The Hillman

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  XXXII

  John went back to town, telling himself that all had gone as well as hehad expected. He had done his duty. He had told Stephen his news, andthey had parted friends. Yet all the time he was conscious of anundercurrent of disconcerting thoughts.

  Louise met him at the station, and he fancied that her expression, too,although she welcomed him gaily enough, was a little anxious.

  "Well?" she asked, as she took his arm and led him to where hermotor-car was waiting. "What did that terrible brother of yours say?"

  John made a little grimace.

  "It might have been worse," he declared. "Stephen wasn't pleased, ofcourse. He hates women like poison, and he always will. That is becausehe doesn't know very much about them, and because he will insist upondwelling upon certain unhappy incidents of our family history."

  "I shall never forget the morning he came to call on me," Louise sighed."He threatened all sorts of terrible things if I did not give you up."

  "Why didn't you tell me about it?" John asked.

  "I thought it might worry you," she replied, "and it couldn't do anygood. He believed he was doing his duty. John, you are sure aboutyourself, aren't you?"

  "Come and have tea with me in my rooms, and I'll tell you," he laughed.

  "Just what I'd planned to do," she assented, with a sigh of content."It's too late to go home and get back to the theater comfortably."

  "The theater!" John murmured, a few minutes later, when they were seatedin his comfortable little sitting room and he had ordered tea. "Do youknow that I grudge those three or four hours of your day?"

  "I believe I do, too," she admitted; "and yet a little while ago it wasmy only pleasure in life. Don't sit over there, please! You are much toofar away. Closer still! Let me feel your arms. You are strong and brave,aren't you, John? You would not let any one take me away from you?"

  He was a little startled by the earnestness of her words. She seemedpale and fragile, her eyes larger and deeper than usual, and her mouthtremulous. She was like a child with the shadow of some fear hangingover her. He laughed and held her tightly to him.

  "There is nothing that could take you away--you know that quite well!There is nobody in the world whom you need fear for a single moment. Ifyou have troubles, I am here to share them. If you have enemies, you canleave me to dispose of them."

  "I think," she murmured, "that I am in an emotional frame of mindto-day. I am not often like this, you know. I woke this morning feelingso happy; and then, all of a sudden, I couldn't somehow believe init--in myself. I felt it slip away. You won't let it slip away, John?"

  "Never a chance!" he promised confidently. "Look at me. Do I seem like aperson to be easily got rid of? What you need is a holiday, and you needit badly. We haven't made any plans yet, have we? I wonder whether wecould break your contract at the theater!"

  "We must talk to Graillot," she said. "There is a little Frenchwomanover here now. I once saw her act in Paris, and I am sure she could play_Therese_ wonderfully. But don't let's talk seriously any longer. Justlet us sit here and talk nonsense!"

  "Have you told any of your friends yet, Louise--the prince, forinstance?"

  He had asked this question on his way across the room to ring the bell.There was no reply, and when he turned around, a moment or two later, hewas almost frightened. Louise was sitting quite still, but the colorseemed to have been drained from her cheeks. Her eyes were filled withsome expression which he did not wholly understand. He only knew thatthey were calling him to her side, and he promptly obeyed the summons.Her head fell upon his shoulder, her arms were locked about his neck.

  "John," she sobbed, "I do not know what is the matter with me. I amhysterical. Don't ask me any questions. Don't talk to me. Hold me likeyou are doing now, and listen. I love you, John--do you understand?--Ilove you!"

  Her lips sought his and clung to them. A queer little wave of passionseemed to have seized her. Half crying, half laughing, she pressed herface against his. "I do not want to act to-night. I do not want to play,even to the most wonderful audience in the world. I do not want to shakehands with many hundreds of people at that hateful reception. I think Iwant nothing else in the world but you!"

  She lay, for a moment, passive in his arms. He smoothed her hair andkissed her tenderly. Then he led her back to her place upon the couch.Her emotional mood, while it flattered him in a sense, did nothing toquiet the little demons of unrest that pulled, every now and then, athis heart-strings.

  "What is this reception?" he asked.

  She made a little grimace.

  "It is a formal welcome from the English stage to the French companythat has come over to play at the new French theater," she told him."Sir Edward and I are to receive them. You will come, will you not?"

  "I haven't an invitation," he told her.

  "Invitation? I invite you. I am the hostess of the evening."

  "Then I am not likely to refuse, am I?" he asked, smiling. "Shall I cometo the theater?"

  "Come straight to the reception at the Whitehall Rooms," she begged."Sir Edward is calling for me, and Graillot will go down with us. Later,if you care to, you can drive me home."

