"It must have been."
"Last Saturday—yes, that's why I couldn't be here to take you out—things looked remarkably black for me, and I had to go up to town and straighten out the situation. By good luck, and, I venture to think, a bit of smart work on my part, I staved off disaster. But I don't mind admitting it shook me up a bit. ItJicQught home to me more forcibly than ever that, during the next two or three months, I must have some sort of support in the background, if only for the good of my nervous system."
He grinned at this, and looked singularly unaffected by nerve strain. Only, gazing at him as she did, with widened, searching eyes, Harriet saw that there was a nervous little pulse beating in his cheek, and that he clasped and un-
clasped his hands with a restlessness that was not at all like him.
Again she moistened dry lips.
"And you really imagine tnat an engagement—I mean a fake engagement—to me would represent this support?"
"By virtue of your importance to Lin—yes. I don't overestimate its value, mind. I know that it is a very weak substitute for what existed while Dilys was engaged to him. But even a poor support is better than none, and I don't think, somenow, that an impassioned appeal from you would leave Lin absolutely unmoved."
"I wouldn't be prepared to make it."
"I earnestly hope it will never be necessary," he returned mockingly.
There was another long silence. And then she said, "How long did you say the—the danger period would last?''
"Certainly no longer than three months. Probably not more than two."
"And if—if things went wrong, what assistance would you expect, exactly?"
"There's only one person who could make things damned awkward for me, Harriet, and by good fortune he is a friend and client of Lin's. That is to say, Lin's advice or request would carry a considerable amount of weight with him. I might badly need a good word from Lin at the right moment. Frankly, I doubt my own powers of persuadmg him to say that word. But, if you appealed to him—" he hesitated. "As my distracted fiancee, I mean," he concluded, with an explanatory air.
"Do you really mean to say that all you would require would be Lin's good offices—verbally expressed—if and when things. went wrong?" Harriet demanded categorically.
He made a gesture of assent, and added again, "And there is at least an even chance that even that would not be required."
"I'm afraid I don't believe you," Harriet said coldly and distinctly.
"You don't believe that there is so little chance of my needing his support?"
"No. I don t believe that all you expect is verbal support."
There was a short silence. Then he said, "In the last extremity—I mean, if Lin doesn't, after all, carry so much weight with this man as I imagine—then I should probably need a tidy sum of money to get me out of the woods. * *
"And you have the impudence to suppose that I should try to cadge money from Lin on your behalf?" she asked increduously.
"Look, Harriet, let*s not cross our bridges till we come to them. With reasonable luck, you won't ever need to mention this to Lin at all. With bad luck, you would have to ask him to put in a good word for me, as your fiancee. It would only be by most filthy luck that we could be reduced to the last extremity of asking him for money—"
"I refuse to contemplate that, in any circumstances."
"All right then, weMl wash that bit out. I'll take the risk of its never happening. All I'm asking you to do is to be engaged to me for two or three months, so that, if I do need a good word from Lin, he'll be more likely to give it because he'll think it will affect you drastically. Good lord! that's not much to ask!"
"I don't know that you were simply asking it," Harriet commented dryly. "I thought you were insisting under threat. I suppose the next stage is that you produce that vile letter again and remind me that you will show it to Lin unless I do what you want."
"I'll put it a better way, Harriet. I'll promise you that, if you do what I want, I'll hand the original letter over to you."
"What!"
She caught her breath on a gasp of frantic eagerness, for it had not entered her head until this moment that any proposition of his could end in freedom from the frightful thing that had been hanging over her. With considerable skill and judgment, he had kept the real bribe until the end.
There was a world of difference between doing something because it bought permanent freedom from some deadly fear and doing it because one yielded to a threat. There was something positive and hopefiil to contemplate if, in truth, the end of the two or three months of hateful deception also brought the end of Brent's hold over her.
He watched her, gauging with perfect accuracy the effect of his having changed a threat into a bribe.
But caution, which had been so painfully roused in Harriet, made itself felt again.
"When do I receive the letter?" she inquired curtly.
"When we terminate the engagement, by mutual arrangement, in two or three months' time, he told her lightly. He could afford to take it all less seriously now for he guessed he was nearly victorious.
"I have only your word for it."
"I'm afraid so," he agreed regretfully.
"And why should I rely on that?"
He shrugged.
"You really have no other choice," he pointed out. It was true. So true that for a moment she was silent.
"I'll play fair," he promised her. "I can't give you anything but my word, I m afraid, but that's a risk you have to take. There's invariably a risk in everything, and I've always understood that getting engaged is a particularly risky business. But the alternative is a certainty, Harriet."
And he paused, in order to let her reflect on the extreme unpleasantness of that certainty.
"Very well," she said at last. "I agree--"
"Good girl!"
"—I agree to become engaged to you, and—and, if the need should arise, I will enlist what verbal help I can from— from Lin. But in no circumstances will I ask him for money on your behalf "
"It would be on behalf of both of us, you know," he reminded her wickedly. "You would naturally be very deeply concerned over anything that affected your dear Brent so vitally."
