Part 35 (1/2)

”What a shame--what an outrage--that any of us here should know a word about it!” cried Rose, her small foot beating on the floor, the hot colour in her cheek. ”How shall we ever be able to face her to-night?”

Flaxman started.

”Miss Puttenham is coming to-night?”

”Certainly. She comes with Mary--who was to pick her up--after dinner.”

Flaxman patrolled the room a little, in meditation. Finally he stopped before his wife.

”You must realize, darling, that we may be all walking on the edge of a volcano to-night.”

”If only Henry Barron were!--and I might be behind to give the last little _chiquenade_!” cried Rose.

Flaxman devoutly echoed the wish.

”But the point is--are there any more of these letters out? If so, we may hear of others to-night. Then--what to do? Do I make straight for Meynell?”

They pondered it.

”Impossible to leave Meynell in ignorance,” said Flaxman--”if the thing spreads Meynell of course would be perfectly justified--in his ward's interests--in denying the whole matter absolutely, true or no. But can he?--with Barron in reserve--using the Sabin woman's tale for his own purposes?”

Catharine's face, a little sternly set, showed the obscure conflict behind.

”He cannot say what is false,” she said stiffly. ”But he can refuse to answer.”

Flaxman looked at her with an expression as confident as her own.

”To protect a woman, my dear Catharine--a man may say anything in the world--almost.”

Catharine made no reply, but her quiet face showed she did not agree with him.

”That child Hester!” Rose emerged suddenly from a mental voyage of recollection and conjecture. ”Now one understands why Lady Fox-Wilton--stupid woman!--has never seemed to care a rap for her. It must indeed be annoying to have to mother a child so much handsomer than your own.”

”I think I am very sorry for Sir Ralph Fox-Wilton,” said Catharine, after a moment.

Rose a.s.sented.

”Yes!--just an ordinary dull, pig-headed country gentleman confronted with a situation that only occurs in plays to which you don't demean yourself by going!--and obliged to tell and act a string of lies, when lies happen to be just one of the vices you're not inclined to! And then afterward you find yourself let in for living years and years with a bad conscience--hating the cuckoo-child, too, more and more as it grows up.

Yes!--I am quite sorry for Sir Ralph!”

”By the way!”--Flaxman looked up--”Do you know I am sure that I saw Miss Fox-Wilton--with Philip Meryon--in Hewlett's spinney this morning. I came back from Markborough by a path I had never discovered before--and there, sure enough, they were. They heard me on the path, I think, and vanished most effectively. The wood is very thick. But I am sure it was they--though they were some distance from me.”

Rose exclaimed.

”Naughty, _naughty_ child: She has been absolutely forbidden to see him, the whole Fox-Wilton family have made themselves into gaolers and spies--and she just outwits them all! Poor Alice Puttenham hovers about her--trying to distract and amuse her--and has no more influence than a fly. And as for the Rector, it would be absurd, if it weren't enraging!

Look at all there is on his shoulders just now--the way people appeal to him from all over England to come and speak--or consult--or organize--(I don't want to be controversial, Catharine, darling!--but there it is).

And he can't make up his mind to leave Upcote for twenty-four hours till this girl is safely off the scene! He means to take her to Paris himself on Monday. I only hope he has found a proper sort of Gorgon to leave her with!”