _had_ met him, but she had retained no impression of him in her memory. For the future, however, she would retain a very distinct impression. For her instincts told her at once and clearly that she thoroughly disliked the man. He was thirty-three in years, and looked a trifle younger, although his hair was turning grey. He was clean shaven, handsome beyond most men, and while his features were of a cla.s.sical regularity and of an almost feminine delicacy, they were still not without character. There was determination in his face, and his eyes were naturally watchful. It was his manner which prompted Pamela's instinct of dislike. a.s.surance gave to it a hint of arrogance; familiarity made it distasteful. He might have been her host from the warmth of his welcome. Pamela put on her sedatest air.

”I am quite well,” she said, with just sufficient surprise to suggest the question, ”What in the world has my health to do with you?” She came down the three steps, and added, ”We are the first, I suppose.”

”There may be others in the drawing-room,” said Callon, with a glance towards the open door. But Pamela did not take the hint. For one thing no sound of any voice was audible in that room; for another Mr. Callon was plainly anxious to be rid of her. Even as he was speaking his glance strayed past her up the staircase. Pamela disliked him; she was, besides, disappointed by him of that private talk with Millicent which she desired. She was in a mood for mischief. She changed her manner at once, and, crossing over to the fireplace, engaged Mr.

Callon in conversation with the utmost cordiality, and as she talked she began to be amused. Callon became positively uneasy; he could not keep still, he answered her at random. For instance, she put to him a question about the number of guests in the house. He did not answer at all for a moment or two, and when he did speak, it was to say, ”Will the frost hold, do you think?”

”There's no sign of a thaw to-night,” replied Pamela; and the sounds for which both were listening became audible--the shutting of a door on the landing above, and then the rustle of a frock upon the stairs.

Mr. Callon was evidently at his wits' end what to do; and Pamela, taking her elbow from the mantelpiece, said, with great sympathy--

”One feels a little in the way----”

”Oh, not at all, Miss Mardale,” Callon answered hurriedly, with a fl.u.s.tered air.

Pamela looked at her companion with the blankest stare of surprise.

”I was going to say, when you interrupted me,” she went on, ”that one feels a little in the way when one has brought a couple of horses, as I have, and the frost holds.”

Callon grew red. He had fallen into a trap; his very hurry to interrupt what appeared to be almost an apology betrayed that the lady upon the stairs and Mr. Lionel Callon had arranged to come down early.

He had protested overmuch. However, he looked Pamela steadily in the face, and said--