She made no reply to this. Only she watched, in incredulous fascination, as he produced a very handsome ring from his breast pocket.
Perhaps her immediate doubt about its origin showed in her face, because he laughed a good deal and said, "It's all right. I don't pinch jewels as a sideline. This belonged to iny mother and was left to me."
She looked at him curiously.
"Have you no—no qualms about using it for such a purpose?'
"No. Why should I? I wouldn't actually part with it for anything. I ve never pawned it even in my lowest mo-
ments," he said, with some satisfaction. "But I don*t mind lending it to you for a while, Harriet."
She was silent. She saw that, to him, it was a matter of some pride that he had always resisted the temptation to pawn nis mother's ring. And she marveled to herself over this peculiar code that forbade him to pawn it, but permitted him to use it for a shameless bit of deception.
He seemed to take her silence for understanding of his point of view, for he made no further attempt to explain nimself He merely took her unresponsive hand and slipped the ring on her finger.
*'It looks fine," he remarked, with a touch of something like satisfaction. But she only stared at it, as though it were not quite real. She was wondering how she was going to explain it to Lin.
Shall I stay to receive the congratulations of the family?" Brent inauired coolly. "Or do you think you would deal with them better on your own? "
He was not, she saw, amusing himself maliciously. He was absolutely in earnest and simply wanted to arrange this business in whatever way would give the best chances of success. And trying to match his mood she replied resolutely, "I think you had better go. I can manage better by myself. It would be difficult to keep up a ... the—the cor
rect manner toward you, and deal with this astonishment, at the same time."
He grinned.
"I expect you're right. Will they be so much astonished?"
"I imagine so." Her tone had become rather expressionless again, because she simply dared not let herself think of Lin's reaction when she told him.
It said something for Brent's powers of gauging people's reactions to a nicety that he made no laughing attempt to make Harriet live up to her role of fiancee right away. He knew this was no moment for kissing and teasing. He had been remarkably lucky to carry his point as far as he had, and he was not going to endanger his success by any temporary amusement.
To Harriet's relief, therefore, he made no move to prolong the interview. He bade her goodbye in a singularly friendly manner—almost as though he thought that, now circumstances had made them allies, they would naturally
treat each other differently—and took himself off, leaving her to twist her engagement ring on her finger and wonder how she was to deal with this fresh and dreadful crisis.
The necessity of deciding on her attitude almost immediately was borne in on her by her hearing sounds of Mrs. Mayhew moving around overhead. Her afternoon rest was over and she was coming downstairs once more.
Harriet controlled a panic-stricken impulse to tear off her ring and postpone the moment of explanation. She knew that to do that would be fatal, for unless she accepted the irrevocable now, she would never again work up her courage to the point of doing what she had to do.
Outwardly calm, she went out into the hall, to help Mrs. Mayhew down the last flight of stairs. It was an understood thing that one didn't press too much assistance on the old lady, but at the same time, it was always just as well to be at hand, in case her strength proved less than her determination.
'*Thank you, my dear." Mrs. Mayhew accepted her arm. "What a pleasant afternoon it has turned out!" And she stood for a moment in the hall, regarding witl^ satisfaction the beautiful April sunshine that poured in through the central window over the door.
*'Yes, hasn't it?" agreed Harriet, who felt it was among the least pleasant afternoons she had ever spent.
Then she escorted Mrs. Mayhew into the sitting room and settled her in her favorite chair. And was immediately saved any necessity to make the first move herself by her employer's sharp powers of observation.
Dear me, that s a very attractive ring you're wearing. I don't think I've seen you wear it before," she remarked with interest.
"No," Harriet said, as calmly as she could. "No, I haven't worn it before."
"A very intersting setting." Mrs. Mayhew actually took Harriet's hand and examined the ring. "Almost an antique. Was it your mother's—or grandmother's?"
"No, Mrs. Mayhew. It... it's only just been given to me," Harriet stammered.
"Only—" And then Mrs. Mayhew seemed to realize for the first time on which finger Harriet was wearing the ring. "But, my dear child! Is it on that particular finger for a
reason? I somehow imagined that you had just slipped it on yourself. I had no idea— But Harriet dear, Tm delighted! Simply delighted! And not in the least surprised. Only I thought he would probably wait a bit longer before saymg anything, as it's such a little while since—smce— Anyway, it doesn't matter. I didn't know he had come home early. Where is he?"
"Who?" Harriet asked faintly, though she could not doubt to whom Mrs. Mayhew was referring.
"Who? Why, Lin, of course."
There was a quite dreadful little silence. And then suddenly it began to dawn on Mrs. Mayhew that she had done something that she had very seldom done in her life before. She had put her foot in it, completely and irretrievably.
The hand that held Harriet s tightened and then loosened and withdrew almost awkwardly from hers. Awkwardness and Mrs. Mayhew were such mconceivable companions that this in itself was indescribably dismaying. Tnen she cleared her throat unnecessarily and said, "Dear me, I'm sorry, Harriet. I seem to have behaved most stupidly."
"Oh, no," protested Harriet faintly.
"Well, who is it, my dear? I suppose he is someone you knew before even you came here and he has just sent you your ring."
