Bill flushed darkly. He moved to the window and stood there looking out, with his back turned. Sally watched him with satisfaction. Her outburst had left her feeling more amiable.
Bill wheeled round. His face was set. He spoke through clenched teeth.
“I see,” he said. “So you knew all along, and you’ve been amusing yourself at my expense?”
“You might say, getting a little of my own back.”
“You’ve had a lot of fun with me, haven’t you?”
“Quite a good deal, since you mention it.”
“And now, I suppose, you’re going?”
“Going?” said Sally.” Of course I’m not. I shall sleep here. You don’t expect me to drive all night, do you?”
“I beg your pardon,” said Bill. He pointed to the gallery that ran round two sides of the room.” You’ll be up there.”
“Thank you.”
Bill laughed shortly.
“Well, it’s something, I suppose, that you have consented to sleep under my roof.”
“You could hardly have expected me to go to the garage.”
“No. I suppose you would like to be turning in, then?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll show you your room.”
“You have already.”
“Well … good night,” said Bill.
“Good night,” said Sally.
He stood without moving, watching her as she went up the stairs. She reached the door, opened it, and was gone. Bill turned sharply and flung himself into a chair.
He had been sitting for some minutes, with only his thoughts for unpleasant company, when there was the sound of a footstep on the stairs, and he sprang up as though electrified.
But it was not Sally. It was only Lord Tidmouth. That ill-used gentleman was looking rather weary, and his eye, as he reached the foot of the stairs, was fixed purposefully on the decanter on the table. He moved towards it with a stealthy rapidity, like a leopard; and only when he had poured into a glass a generous measure of the life-restoring fluid did he turn to his host.
CHAPTER XI
“HULLO, Bill, old man,” said his lordship. Bill regarded him sourly.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said.
Lord Tidmouth sighed.
“What’s left of me after an hour’s tête-à-tête with the old relative,” he said.” Bill, that uncle of yours waggles a wicked jawbone!”
“Does he?”
“He talked and talked and talked. And then he talked some more. Mostly about his mashie-shots. I got him off to bye-bye at last, and I’ve tottered down to restore the tissues with a spot of alcohol. They say,” continued Lord Tidmouth earnestly, “that strong drink biteth like a serpent and—if I remember correctly—stingeth like a jolly old adder. Well, all I have to say is—let it! That’s what I say, Bill— let it! It’s what it’s there for. Excuse me for a moment, old man, while I mix myself a stiffish serpent-and-soda.”
He turned to the table again.
“So you got him off to sleep?” said Bill.
Lord Tidmouth’s fingers had been closing about the siphon, but he courteously suspended operations in order to reply to his host’s question.
“Yes,” he said, “I got him off to sleep. But at infinite cost to life and limb. I feel a perfect wreck. However, I’ve left him slumbering like a little child, one hand still clutching James Braid’s Advanced Golf. So that’s that.”
“Much obliged. Well, I’ll be turning in.”
“Half a moment,” said Lord Tidmouth. “Isn’t it about time that lady doctor of yours rolled up? Allowing two hours for the journey—that is, assuming she had no puncture, or blow-out, or engine trouble, or lost the way, or—”
“Oh, go to blazes!” said Bill.
Lord Tidmouth watched his disappearing back with rather an aggrieved air.
“Not one of our good listeners!” he murmured.
Then, having sterner work before him than the consideration of a host’s brusqueness, he addressed himself once more to the siphon.
Lord Tidmouth was a careful man with siphons. Experience had taught him that a too vehement pressing of the trigger led to disaster. Strong drink might bite like an adder, but soda-water could spout like a geyser. He knew the perils perfectly, and it was, therefore, all the more annoying that a moment later a hissing stream should have shot up between his cuff and his skin.
This happened because, as he was in the very act of working the trigger arrangement, a loud and breezy voice in his immediate rear spoke.
Voices speaking to Lord Tidmouth where no voice should have been always affected him powerfully. He became involved in a Niagara of seltzer, from which he emerged to gaze censoriously at the intruder.
“If you know me a thousand years,” he was beginning, as he turned, “never do that again!” Then he saw the new-comer steadily and saw her whole. For it was a She. It was, as a matter of fact, none other than the first of his battalion of wives—the exuberant Lottie Higginbotham. And he stared at her as at a vision.
“Great God of Battles!” said Lord Tidmouth.” You!”
Lottie was completely at her ease. She placed on the floor the suit-case which she was carrying, and with a dexterous hand removed the whisky-and-soda from her companion’s grasp. She drank deeply, and, having done so, sighed with satisfaction.
“You always did know how to mix them, Squiffy,” she said.
It was a handsome compliment—and rather touching, in its way, as giving evidence that the memory of the dear old days still lingered—but Lord Tidmouth paid no attention to it. He was still goggling.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked blankly.
“Who, me?” said Lottie.
“Yes, you.”
“I was sent for.”
“How do you mean, sent for?”
