CHAPTER VIII
When they had driven away Sidney wandered off beyond the outskirts ofthe crowd to a lonely spot among the trees, where he walked up and down,whistling softly to himself and pausing from time to time to aim a blowat the head of an unoffending daisy with his stick.
"What an ass I am," he exclaimed presently in heartfelt tones, but alistener who had fancied he was alluding to his foolish gambling on theturf would have been mistaken. His thoughts were engaged on quite adifferent and much pleasanter subject.
How lovely she had looked! How sorry she had seemed! What sympathy hadshone in her eyes as she listened to his discreditable troubles. Howdetermined she had been to find a way out; surely she could not showsuch interest in the concerns of all her acquaintances.
The way out, by the by, now that he thought of it dispassionately, washardly, perhaps, quite one that a man could take after all and keep thelittle self-respect left to him; but it was overwhelmingly sweet thatshe should have lost sight so completely of all considerations exceptthe one of retrieving his fortunes.
He had always liked and admired her, of course, but never till to-dayhad he realised what a loyal, brave spirit dwelt behind those sea-blue,childish eyes. There was no girl in the world like her, and was itunduly conceited of him to think she must like him a little to showsuch agitation at the tale of his misfortunes? And here he frowned andpulled himself up short. What business had he, a ruined gambler, a manwhose career was, to all intents and purposes, at an end, to think twiceabout any girl, much less to feel so absurdly happy? He determinedheroically to banish Barbara from his thoughts, and in pursuance ofthat excellent resolution walked off across the Park at such a tearingspeed that little boys whom he passed asked derisively where the othercompetitors in the race had got to.
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It was on the following morning that Mrs. Vanderstein made certainconfidences to Barbara, thereby dashing to earth the high hopes shehad built of rescuing Sidney from the ruinous meshes in which he hadentangled himself.
To that which Mrs. Vanderstein told her the girl listened at first withincredulity, but a scoffing comment was received with such extremedisfavour that she dared not venture another; and finally, as she heardmore and fuller accounts and Mrs. Vanderstein, chafing under a sense ofher friend's disbelief, went so far as to produce written evidence ofthe truth of the story, Barbara was no longer able to deny to herselfthat the astounding tale was undoubtedly not the joke she had taken itfor, but represented the plain facts of the case.
With increasing dismay she heard all that Mrs. Vanderstein had to tellher, seeing her hopes for Joe vanish more completely at each new pieceof information; and when at the end of the tale her friend reproachedher for her lack of sympathy she had much ado to prevent herself frombursting into unavailing tears.
She was able, however, to summon enough self-control to find some wordsof affection, which seemed to fill the requirements of the situation; atall events they seemed to satisfy Mrs. Vanderstein. The girl only madeone stipulation, and on this point remained obstinate till the elderlady, failing to shake her determination, was at last obliged to yield areluctant consent.
As soon as she could escape, Barbara, making the first excuse thatoccurred to her, ran to her room, where she pinned on a hat withoutso much as waiting to glance in the looking-glass. Then, snatching upa latch key, she let herself out of the hall door and hurried to thenearest post office.
Several telegraph forms were filled in, only to be torn up and discardedbefore she worded the message to her satisfaction; and even when shehanded it in under the barrier--which protects young ladies of the postoffice from too close contact with a public who might, were it not forthese precautions, be exasperated into showing signs of violence--shewas still regarding it doubtfully, and her fingers lingered on the paperas if reluctant to let it go.
It was addressed to Joseph Sidney, and covered more than one form.
"Plan completely spoilt will explain meanwhile try telling your aunt the truth as you promised she will be in at teatime and it will be best to get it over one way or another."
Would he come? she asked herself, as she went back to the house; andall the afternoon the same question echoed in her mind. Would he come?And, if he came and did not succeed in enlisting Mrs. Vanderstein'ssympathies, what then?
There seemed no other possible course. In vain, as she sat beside herfriend in the motor, she racked her brains to imagine some way in whichJoe could still raise the money if this attempt failed. But she had hisassurance that he had already exhausted all practicable means.
Mrs. Vanderstein wished to visit a shop in the Strand, and their way toit led them past the theatre that Madame Querterot had visited a weekbefore, in the company of her daughter and her daughter's suitor.
Large placards ornamented the front of the house, depicting some of themore thrilling episodes of the play. These were varied by photographsof the young actor who played the principal role. He was portrayed inimmaculate evening dress and in the act of opening the safe; anotherpicture showed him snapping his fingers at the officers of the law; andyet a third displayed him as he took--in the fourth act--the heroine tohis arms.
Mrs. Vanderstein and Barbara had seen the play, which was making aroaring success, on more than one occasion. Mrs. Vanderstein smiled asshe observed the posters.
"That is a good play," she said to her companion. "I can hardly helpscreaming when he escapes by the window as the police burst into theroom. It is almost too exciting. And he, the gentleman burglar, youknow, is so good-looking. One can't help being on his side, can one? Andof course one is intended to be. All the honest people are so terriblydull. Besides, of course, he was a count and quite charming really. Idon't wonder the heroine forgave him." She put down her parasol, asthey turned into a shady street. "Do you know, Barbara," she went on,"I think that sort of play might do a lot of harm. It can't be right tomake dishonesty appear so attractive."
Barbara made no reply, and Mrs. Vanderstein, glancing at her insurprise, was still more astonished at the strange look in the girl'seyes.
"What do you think about it?" she asked again.
"It depends on what you call harm," Barbara answered slowly, and as theypulled up at their destination the conversation came to an end.
They went home early and had barely finished tea when Sidney wasannounced. He looked rather pale and shook hands with Barbara withoutspeaking as she made a hasty excuse and left the room. Going intoanother sitting-room, she waited in an agony of suspense till thedrawing-room door should open and the interview be over for good or ill.
