Part 20 (1/2)

And Tom got up abruptly. 'No, Lettice dear, thank you; I think I'll move a bit.' He had said 'Lettice dear' without realising it, and before his cousin too. 'I'll take a turn and then come back for you.

You stay here with Tony,' and he moved off somewhat briskly.

Then, instantly, the other two rose up like one person, following him to where the carriage waited. . . .

'They're frightening rather, don't you think--these ancient places?'

she said presently, as they drove along past palms and the flat-topped houses of the felaheen. 'There's something watching and listening all the time.'

Tom made no answer. He felt suddenly unsure of something--almost unsure of himself, it seemed.

'One feels a bit lost,' he said slowly after a bit, 'and lonely.

It's the size, I think.'

'Perhaps,' she rejoined, peering at him with half-lowered eyelids, 'and the silence.' She broke off, then added, 'You can hear your thoughts too clearly.'

Tom was sitting back amid a bundle of rugs she had wrapped him in; Tony, beside her, on the front seat, seemed in a gentle doze.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, dropping Tony first at the Savoy, then going on to Tom's hotel. She insisted, although her own house was in the opposite direction. 'And you're to take a hot whisky when you get into bed, remember, and don't get up to-morrow if you feel a chill.' She gave him orders for his health and comfort as though he were her son. Tom noticed it, told her she was divinely precious to him, and promised faithfully to obey.

'What do you think about Tony?' he asked suddenly, when they had driven alone for several minutes. 'I mean, what impression does he make on you? How do you _feel_ him?'

'He's enjoying himself immensely with his numerous friends,' she replied at once. 'He grows on one rather. He's a dear, I think.'

She looked at him, then turned away again. 'Don't you, Tom?'

'Oh, rather. I've always thought so. I told you first long ago, didn't I?' He made no reference to the exaggeration about the friends. 'And I think it's wonderful how well we--what a perfect trio we are.'

'Yes, isn't it?'

They both became thoughtful then. There fell a pause between them, when Tom broke in abruptly once again:

'But--what do _you_ feel? Because _I_ think he's half in love with you, if you want to know.' He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

The words tumbled out as though they were in a hurry. 'It pleases me immensely, Lettice; it makes me feel so proud of you and happy.

It'll do him a world of good, too, if he loves a woman like you.

You'll teach him something.' She smiled shyly and said, 'I wonder, Tom. Do you really think so? He certainly seems fond of me, but I hadn't thought quite that. You think everybody must fall in love with me.' She pushed him away with a gentle yet impatient pressure of her arm, indicating the Arab coachman with a nod of her head.

'Take care of him, Lettice: he's a dear fellow; don't let him break his heart.'

Tom began to flirt outrageously; his arm crept round her, he leaned over and stole a kiss--and to his amazement she did not try to stop him. She did not seem to notice it. She sat very still--a stone statue in the moonlight.

Then, suddenly, he realised that she had not replied to his question.

He promptly repeated it therefore. 'You put me off with what _he_ feels, but I want to know what _you_ feel,' he said with emphasis.

'But, Tom, I'm not putting you off, as you call it--with anything,'

and there was a touch of annoyance in her tone and manner.

'Tell me, Lettice; it interests me. You're such a puzzle, d'you know, out here.' His tone unconsciously grew more earnest as he spoke.

Madame Jaretzka broke into a little laugh. 'You boy!' she exclaimed teasingly, 'you're trying to heighten his value so as to increase your own by contrast. The more people you can find in love with me, the more you'll be able to flatter yourself.'

Tom laughed with her, though he did not quite understand. He had never heard her say such a thing before. He accepted the cleverness she gave him credit for, however. 'Of course, and why shouldn't I?'

And he was just going to put his original question in another form-- had already begun it, in fact--when she interrupted him, putting her hand playfully over his mouth for a second: 'I do think Tony's a happy entertaining sort of man,' she told him, 'even fascinating in a certain kind of way. He's very stimulating to me. And I feel--don't you, Tom?'--a slight change--was it softness?--crept into her tone-- 'a sort of beauty in him somewhere?'

'Yes, p'raps I do,' he a.s.sented briefly; 'but, I say, Lettice darling, you mischievous Egyptian princess.'