Part 62 (2/2)

Somewhere in his heart, that was mostly impressionless india-rubber, there had proved to be a healthy, flesh-and-blood spot after all. She had found it quickly - gone straight to it with the unerring directness of a little child. It existed still - would always exist for her.

But in future the india-rubber would have to close over it, and hide it from all chance of discovery. In future he must not even remember it himself. For that way lay weakness. No serving of Mammon could be achieved, whichever way he turned, with the frank, candid, clever Little Girl.

And so she must go; and since it was inevitable, the sooner the better.

Then had come the afternoon's golf; and, without asking himself why, he had hidden from her that there was any change. Afterwards, because the impending finale made him desire her as he had never desired her before, he went into the pretty little sitting-room and kissed her.

When he hurriedly departed, he remembered only that the kiss had been sweet. Also that evidently no rumour had reached her yet. But of course it would. Any moment of any day her newspaper office might get the news and publish it.

He spent a wretched week, torn mercilessly by his desire to serve two masters. In the end, because he was a man who hated to be thwarted, he swore a violent oath, and said that he would.

Then he sent Hal the urgent little note, and made his plans for the day. They all hinged largely upon his hope to get her to go to his flat in Jermyn Street, after that grill-room dinner. That was why when they met he cleverly took the bull by the horns directly he saw in her eyes that she had heard the news. He appealed, with insight, to her sense of humour.

”If you look at me like that,” he said, ”I shall punish you by sitting down here, in St. James's Park, on the curbstone, and giving you an explanation before all London that lasts an hour.”

”I've a great mind to keep you to it,” with her low, musical laugh, ”and send Peter to bring a phonograph man with a blank record to take it down.”

”And a dozen journalists with snap-shot cameras, and biograph apparatus, to link us in notorious publicity to all eternity.”

”No; I couldn't stand that. What is your alternative?”

”A long, perfect day in this heavenly suns.h.i.+ne, pretending anything in the world you like that will make us forget the stale, boresome, old week-day world. Then, at the end of it, the unfolding of a glorious plan that is an explanation in itself.”

Hal looked doubtful, and seemed to cogitate. He waited in an anxiety he could scarce conceal, watching her mobile, sensitive face. Finally the suns.h.i.+ne and the light-hearted carelessness made the strongest appeal, and she gave in.

”Very well. If it had been dull and cloudy I would not have agreed.

But one daren't trifle with suns.h.i.+ne. We'll take our fill of it while it lasts.”

So it happened that their last long day was one of the best they had known - each being clever enough to carry out the suggested programme and banish the following cloud for the time.

Hal was a little feverish - a little gayer than usual, with some hidden strain; a little pathetically anxious to act an indifference she could not possibly feel, concerning that rumour, and throw herself heart and soul into their compact of forgetting everything for a little while except the suns.h.i.+ne and the exhilarating dash through a spring-decked England.

In some places the hedges were white with hawthorn; and in sheltered nooks they sped past primroses, like pale stars in the gra.s.s. There were plantations of feathery, exquisite larch trees, their lovely green enhanced by tall dark pines, standing among them like sentinels. In gay gardens joyous daffodils nodded and laughed to them as they whirled past. Sir Edwin ventured an appreciative remark.

”Don't talk,” Hal said. ”Pretend you are in a worldwide cathedral, and it is the great annual festival of spring.”

”May I sing?” he asked humorously.

”No; not as you value your life. We have only to listen to the choir.

Hush, don't you hear the birds singing the grand spring 'Te Deum'!”

But after a time she spoke herself.

”Was it all like this on Thursday night - all these delicious scents and sights and sounds cast broadcast, for all who pa.s.sed to enjoy?”

”I expect so. Why?”

The kindliness in the quizzical grey eyes was amazing, as he sat back, watching her with covert insistence, instead of the spring glories.

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