  "Don't you think," he suggested, "that it would be rather a goodopportunity to announce our engagement?"

  "Not to-night!" she pleaded. "You know, I cannot seem to believe itmyself except when I am with you and we are alone. It seems toowonderful after all these years. Do you know, John, that I am nearlythirty?"

  He laughed.

  "How pathetic! All the more reason, I should say, why we should letpeople know about it as soon as possible."

  "There is no particular hurry," she said, a little nervously. "Let meget used to it myself. I don't think you will have to wait long.Everything I have been used to doing and thinking seems to be crumblingup around me. Last night I even hated my work, or at least part of it."

  His eyes lit up with genuine pleasure.

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that," he declared. "Idon't hate your work--I've got over that. I don't think I am narrowabout it. I admire Graillot, and his play is wonderful. But I think, andI always shall think, that the denouement in that third act isdamnable!"

  She nodded understandingly.

  "I am beginning to realize how you must feel," she confessed. "We won'ttalk about it any more now. Drive me to the theater, will you? I want tobe there early to-night, just to get everything ready for changingafterward."

  The telephone-bell rang as they were leaving the room. John put thereceiver to his ear and a moment later held it away.

  "It is Sophy," he announced. "Shall I tell them to send her up?"

  "Sophy, indeed!" Louise exclaimed. "I thought she was in the country, ontour, and was not expected back until to-morrow."

  "I thought she went away for a week," John said, "but there she is,waiting down-stairs."

  Louise hesitated for a moment. Then she came over to John with atremulous little smile at the corners of her lips.

  "Dear," she said, "I am in a strange frame of mind to-day. I don't wanteven to see Sophy. Tell them to send her up here. She can wait for youwhile you take me out the other way."

  "May I tell her?" John asked, as he rang for the lift. "She has beensuch a good little pal!"

  Once more Louise seemed to hesitate. A vague look of trouble clouded herface.

  "Perhaps you had better, dear," she agreed spiritlessly. "Only tell hernot to breathe it to another soul. It is to be our secret for a littletime--not long--just a day or two longer."

  The gates of the lift swung open, and John raised her fingers to hislips.

  "It is for you to say, dear," he promised.

  When he came back to his room, Sophy was curled up on the couch with acigarette between her lips. She looked at him severely.

  "I am losing faith in you," she declared. "There are signs of a hurrieddeparture from this room. There is a distinct perfume of roses about theplace. You have always told me
that I am the only visitor of my sex youallow here. I am fiercely jealous! Tell me what this tea-tray and theempty cups mean?"

  "It means Louise," he answered, smiling. "She has just this moment goneaway."

  Sophy sighed with an air of mock relief.

  "Louise I suppose I must tolerate," she said. "Fancy her coming here totea with you, though!"

  "I have been up to Cumberland for a day," he told her, "and Louise cameto meet me at the station."

  "How is your angel brother?" she asked. "Did he ask after me?"

  "He did mention you," John confessed. "I don't remember any directmessage, though. You want a cocktail, of course, don't you?"

  "Dying for it," she admitted. "I have had such a dull week! We've beenplaying in wretched little places, and last night the show went bust.The manager presented us with our fares home this morning. We were onlydown in Surrey, so here I am."

  "Well, I'm glad to see you back again," John told her, after he hadordered the cocktails. "Louise has been quite lost without you, too."

  "I didn't want to go away," she sighed, "but I do get so tired of notworking! Although my part wasn't worth anything, I hated it being cutout. It makes one feel so aimless. One has too much time to think."

  He laughed at her, pleasantly but derisively.

  "Time to think!" he repeated. "Why, I have never seen you serious forfive minutes in your life, except when you've been adding up Louise'shousekeeping-books!"

  She threw her cigarette into the grate, swung round toward him, andlooked steadily into his face.

  "Haven't you?" she said. "I can be. I often am. It isn't my correctpose, though. People don't like me serious. If they take me out orentertain me, they think they are being cheated if I am not continuallygay. You see what it is to have a reputation for being amusing! Louisekeeps me by her side to talk nonsense to her, to keep her from beingdepressed. Men take me out because I am bright, because I save them thetrouble of talking, and they don't feel quite so stupid with me as withanother woman. My young man at Bath wants to marry me for the samereason. He thinks it would be so pleasant to have me always at hand tochatter nonsense. That is why you like me, too. You have been pitchedinto a strange world. You are not really in touch with it. You like tobe with some one who will talk nonsense and take you a little way out ofit. I am just a little fool, you see, a harmless little creature in capand bells whom every one amuses himself with."

