"Prescott says she puts that on when she hates or fears people,** Alix said in a low voice.
"Very likely.** He seemed unmoved, and although she didn*t look up, she knew he was still examining the photograph intently.
"But don't you think it's — it*s terrible to use words like that when you don't mean them?'* Her voice shook uncontrollably.
"It is often done,** he said indifferently.
There was silence — a silence so profound that even the absorbed conductor must have realized something was wrong. He glanced up.
"What is the matter?"
Alix shook her head helplessly, but he only waited for her reply. Somehow she smiled with what she hoped was careless indifference.
"Nothing, except that it*s a little disconcerting since she put it on m-my photograph.**
It was Alix's first and desperate attempt at sophistication, and it failed miserably, because suddenly the smile went, her mouth began to quiver, and, bewildered and ashamed and grief-stricken, she buried her face in her hands.
It was a ridiculous and dreadful thing to do, of course. To Alix, who was usually a most self-contained girl, it was bad enough that she had cried so bitterly in front of-her mother last night. But that she should break down again — and in front of an almost strange man—! It didn't seem to her that there could be any jecovery from such disgrace.
But that was not how it struck Moerling, apparently. She heard him give a slight exclamation, and the next moment his hands were on her arms and she was lifted very gently to her feet.
"Meine Kind!" There was something exceedingly soothing about the soft Austrian intonation. He took her hands away and dried her eyes, whether she would or no, and when she sensed the extereme gentleness of his touch, she felt she could not mind.
"You must not cry," he said, in genuine distress.
"I'm not crying really," Alix assured him most untruthfully, whereat he smiled, and tactfully changed his protest to:
"You must not go breaking your heart over a message on a photograph. Besides, Varoni didn't mean anything unkind when she wrote those words for you."
"No, No — I know. It's only—"
"Yes?"
"I — valued that message so much — I thought she meant it — all her love. I suppose it was stupid." Alix was astounded to find she was telling the great man so much, and still more that he was listening patiently. "It was stupid, of course, but I used to think that perhaps all the admirers and acquaintances didn't really mean much to her, but that I did, because" — she broke off frightenedly, realizing how near she had been to saying something dangerous. "I liked to think I had all her love," she finished lamely.
There was silence for a moment, and she glanced curiously at the conductor. His autocratic mouth curved in an odd little smile, and he was not looking at Alix any more.
"Strange," he said slowly at last, "that people who love Varoni can never be satisfied with less than all her love in return."
"He's one of them himself," thought Alix with a flash of intuition, but the next moment she thought that perhaps she was wrong, for he went on, with a touch of cynicism:
"Perhaps it is because they know instinctively that she has not very much to go round."
Alix scarcely knew how she would have found an answer to that, but there was no necessity, for at that moment Varoni came into the room, dressed for the street in a peculiar shade of sapphire blue which deepened the blue of her eyes. Behind her came the faithful, persistent Prescott, holding a stole of perfectly matched sable.
"You'll be cold. There's a wind," she stated baldly, and fastened the stole round Varoni's throat, completely ignoring her amused impatience.
While she did so, Varoni stretched out a careless hand to Moerling.
"I'm sorry, Dieter. I know I'm late. Accept all the usual excuses and forgive me with the usual promptness."
He took her hand and kissed it.
"You are forgiven," he told her gravely.
She smiled radiantly and gave half her attention to something Prescott was murmuring.
"What's that?.Did I? No — surely not. How tiresome!"
She looked completely unperturbed, however, as she crossed to the desk and flicked over the pages of what looked like an engagement pad. Prescott murmured something else, and Nina replied laughingly under her breath. Alix thought she heard her own name, but could not be sure, and was, in any case, greatly concerned with making certain that no traces of her ridiculous tears remained.
"I'm ready." Varoni came back across the room to where Moerling was standing with an air of slightly ominous patience. "I don't know when I shall be in, Prescott. Sign everything and tell all inquirers that I'm out of town or dead or something. No, don't say I'm dead. It would mean hundreds of returned tickets at the Opera House," she added with a touch of almost childlike complacence. "Good-bye, Alix dear — Oh, by the way, Barry Elton wants to take you out, this afternoon."
"Barry Elton?"
"Yes — you know, the man who sat beside you last night."
"Really? But how extraordinarily nice of him!" Alix felt indescribably warmed and gratified. "I wonder why — I mean—"
"I suppose he liked the look of you, darling. Very good judgment on his part."
"But how did you know? I mean, how did you know he wanted to take me out?"
"He phoned this morning quite early," Varoni said. "About ten, wasn't it, Prescott?"
"Yes," Prescott agreed, without much expression, "about ten."
"And he'll be coming for you at two o'clock. You did say two, didn't you, Prescott?"
"Yes, that's right," Prescott echoed. And then Varoni kissed Alix, and was gone — in a faint cloud of unmistakably expensive perfume.
Alix came slowly back to the desk where Prescott was now sitting.
"Did Mr. Elton say anything special or—"
"No."
"Just that he would be here at two?"
"That's all."
