Part 6 (1/2)
”I don't think she's the kind of girl to trust at all.”
”I must have been blind--blind,” said Hilary Vance.
Then came the sound of a taxicab drawing up before the house, and then a knocking at the front door. Pollyooly opened it, and found Mr. James on the threshold. He looked uncommonly anxious and said quickly:
”I missed him. Has he come back?”
”Yes; he's having his tea.”
”And this fellow b.u.t.terwick?” said Mr. James.
”Oh, he came; and then, when he found how big Mr. Vance is, he went away. But he hasn't done with Mr. Vance--not by a long chalk. He told me to tell him so,” said Pollyooly.
”Well, I'm glad they didn't sc.r.a.p,” said Mr. James in a tone of relief.
”If they didn't at once, they're not very likely to later.”
”Oh, no: they won't now,” said Pollyooly confidently. ”You see as soon as he heard that Mr. b.u.t.terwick was her--her fiongsay”--she hesitated over the word because Hilary Vance had shaken her original conception of its p.r.o.nunciation--”he gave her up for good.”
”That is a blessing,” said the novelist in a tone of yet greater relief.
He had been looking forward to a disagreeable and very likely hopeless struggle with his friend's infatuation.
He walked down the pa.s.sage and into the studio briskly. But not quickly enough to prevent an expression of funereal gloom flooding Hilary Vance's face.
”How are you?” said Mr. James cheerfully.
”In the depths--in the depths--my last illusion shattered,” said the artist in the gloomiest kind of despairing croak.
”Oh, you never know,” said Mr. James.
”I shall never trust a woman again--never,” said the artist in an inexorable tone.
”But I thought you'd given up trusting them months ago,” said Mr. James in considerable surprise.
”I was deceived--this one seemed so different. She was a serpent--a veritable serpent,” said Hilary Vance in his deepest tone.
”Yes. They are apt to be like that,” said Mr. James with some carelessness. ”May I have some tea?”
Gloomily the artist poured him out a cup of tea; gloomily he watched him drink it. Heedless of his gloom, Mr. James plunged into an account of his stay in Scotland, telling of the country, the food, and the people with an agreeable, racy vivacity. Slowly the great cloud lifted from Hilary Vance's ample face. He grew interested; he asked questions; at last he said firmly:
”I must go to Scotland. Nature--Nature pure and undenied is what my seared soul needs.”
”It wouldn't be a bad idea,” said Mr. James.
”I shall wear a kilt,” said Hilary Vance solemnly. ”The winds of heaven playing round my legs would a.s.sist healing nature; and I must be in complete accord with the country.”
”A kilt wouldn't be a bad idea,” said Mr. James.
Hilary Vance paused and appeared to be thinking deeply; then he said: