Part 71 (1/2)

Now came a new revulsion. Again she felt herself saved. She sang her other songs straight at him, and exaggerated them equally, half to tempt Providence, half as a bold way of keeping Eileen still concealed. She heard his companion chuckling, ”By Jove, Willie, she's mashed on you,”

as she threw a farewell kiss towards him. Then she hurried to her dressing-room and took out his letter. She had transferred it to the pocket of her theatrical gown, but had not as yet found time to finish it. Even before she re-perused it, another emotion had begun to possess her, a rush of resentment. So this was how he amused himself while waiting to clasp her in his arms! How would he ever live through the hours till Sunday afternoon, forsooth! She was jealous of the applause he lavished on Nelly O'Neill, incensed at his levity, at his immaculate evening-dress, at his white orchid. How dare he be so gay and debonair?

Her anger rose as she read his protestations, his romantic professions.

”O my darling, I shall sit up all night, thinking of you, re-reading all your dear letters, recalling our past, picturing our future. In short, as old Landor puts it:--

”'A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.'”

She crumpled the paper in her hand. There was a knock at the door; Fossy poked his head in. He had risen in the world of Halls, even as Nelly O'Neill.

”Might I present two friends of mine? They want so much to know you.”

”You know I never see anybody, and that I have to hurry off.”

”Then, I was to give you this bouquet.”

He handed in a costly floral ma.s.s. Amid it lay a card, ”Colonel Doherty.”

She crumpled his letter more viciously.

”Tell them I can give them ten minutes only. Oh, Fossy, it's an amusing Show, isn't it?”

”It was a rattling good show,” said Fossy, half puzzled. ”Come in, boys.”

Entered the Anglo-Indian twain with s.h.i.+ning faces and s.h.i.+rt-fronts, cheroots politely lowered.

”Oh, smoke away, gentlemen,” cried Nelly O'Neill, facing them in all the dazzle of her flesh and the crudity of her stage-paint, and her over-l.u.s.trous eyes, ”don't mind me. Which of you is the Colonel?”

The stout, sallow gentleman jocosely pushed his tall flaxen-haired companion forward. ”Oh, I knew the Major was out of it,” he grinned.

”Not at all, Major,” said Nelly. ”I only wanted to know which I had to thank for these lovely flowers.”

”You have yourself to thank,” said the Colonel, smartly. ”By Jove! You gave us a treat. London was worth coming back to.”

”Ah, you've been away from London?”

”Just back this very day from India--”

”And of course the first thing after a good dinner is the good old Friv--” put in the Major.

”Thank you, Major,” said Fossy. ”That's handsome of you. And now I'll leave you to Miss O'Neill.”

”That's handsomer still,” said the Colonel. And the three men guffawed.

Eileen felt sick.

The Major began to talk of the music-halls of India; the Colonel chimed in. They treated her as a comrade, told her anecdotes of the _coulisses_ of Calcutta. The Colonel retailed a jest of the bazaars.

”I permit smoke, not smoking-room stories,” she said severely. At which the twain poked each other shriekingly in the ribs. After that Eileen let the Colonel have rope enough to hang himself with, though she felt it cutting cruelly into her own flesh. It was an orgie of the eternal masculine, spiced with the aroma of costly cigars.

”I'm so sorry,” she said, when she had let them have a quarter of an hour's run. ”I really must fly.” And she seized the bouquet, and carefully adjusted his card in the glowing ma.s.s. ”Won't you come and have tea with me to-morrow? About four.”