Part 71 (1/2)
”It is. It's fascinating.”
”And so that is the reason why you are staying so long in smoky old London?”
”No, Adela, it isn't. At least, that's not the only reason.”
The words were spoken slowly and were followed by a curiously conscious, almost, indeed, embarra.s.sed look from the girl's violet eyes.
”No?”
After a long pause Beryl said:
”You know I have always looked upon you as a book of wisdom.”
”It's very difficult to be wise,” said Lady Sellingworth, with a touch of bitterness. ”And sometimes very dull.”
”But you are wise, dearest. I feel it. You have known and done so much, and you have had brains to understand, to seek out the truth from experience. You have lived with understanding. You are not like the people who travel round the world and come back just the same as if they had been from Piccadilly Circus to Hampstead Heath and back. One _feels_ you have been round the world when one is with you.”
”Does one?” said Lady Sellingworth, rather drily. ”But I fancied nowadays the young thought all the wisdom lay with them.”
”Well, I don't. And, besides, I think you are marvellously discreet.”
”Wise! Discreet! I begin to feel as if I ought to sit on the Bench!”
Again there was the touch of bitterness in the voice. A very faint smile hovered for an instant about Miss Van Tuyn's lips.
”Judging the foolish women! Well, I think you are one of the few who would have a right to do that. You are so marvellously sensible.”
”Anyhow, I have no wish to do it. But--you were going to tell me?”
”In confidence.”
”Of course. The book of wisdom never opens its leaves to the mob.”
”I want very much to know your opinion of young Alick Craven.”
As she heard the word ”young” Lady Sellingworth had great difficulty in keeping her face still. Her mouth wanted to writhe, to twist to the left. She had the same intense shooting feeling that had hurt her when Seymour Portman had called Alick Craven a boy.
”Of Mr. Craven!” she said, with sudden severe reserve. ”Why? Why?”
Directly she had spoken she regretted the repet.i.tion. Her mind felt stiff, unyielding. And all her body felt stiff too.
”That's what I want to tell you,” said Miss Van Tuyn, speaking with some apparent embarra.s.sment.
And immediately Lady Sellingworth knew that she did not want to hear, that it would be dangerous, almost deadly, for her to hear. She longed to spread out her hands in the protesting gesture of one keeping something off, away from her, to say, ”Don't! Don't! I won't hear!” And she sat very still, and murmured a casual ”Yes?”
And then Miss Van Tuyn shot her bolt very cleverly, her aim being careful and good, her hand steady as a rock, her eyes fixed undeviatingly on the object she meant to bring down. She consulted Lady Sellingworth about her great friends.h.i.+p with Craven, told Lady Sellingworth how for some time, ”ever since the night we all went to the theatre,” Craven had been seeking her out persistently, spoke of his visits, their dinners together, their games of golf at Beaconsfield, finally came to Sunday, ”yesterday.”
”In the morning the telephone rang and we had a little talk. A Daimler car was suggested and a run down to Rye. You know my American ideas, Adela. A long day alone in the country with a boy--”