She had not long to wait.
Five minutes had scarcely passed before she heard the sound of hurriedfootsteps descending the stairs, and a moment later the front doorbanged behind Sidney's retreating figure. At the same time a bell pealedviolently and, before it could be answered, Barbara caught the sound ofthe swish of silken skirts and the light tread of Mrs. Vanderstein'sfeet as she ran down a few steps and called over the banisters to thebutler.
"Blake," she called, as that portly person emerged from the door leadingto the basement. "Is that you, Blake?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Blake, I am not at home in future to Mr. Joseph Sidney. You are neverto let him come into this house again. Do you understand?"
"Very good, ma'am." Blake's tones were as imperturbed as if he werereceiving an order to post a letter.
"And tell the footmen. I will not see him again on any account whatever.Let it be clearly understood. And, Blake, please telephone at once toSir Gregory Aberhyn Jones and say, if it is convenient to him, I shouldlike to see him immediately. Ask him to come at once; or to come todinner; or to the opera. No," she corrected herself, "not to the operato-night. But ask him to come and see me before I start if he possiblycan. It is most important."
"Yes, ma'am." Blake showed no surprise: in moments of distress hismistress always telephoned to Sir Gregory Aberhyn Jones.
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bsp; Mrs. Vanderstein, still in a state of great agitation, retreated towrite a letter before dressing for the opera, a matter that demanded,to-night of all nights, both time and undistracted attention.
When she descended to the dining-room all traces of the disturbancecaused by Sidney's visit had vanished from her face; and her expressionwas again one of joyful expectation, as it had been throughout the day.After writing a hurried note, she had entirely dismissed all memory ofher husband's nephew.
It was natural that, in the contest with other interests so enthrallingas those which that evening filled the mind of his uncle's widow, Sidneyshould cease to occupy a place in Mrs. Vanderstein's thoughts; shouldbecome, as he would have expressed it, an "also ran." What was moreremarkable was the fact that Barbara's countenance, when she took herplace at the early dinner, wore a look of pleasant anticipation almostequalling that of her friend, very different from the signs of anxietyand distress that had been visible upon it during the earlier partof the day. Mrs. Vanderstein had seen nothing of the weeping figurewhich, after Joe's dismissal, lay with its face buried in the pillowson Barbara's bed trying to stifle the great sobs that shook it in spiteof every effort, or even she, preoccupied as she was, would have feltastonished at so complete a recovery of spirits.
The change, indeed, had been instantaneous and coincided with themoment, when, in the midst of her grief, a sudden idea had flashed intoBarbara's mind, an inspiration, it seemed, that immediately smoothedaway all trouble and made plain the way by which Sidney's difficultiesshould be removed. How was it possible that she had not thought ofit before? The knowledge that Joe would never agree to the means sheproposed to take, that the persuasions and sophistries of yesterdaywould be of no use here, that it would be impossible even to broach thesubject to him, she swept from her impetuously. There was no need thathe should ever suspect her hand in the matter. Care must be taken; shemust act with prudence and caution, and all would be well. One thoughtonly held her mind to the exclusion of all else, the wish to protect andsave this boy whom she loved from the consequences of his own folly.Nothing was worth considering except this. No fear of the possibleeffect on her own life shook her resolution, for what, she thought, islife or for that matter death, if it does not imply the prolongationon the one hand, or, on the other, the cutting short of the ties ofaffection.
She remembered the reckless air with which Joe had said that thisbusiness would be the end of all for him, and with a shudder she toldherself that the words could only have one meaning. If by sacrificingher life his could be saved, she would not hesitate to give it. Hereplain to her eye was the opportunity to serve him, and whatever theresult might be to herself she did not shrink from it. As she dressedfor the evening, Barbara smiled gladly to herself and sang softly alittle song. One thought disturbed her. Sidney was unaware that hissalvation was so near. She could not bear to think of him now, worriedand despairing. Yet how could she reassure him without betrayingherself and the great idea? With a little frown Barbara mused over thisquestion, as she stuck a paste comb that Mrs. Vanderstein had given herinto the masses of her thick fair hair. Presently she scrawled a fewwords upon a sheet of paper, and hastily folding it into an envelopetucked it into the front of her dress; then, fearing she was late, sheran down the stairs.
"Sir Gregory Aberhyn Jones is out of town, ma'am," Blake was saying asshe entered the room.
"Oh well, never mind now," said Mrs. Vanderstein.
Dinner that evening was a silent meal. Mrs. Vanderstein, gloriouslyarrayed, sat smiling abstractedly at nothing from one end of the smalltable. So preoccupied was she that she forgot to eat, and Blake wasobliged to ask her repeatedly whether she would partake of a dish beforeshe could be brought to notice that it was being handed to her. Once,as, recalled suddenly to the present, she brought her thoughts backwith a start from their wanderings and turned with some trivial remarktowards Barbara, she noticed with a faint feeling of amusement that thegirl was as much engrossed in her own imaginings as she was herself, andwas sitting absently pulling a flower to pieces, her great eyes fixedvacantly on the shining pearls that swung suspended from the neck of herfriend.
They started in good time, Barbara begging to be allowed to stop for oneminute at a post office on the way.
She had, she said, forgotten to reply to an invitation, and thought thatnow it was so late she had better send an answer by wire. She gave themessage, which was already written out and in a sealed envelope, to thefootman, together with some money, and told him to hand it in as itwas, and not to waste time in waiting to see it accepted.
The man was back in a minute, and they drove on, to take their places afew minutes later in the long string of motors and carriages which wasslowly advancing to the doors of the Covent Garden opera house.
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