Prescott seemed devoid of interest in the matter and not specially anxious for Alix's company. It was odd to feel suddenly so unwanted and out of place, but Alix was sensible enough to realize that a busy secretary probably had little time to waste on her. And so, with a docility which commended itself to Prescott more than she guessed, she slipped away again to her own room, to pass the half-hour until Barry Elton should come.
Really, it was nice of him to want to pursue the acquaintance like this, and it gave her a pleased sense of security to know that she had made a good impression on even one of the strange, bewildering circle.
Not that Barry Elton was strange or bewildering, of course. That was part of his attraction — he did seem much more like the people Alix had always been used to. And the prospect of an afternoon's pleasure with him — free from alarms and doubts and minor storms — was delightful and almost soothing.
She employed the time of waiting by telephoning, first to the hotel where she had booked that unused room, and then to Betty. Alix was afraid that the cool politeness of the voice which answered from the hotel hid a certain amount of doubt about her explanation. After all, she supposed it
did look funny to arrive with no luggage except a couple of brown paper parcels and then disappear again for the night!
Well, it couldn't be helped. Once she had settled her bill there, she supposed she was never likely to go there again. She could not imagine that Varoni and a small, quiet family hotel would have much in common.
Explaining to Betty was even more of a problem. It was so difficult to say enough and yet not too much, and Betty's perpetual: "I can't hear, Miss Alix," before one had said three words of any sentence didn't help matters.
However, she partially satisfied Betty at last, and promising faithfully to come down to the cottage at the weekend, she rang off, as the little silver and blue enamel clock on the table pointed to two o'clock.
A hasty dusting of powder, a glance in the glass, and then, catching up her handbag, she crossed the small entrance hall, m
ore than ready for her afternoon with Barry Elton.
He was there already. She could hear his deep pleasant voice speaking to Prescott, and she paused for a second with her hand on the door handle, savouring the pleasure of the moment. And then, as she did so, his words came perfectly distinctly to her — an unmistakable note of anger hardening the slightly lazy tones with which she was familiar.
"But why on earth should I take the kid sister to the Zoo, or whatever it is? I haven't the slightest interest in the child."
Alix stiffened all over, and the colour flamed up in her face. She was not conscious of any intention of eavesdropping, but she waited with painful anxiety for Prescott's reply. When it came, however, it was as economical and expressionless as usual.
"The idea wasn't mine. It was Varoni's."
"And a rotten idea, too," Barry retorted curtly. "Typical Varoni, if I may say so."
"You may," Prescott assured him indifferently.
"It's bad enough to have her promise the afternoon with me and turn up to find she's gone off somewhere else, though of course one's used to that sort of thing. But that I should be left to mind the baby too, so to speak—"
It was at this point that Alix chose to interrupt. Opening the door, she marched into the room under the astonished gaze of the other two.
"You don't have to mind the baby too," she said very distinctly, her colour most unnaturally high. 'There's some slight mistake, I'm afraid. I have no intention of going out with you — now or at any other time."
CHAPTER THREE
BARRY ELTON'S usually unshakable sang-froid gave way before an embarrassed astonishment that slightly soothed Alix's hurt pride. It was nice to make the man look a perfect fool in his turn!
But, the next moment, Prescott's cynical cackle of amusement brought the colour into her cheeks again.
"Tableau," observed Prescott, and went back to her work.
Barry took an impulsive step towards Alix.
"Look here, I'm most awfully sorry. You see, I—"
"You don't have to wait on my account," Alix said, more coldly and pointedly than she had ever spoken in her life before, and, walking over to the window, she stood there staring out over the trees into the Park.
She was trembling, really, with anger and humiliation, but he must not know that. Even when he came up behind her, she refused to turn her head. And then the door opened and the faint murmur of Drayton's colourless voice said:
"Miss Prescott, could you come a minute? The young woman from Trentlows is here to see you about that suit for Madame."
As Prescott got up and went out of the room, Alix was assailed by something like panic. How did one deal with a situation of this sort? She couldn't imagine.
She continued to stare out of the window — not because she considered it an effective move, but because she could think of nothing else to do. And after a second, Barry's voice spoke behind her again.
"Miss Farley, won't you at least turn round and let me apologize?"
"There's no need to apologize," Alix said, in a chilly little voice which didn't sound as dignified as she had hoped. "You remarked that you didn't want to take me out, and I remarked that I didn't want to go, in any case. The two views fit quite well, so there really is no need for you to worry."
He gave a vexed little laugh, and putting out his hand, turned her resistlessly to face him.
"Will you please —"
"Now listen to me," he said quite gently. "I know you have every right to be angry, even if you pretend you haven't. And of course you're feeling thoroughly miserable and embarrassed. But, to tell the truth, so am I."
"You!" She couldnt imagine the self-possessed Barry Elton miserable or even embarrassed for more than a second, and her soft brown eyes searched his face rather anxiously.
"Yes. And you know, the fact is that you and I have probably got to go on seeing each other quite a lot. Don't you think it would be better if we tried to set the misunderstanding right, instead of leaving it there to make us both feel self-conscious every time we meet?"
