Part 21 (2/2)

There was a pause. G.J. said:

”I had an appointment here with the white woman, on business.”

”Yes, I know,” said Concepcion negligently. ”She'll be home soon.”

Something infinitesimally malicious in the voice and gaze sent the singular idea shooting through his mind that Queen had gone out on purpose so that Concepcion might have him alone for a while. And he was wary of both of them, as he might have been of two pagan G.o.ddesses whom he, a poor defiant mortal, suspected of having laid an eye on him for their own ends.

”_You've_ changed, anyhow,” said Concepcion.

”Older?”

”No. Harder.”

He was startled, not displeased.

”How--harder?”

”More sure of yourself,” said Concepcion, with a trace of the old harsh egotism in her tone. ”It appears you're a perfect tyrant on the Lechford Committee now you're vice-chairman, and all the more footling members dread the days when you're in the chair. It appears also that you've really overthrown two chairmen, and yet won't take the situation yourself.”

He was still more startled, but now positively flattered by the world's estimate of his activities and individuality. He saw himself in a new light.

”This what you were talking about until five a.m.?”

The butler entered.

”Shall I serve tea, Madam?”

Concepcion looked at the man scornfully:

”Yes.”

One of the minor stalwarts entered and arranged a table, and the other followed with a glittering, steaming tray in his hands, while the butler hovered like a winged hippopotamus over the operation.

Concepcion half sat down by the table, and then, altering her mind, dropped on to a vast chaise-longue, as wide as a bed, and covered with as many cus.h.i.+ons as would have stocked a cus.h.i.+on shop, which occupied the princ.i.p.al place in front of the hearth. The hem of her rich gown just touched the floor. G.J. could see that she was wearing the transparent deep-purple stockings that Queen wore with the transparent lavender gown. Her right shoulder rose high from the ma.s.s of the body, and her head was sunk between two cus.h.i.+ons. Her voice came smothered from the cus.h.i.+ons:

”d.a.m.n it! G.J. Don't look at me like that.”

He was standing near the mantelpiece.

”Why?” he exclaimed. ”What's the matter, Con?”

There was no answer. He lit a cigarette. The ebullient kettle kept lifting its lid in growing impatience. But Concepcion seemed to have forgotten the tea. G.J. had a thought, distinct like a bubble on a sea of thoughts, that if the tea was already made, as no doubt it was, it would soon be stewed. Concepcion said:

”The matter is that I'm a ruined woman, and Queen can't understand.”

And in the bewildering voluptuous brightness and luxury of the room G.J. had the sensation of being a poor, baffled ghost groping in the night of existence. Concepcion's left arm slipped over the edge of the day-bed and hung limp and pale, the curved fingers touching the carpet.

Chapter 27

THE CLYDE

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