  John stared at her for a moment, only half understanding.

  "Why, little girl," he exclaimed, "I believe you're in earnest!"

  "I am in deadly earnest," she assured him, her voice breaking a little."Don't take any notice of me. I have had a wretched week, and it's arotten world, anyway."

  There was a knock at the door, and the waiter entered with thecocktails.

  "Come," John said, as he took one from the tray, "I will tell you somenews that will give you something to think about. I hope that you willbe glad--I feel sure that you will. I want you to be the first to drinkour healths--Louise's and mine!"

  The glass slipped through her fingers and fell upon the carpet. Shenever uttered even an exclamation. John was upon his knees, picking upthe broken glass.

  "My fault," he insisted. "I am so sorry, Sophy. I am afraid some of thestuff has gone on your frock. Looks as if you'll have to take me outshopping. I'll ring for another cocktail."

  He rose to his feet and stepped toward the bell. Then it suddenlyoccurred to him that as yet she had not spoken. He turned quicklyaround.

  "Sophy," he exclaimed, "what is the matter? Aren't you going tocongratulate me?"

  She was sitting bolt upright upon the couch, her fingers buried in thecushions, her eyes closed. He moved quickly across toward her.

  "I say, Sophy, what's wrong?" he asked hastily. "Aren't you well?"

  She waved him away.

  "Don't touch me," she begged. "I went without my lunch--nearly missedthe train, as it was. I was feeling a little queer when I came, anddropping that glass gave me a shock. Let me drink yours, may I?"

  He handed it to her, and she drained its contents. Then she smiled up athim weakly.

  "What a shame!" she said. "Just as you were telling me your wonderfulnews! I can scarcely believe it--you and Louise!"

  John sat down beside her.

  "Louise does not want it talked about for a day or two," he observed."We have not made any plans yet."

  "Is Louise going to remain upon the stage?"

  "Probably, if she wishes it," he replied; "but I want to travel firstfor a year or so, before we settle definitely upon anything. I did notthink that you would be so much surprised, Sophy."

  "Perhaps I am not really," she admitted. "One thinks of a thing as beingpossible, for a long time, and when it actually comes--well, it takesyou off your feet just the same. You know," she added slowly, "there areno two people in this world so far apart in their ways as you andLouise."

  "That is true from one point of view," he confessed. "From another, Ithink that there are no two people so close together. Of course, itseems wonderful to me, and I suppose it does to you, Sophy, that sheshould care for a man of my type. She is so brilliant and so talented,such a woman of this latter-day world, the world of which I am about asignorant as a man can be. Perhaps, after all, that is the realexplanation of it. Each of us represents things new to the other."

  "Did you say that no one has been told yet--no one at all?"

  "No one except Stephen," John assented. "That is why I went up toCumberland, to tell him."

  "You have not told the prince?" Sophy asked, dropping her voice alittle. "Louise has not told him?"

  "Not that I know of. Why do you ask?" John inquired, looking intoSophy's face.

  "I don't know," she answered. "It just occurred to me. He and Louisehave known each other for such a long time, and I wondered what he mighthave to say about it."

  John laid his hands upon the poisonous thoughts that had stolen oncemore into his blood, and told himself that he had strangled them. Heswept them away and glanced at his watch.

  "Let's have some dinner before I change, down in the grill-room--in aquarter of an hour's time, say. I don't want to be at the theater beforethe second act."

  Sophy hesitated. There was a hard feeling in her throat, a burning atthe back of her eyes. She was passionately anxious to be alone, yet shecould not bring herself to refuse. She could not deny herself, or tearherself at once away from the close companionship which seemed, somehowor other, to have crept up between herself and John, and to have becomethe one thing that counted in life.

  "I'd love to," she said, "but remember I've been traveling. Look at me!I must either go home, or you must let me go into your room--"

  "Make yourself at home," John invited. "I have three letters to write,and some telephone messages to answer."

  Sophy lit another cigarette and strolled jauntily through his suite ofrooms. When she was quite sure that she was alone, however, she closedthe door behind her, dropped her cigarette, and staggered to the window.She stood there, gazing down into an alleyway six stories below, wherethe people passing back and forth looked like dwarf creatures.

  One little movement forward! No one could have been meant to bear painlike this. She set her teeth.

  "It would be so soon over!"

  Then she suddenly found that she could see nothing; the people belowwere blurred images. A rush of relief had come to her. She sank into thenearest chair and sobbed.