"No.' Harriet shook her head helplessly. Then she rallied all her forces. "No. I know it will be a great surprise to you all, but—it's Brent Penrose."
If Mrs. Mayhew had not already been greatly humiliated and vexed by her previous lapse, she would probably have expressed herself quite forcibly at this point. Instead, however, she contained herself in silence for a moment or two. Then she said, inadequately Harriet felt, "Yes, it is a considerable surprise."
"I ... I'm rather surprised myself" Harriet managed to smile, and to eive a fairly creditable presentation of someone astonished by the depths of her own feelings.
Mrs. Mayhew regarded her without any lightening of her dismayed expression.
"Harriet, I know it isn't my business, but-you are sure you are doing the right thing, aren't you?" she said troubledly.
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Mayhew, of course!" With a sort of
desperate virtuosity, Harriet threw herself into her role, for what was the good of her doing this at all, if she didn't do it properly? "I know what you're thinking. You're remembering what we said about his being almost too handsome, and our rather doubting what lay underneath his good looks."
"I was thinking of that," Mrs. Mayhew conceded, with masterly understatement.
"But, you see, it's because I've gone so much deeper than his surface good looks in the last few weeks, that I 've found how—how serious and worthwhile he is, under all that banter."
"Oh."
The one skeptical monosyllable was not encouraging.
"Now that I—that I really know him, Mrs. Mayhew, I can't understand how I thought rather—rather critically of him."
This, however, was too«much for even a chastened Mrs. Mayhew to swallow.
"Can't you, my dear?" she said with some asperity. "Then I will tell you. It was because Brent, to all outward appearances, is a shallow, unreliable young man. He may have these hidden depths which you seem to think you have plumbed. I hope, for your sake, that he has. But on first—and even second—appearances, you had every reason to think as you did at first.
Harriet was completely silenced. For, agreeing as she did one hundred percent with Mrs. Mayhew, it was difficult to launch out on the spirited defense that any infatuated fiancee should put up.
Mrs. Mayhew, however, mistook the reason for her silence and, feeling that perhaps she had gone further than the privileges of a mere employer permitted, added more gently, "You must forgive me if I seem to speak over frankly, Harriet. Believe me, I should say just the same to any daughter of mine. Indeed," she added, with great truth, "if Betty had, inconceivably, made such a choice, I should probably have said a great deal more."
Harriet smiled faintly, and reluctantly took up the cudgels in Brent's defense once more.
"I don't mind your being frank. I know you wouldn't say anything that you didn 't mean and it was said for my own good. But I lo—" she found suddenly that she could not get
the word out, and she changed it to "—But I really do know my own mind about this. And I can't help hoping that, when you know him better, you will feel the same.
''Nothing,*' Mrs. Mayhew assured her, with grim humor, "would be nkely to make me feel as you do about Brent. My days of being enthralled by romantic good looks are over, my dear. But I truly hope that you are right about him, and that I am wrong. I should be very glad indeed to think you were really happy in any marriage, even though—as I'm afraid my silly mdiscretion showed you—I had rather hoped that you would look in a very different direction."
Fortunately, Harriet might be considered to be sufficiently moved by this kind speech to answer it with nothing more than a squeeze of the hand and a whispered, "Thank you."
But the reference to Mrs. Mayhew's hopes for her—which had followed her own with such touchmg and flattering fidelity—was almost more than Harriet
could bear. To know that she had to turn her back on the glorious future, as she had glimpsed it, was cruel enough, in all conscience. To know that nothing would have pleased Lin's mother better than to have had that future materialize, was a refinement of cruelty that she felt she had not deserved.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Never before during this relationship had Harriet and Mrs. Mayhew found it difficult either to keep a conversation going or to maintain a companionable silence between them. Now they both searched desperately for some small talk to fill the aching void of their embarrassment and distress.
Once Mrs. Mayhew asked, "Do you intend it to be a long engagement?'*
And when Harriet said: "Oh, yes—yes, I think so,** she with difficulty kept herself from exclaiming, "Well, that's something, anyway."
But, because she had to restrain the answer that sprang naturally to her lips, she had difficulty in finding any other to replace it. And so it was with every subject they started. Nothing seemed to lead anywhere. And their charming, easy intimacy was, temporarily at any rate, completely spoiled.
For Harriet there was not only the surface embarrassment of the occasion. She was struggling to find courage to make a startling request of her employer. And presen*! because, after all, there was not too much time at her disposal—she forced herself into blunt and hasty speech.
Mrs. MayheWi would you—would you please do something for me? I don't want to tell Lin about my engagement. Would you tell him for me?**
Mrs. Mayhew studied her with rather grave attention. Perhaps she was recalling that other occasion, not so long ago, when Harriet had willingly assumed a similar respon-siblity for her. Or perhaps she was merely wondering
troubledly why this girl, of whom she had grown so fond, could not face Lin and tell him her news herself.
Whatever her thoughts were, she kept them to herself. But her tone was grave and rather troubled as she said, "Very well, Harriet. Of course I will do that for you. *'
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 36