“I got a telegram from Bill’s uncle asking me to come.”
A blinding flash of light illumined Lord Tidmouth’s darkness. He recalled the veiled hints the old boy had dropped earlier in the evening. So this was what he had been hinting at.
“Did he specify that you were to come beetling in at midnight?” he inquired.
“I came directly I got the telegram. It sounded interesting.”
“Oh!” Lord Tidmouth pondered for a while.” Well, welcome to the Manor, and all that sort of rot,” he said.
Lottie was very bright and animated. She flitted about the room like a humming-bird.
“This looks a pretty good sort of place,” she said.” I can see myself in a place like this. Who are all these?“ she asked, indicating the portraits.
“Just ancestors,” said Lord Tidmouth. “Bill’s ancestors.”
“No beauty-chorus,” was Lottie’s comment, after she had made her round of inspection.” Talking of Bill, is he expecting me?”
“No, he’s not!”
“Oh, then, I shall come on him as a surprise.”
“Surprise,” said Lord Tidmouth, with feeling, “is right.”
“Listen,” said Lottie. “Do you know why Sir Hugo wanted me to come here?”
Lord Tidmouth was embarrassed. He did know, but he could hardly impart the information.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“I’m telling you,” said Lottie brightly.” I thought it all out on the train. Bill has discovered that he can’t get on without me. I knew it would happen. He’s pining for me. Yessir, that’s what that boy’s doing—pining for me.”
“Well—”
“It stands to reason,” argued Lottie, “he must be pretty crazy about me to make his old uncle wire for me in such a hurry.”
Lord Tidmouth closed his eyes. He seemed to be praying.
“Full information,” he said, “will no doubt be supplied to-morrow by the aged relative. But, if you’ll take a pal’s advice—if you’ll be guided by one to whom you once stood in a sacred and tender relationship—viz. marriage,” explained Lord Tidmouth, “you will biff off at the earliest opportuni
ty.”
“What!”
“At the very earliest opp.”
“What are you talking about?”
Lord Tidmouth groaned in spirit. He was feeling unequal to the situation. At any moment now, he told himself, that lady doctor of old Bill’s would be breezing in, and naturally the last thing the dear old boy would wish was to have the place congested with extraneous females. Sir Hugo Drake, the pre-eminent dodderer, had made a proper mess of things.
“You just tuck yourself away somewhere till tomorrow morning,” he urged, “and then we’ll smuggle you off.”
Lottie stared. She had never had a very high opinion of her former husband’s intelligence, but she had never known him descend into such abysses of lunacy as this.
“I think you’re cuckoo,” she said.” What do I want to go away for? Bill’s in love with me and can’t live without me.”
“Absolutely,” said Lord Tidmouth.” Of course. Quite so. Yes. Beyond a question. Indubitably. Only—”
“Well?”
“Nothing, nothing. You see that room on top of the stairs? Technically, it’s mine, but you can have it for to-night. Not the one on the right—that’s Bill’s. The one on the left. Accept it with my hearty good wishes.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Oh, I’ll doze somewhere. And in the morning”
Lottie eyed him sharply.
“Listen,” she said.
“Hullo?”
“Is anything the matter?”
“The matter?”
“You’re acting sort of mysterious, it seems to me, and I’m wondering if there’s any funny business going on. Are you trying to keep Bill and me apart?”
“No, no.”
“Well, you better hadn’t, that’s all,” said Lottie decidedly.” If I find you’re pulling any smooth stuff, I’ll murder you. Nothing could be fairer than that, could it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Well, good night then.”
“Good night,” said Lord Tidmouth.
Alone at last, he found in the confused welter of his thoughts one thing clear—that he had not yet had that drink and that he wanted it now more than ever. He moved to the table and began the ritual again. He had barely completed it when once more a voice spoke behind him.
“You still up?” It was his old friend Bill Bannister. There was surprise in Bill’s voice; also irritation and peevishness. “Why the devil don’t you go to bed?”
“Why don’t you?” rejoined Lord Tidmouth, not unreasonably.
“I’m restless,” said Bill.” I can’t sleep.”
Lord Tidmouth eyed him pityingly. The non-sleeping his old friend had done so far would, he felt, be a mere nothing compared to the non-sleeping he would do when he heard the latest.
“Bill,” he said, and his tone was the unmistakable tone of a man who is going to break something gently, “I’ve a piece of information to impart.”
“Keep it for the morning.”
“But it’s serious. Bill, we have a little visitor.”
“I know. I know.”
Lord Tidmouth was relieved.
“Oh, you know. I thought you didn’t. But how do you know?” he went on, puzzled.” She only just—”
“Stop babbling and go to bed.”
“Yes, but, Bill—”
“Shut up.”
“Lottie—”
“Don’t talk to me about Lottie.”
“I was only saying that Lottie—”
“Stop it!”
“I just wanted to mention that Lottie—”
“Will you get out?”
Lord Tidmouth gave it up.
