Part 23 (2/2)
”But how in the world could you know! It isn't half an hour since I refused him.” Then she bent down over her saddle and gazed at him in the fulness of admiration. ”But you know everything. It wouldn't be of much use trying to keep things from you, would it?”
Mr. Benoliel smiled grimly.
”Yes, that's the way, Cynthia, and no doubt a neater style of doing it will come in time.”
Cynthia sat upright, swift as a spring, and remained so, with her nose in the air, haughty for five complete seconds. Then curiosity restored her to her s.e.x and she swooped again over her saddle.
”How did you know?”
”He borrowed a horse from me this morning,” said Mr. Benoliel--”a good horse. He was very particular that it should be a valuable horse. So I gathered that he wanted to make on this morning of all mornings a specially favorable impression.”
Cynthia's lips twitched.
”You lent him a very good horse,” she said. ”But the horse didn't tell you.”
”That's where you are wrong, Cynthia. The horse did,” said Mr.
Benoliel. ”Ten minutes ago, as I was turning out of Grosvenor Square, I met my very valuable horse being led by a ragged beggarman whom I had never seen in my life before. I asked him what the d.i.c.kens he was doing with it and he explained that as he was standing by the rails in Hyde Park a young man rode up to him in a violent rage, dismounted, tossed him the reins and a s.h.i.+lling and told him to lead the rotten beast back to Grosvenor Square. Just fancy that! My horse! I might have lost him altogether.”
Cynthia tried her best to look indignant at so treacherous a return to Mr. Benoliel's generosity, but she could not and she rippled suddenly into laughter.
”He was horribly angry,” she said.
Mr. Benoliel turned his wrath again upon Cynthia.
”And no wonder!” he said. ”Helmsdale's not used to being refused. He is young. He is good-looking. He has a social position----”
”And he has a profile,” added Cynthia. ”Please don't forget that. But you can't if you know him, or even if you don't, can you? Have you ever fixed your eyes steadily upon him, Mr. Benoliel? Do the next time you see him, and within twenty seconds he will show you his profile.
He will turn his head quite slowly and show it you, just like a man at the music-halls disclosing the newest sensation. I couldn't marry a profile, even though it was mounted on your horse.” Then she bent down to him again coaxing him: ”You didn't really want me to marry him, did you? You see, I don't love him.”
Mr. Benoliel seemed to think this answer insufficient.
”Love would come,” he answered.
”That's what he said,” exclaimed Cynthia.
”And you?” asked Benoliel.
Cynthia bent her eyes steadily upon him.
”I answered, 'Lovers would come.'”
Mr. Benoliel looked up at her with a wry face.
”You know too much, my dear,” he said, and Cynthia threw back her head, with her face suddenly clouded and sullen.
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