"I suppose — it would," Alix said slowly. She was afraid the reply was neither dignified nor brilliant, but the irresistible common sense of his argument appealed to her. Besides, it was rather good of him to insist on sharing her discomfort and embarrassment. It made her feel less like a simpleton among men and women of the world.
"Well, come and sit down," he suggested, pulling forward a chair for her. "I'd like to get this straight before Prescott comes snooping back, all silence and cynicism."
Alix thought she would too.
"I suppose the fact is that your sister just decided to do something more interesting than keep her appointment with me," he said as Alix sat down.
"Perhaps she forgot," Alix suggested quickly, with instinctive loyalty, though she had a very clear picture in her mind of Varoni laughing and protesting as she flicked over the pages of her engagement pad. And then that whispered conversation with Prescott. Oh no, there had been nothing forgetful about that.
Barry seemed to think so too, because he said quite coolly:
"Oh no. She just wanted to do something else and so she wiped me off her mental slate. Typical."
Alix was silent, not knowing what to say. Then, finally, feeling perhaps that there was some sort of family responsibility about it, she said rather timidly:
"I'm really awfully sorry. I see it must have been a fearful anti-climax to — to have me pushed in instead"
"No, you mustn't think that," he said quickly. "At least, I mean it wasn't because it was you. I shouldn't have been any more pleased to see a princess of the blood royal. Less, in fact, because I don't know any of them."
Alix gave an irresistible little chuckle that was very young and very pretty. Perhaps he thought so, because he grinned.
"I think it was very good of you not to have slapped my face, in the circumstances," he remarked ruefully.
"I did rather want to," Alix confessed, and at that they both laughed.
"And all the time it's your sister who ought to be slapped." A grim little smile touched Barry's mouth. "One of these days a real caveman will come along and beat her good and proper, in the name of all the poor saps who put up with her shocking ways."
"I don't think Mr. Moerling would allow that," Alix said gravely.
"Moerling?" Barry's eyebrows went up rather quizzically. "Hm. No, I suppose there might be trouble with Moerling," he agreed. "I take it she went with Moerling this time?"
Alix hesitated, blushed because she was no good at polite fibs, and finally said: "Well, yes, she did."
Just for a moment she thought she saw a dark, discontented shadow cross his face. But almost immediately, he smiled again as he said:
"Do you know, I've been thinking that it would be very stupid of us not to do just exactly what Varoni suggested, and go out together. Don't you think we might reconsider our decisions? For my part, I shall feel horribly flat if I just go away and twiddle my thumbs."
"Y-you're sure you aren't just saying that to please me?"
"My dear child," Barry said with extreme gravity, "don't you know that no self-respecting Englishman who has reached an age of discretion ever considers pleasing anyone but himself? It is only the poor foreigner who bothers about such things, and that's because he never quite reaches the age of discretion, I expect."
Alix laughed, and wondered a little if he said such things in front of Moerling. She rather thought it might be at Moerling that he was tilting jUst now.
"Well then," she said demurely, "in order to please the complete egoist of an Englishman, I will come, thank you."
"Good." Barry got up with decision. "And I'm doubly pleased because I think that must mean you're on the way to forgiving me."
Alix didn't actually agree in so many words, but she gave him a friendly little smile that was reassuring.
"Oh—" she stopped half way to the door. "Perhaps I ought to tell Prescott I'm going out."
Barry shrugged. "Do
you think she's interested?"
"N-no, I suppose not. But she'll have to be able to tell Nina if she comes in."
"There won't be the slightest need," Barry assured her carelessly. "It would never enter Nina's head that anyone would do anything but what she herself had arranged."
But Alix was incapable of leaving things in that vague state, and, opening the door into the rest of the suite, she called softly:
"Prescott, I'm — I'm going out with Mr. Elton."
"Yes, I know," Prescott's voice replied from Nina's bedroom. And, as Alix closed the door again, she wondered just exactly what that meant.
As they went down in the lift, across the great lounge and out into the sunshine of the street, Alix thought: "It's simply incredible, but the whole world has changed since I went in at those doors last night."
"Do you mind an open car?" Barry led her over to an audacious-looking little green racer that appeared to have pushed its nose impertinently between two Rolls-Royces.
"No, of course not. I like it much better than a closed one on a day like this."
"Good." He installed her comfortably, and then got into the driving seat himself. "Oh, where are we going, by the way? We don't seem to have decided on that."
"Well—" an irresistible smile lifted the corners of Alix's mouth — "I believe the Zoo was mentioned."
Barry chuckled delightedly.
"I've a good mind to take you there for that," he told her.
"I suppose you'd think me very childish if I said I should quite like it?" Alix said gravely.
He looked at her with an indulgent amusement that warmed those cool grey eyes in a strangely attractive way.
"Do you really want to go and feed nuts to monkeys and buns to elephants?" he asked.
kk I want," Alix said slowly, "to do something so completely ordinary and unspectacular that it will somehow give me back my sense of proportion, and make me believe that this strange world into which I've fallen is not the beginning and end of existence."
"My child," he said gravely, as he backed the car out of the rank, "you have made out a complete case for visiting the Zoo, but, even as I quail before certain aspects of it, we will choose Whipsnade, and I'll drive you there now."
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