“Oh, all right,” he said resignedly.” I think I’ll take a stroll in the garden. Well, bung-oh. And I came down here for a rest-cure.”
CHAPTER XII
BILL ran quickly up the stairs and knocked at Sally’s door. The conclusion of their recent conversation had left him in a nervous and disordered frame of mind. Though she had plainly shown herself of the opinion that all had been said that needed to be said, he was unable to adopt this view. He was full of talk, and considered that in their late interview he had but scratched the surface.
“Sally,” he said in a choking voice.
A voice from within answered:
“What is it? Who’s there?”
“Come out. I want to talk to you.”
Sally emerged. She was wearing a pale green wrap.
“Well?” she said.
Bill did not answer immediately. The sight of the wrap had had a stunning effect. He had not supposed that it was possible that this girl could look prettier than when he had seen her last, but she had accomplished this stupendous feat with ease. His legs shook, and he leaned against the banisters.
“Have you got everything you want?” he managed to ask at length.
“Yes, thank you. I find that you have given me your room”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“I shall manage.”
“Oh? Well, it’s very kind of you.” She paused.” Was that all you wanted to say to me?”
“No,” said Bill urgently.
“Well?”
“Don’t stand in that doorway. Come out here.”
“Just as you like. Well?”
Bill gulped.
“I’ve been walking about in the garden,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Thinking.”
“Yes?”
“Trying to get a grip on myself.”
“I hope you were successful,” said Sally politely.
“I wasn’t.”
Sally smiled indulgently.
“Too bad,” she said.” Well, good night.”
“Come back.”
“Sorry,” said Sally, returning.” I thought you had finished.”
“I haven’t begun.” He moved to the head of the stairs.” Come on down. We can’t talk here.”
“Do we want to talk?”
“I do.”
“Oh, very well.”
She followed him down the stairs.
“Now,” said Bill, “we can begin.”
Sally had perched herself on the arm of a chair. She eyed him coolly.
“Don’t you country-folk ever go to bed?” she asked.” I had no idea you wandered about the house all night, knocking at people’s doors and dragging them out for cosy talks.”
Bill scowled.
“You seem amused.”
“I am,” said Sally.
“Oh, well, let me tell you,” said Bill, “that we have now finished with the amusing part of this business. I now propose to call your attention to the fact that this little farce, which seems to entertain you so much, has a serious side. I’m going to have it out with you here and now.”
“Proceed. You interest me strangely.”
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“What else do you expect me to do?”
Bill ground his heel into the carpet.
“In the first place,” he said, “I admit that I did get you down here by a trick.”
“A contemptible trick.”
“That’s as it may be. Anyway, you’re here, and you’ve got to listen to me.”
“And to cut a long story short—”
“I’ll make it short enough. Three words will be sufficient. I love you.”
“This is wonderful news.”
“That’s right—laugh! Listen. You think you can play the fool with a man as much as you please —hold him off with a raised eyebrow when he becomes too pressing—keep him under control with a laugh—”’
“Why, this is eloquence! The boy orator! ““ Oh, you may sneer, but you know in your heart you’re afraid.”
Sally stiffened. The smile faded from her lips. She froze.
“Afraid? You flatter yourself.”
“I may not be your match at fencing,” said Bill, “but the bludgeon is quite as handy a weapon as the rapier.”
“You and I are going to settle things to-night. You have known right from the start that I loved you, and from our first meeting you have fought me. All right! To-night shall decide which of us two is the strongest.”
“Stronger. Didn’t they teach you that at school? Even when insulting a woman, always be grammatical.”
Bill glowered.
“So I’m insulting you? By offering you my love?”
“No,” said Sally. “By suggesting that, if I refuse it, you will employ force. For that is what you are suggesting, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good!” said Sally.” Then excuse me for a moment.”
She got up.
“What are you doing?”
“I was merely going to fetch my bag and prepare a soothing injection. I should think two centigrams of morphia would be sufficient.”
Bill seized her wrist.
“Stop fooling!”
“Oh!” Sally could not restrain a gasp. “You’re very strong.”
“I’m glad you’re beginning to realize it.”
“Let me go.”
“I won’t!” said Bill. “Never again. Well,” he said, “here you are in my arms. How do you like it? Now try to be aloof and superior; now try to hold me off with your matter-of-factness.”
“You beast!”
“Beast, eh?” Bill laughed. “I’m improving. Just now I was only a poor fool—just something to laugh at. Laugh at me now—if you can.”
Sally suddenly ceased to struggle.
“Oh, well,” she said, “they always warned me it was dangerous to be a doctor. Do you know, the last man who treated me like this was a lunatic, in the violent ward of an asylum. But he was more decent than you. He merely wanted to murder me.”
She felt the arms that were holding her unclasp. She sank on to the sofa. Bill was looking away from her, out of the window. After a moment he spoke.
“All right,” he said. “You win. I beg your pardon,” he said formally.
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