The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne Part 36

For the first time in my life I heard a woman give abandoned, incoherent utterance to an agony of pa.s.sion; and it sounded horrible, like the cry of an animal wounded to death.

A guilt-stricken creature, scarce daring to meet her eyes, I bade her farewell. She had recovered her composure.

"Make me one little promise, Marcus, do me one little favour," she said, with quivering lip, and letting her cold hand remain in mine. "Stay away from her to-day. I couldn't bear to think of you and her together, happy, love-making, after what I've said this morning. I should writhe with the shame and the torture of it. Give me your thoughts to-day. Wear a little mourning for the dead. It is all I ask of you."

"I should have done what you ask without the asking," I replied.

I kissed her hand, and went out into the street.

I had walked but a few blind steps when I became aware of the presence and voice of Pasquale.

"Coming from Mrs. Mainwaring's? I am just on my way there to restore her opera-gla.s.ses which I ran away with last night. What's her number? I forget. I dropped in at Lingfield Terrace to inquire, but found you had already started."

"Seventeen," I answered, mechanically.

"You are not looking well, my good friend," said he. "I hope last night has not upset you. It's all bluff, you know, on the part of the precious Hamdi."

"I dare say it was," I a.s.sented.

"And bluff on your part, too. I have never given your imaginative faculties sufficient credit. It bowled Hamdi out clean."

"Yes," said I. "It bowled him out clean."

"Serve him right," said Pasquale. "He's the wickedest old thief unhung."

"Quite so," said I, "the wickedest old thief unhung."

Pasquale shook me by the arm.

"Are you a man or a phonograph? What on earth has happened to you?"

I think I envied the laughter in his handsome, dark face, and the careless grace of the fellow as he stood beneath the dripping umbrella debonair as a young prince, in perfectly fitting blue serge-he wore no overcoat; mine was b.u.t.toned up to the chin, and immaculate suede gloves.

"What is it?" he repeated, gaily.

"I didn't sleep last night," said I, "my breakfast disagreed with me, and it's raining in the most unpleasant manner."

Even while I was speaking he left my side and darted across the road.

In some astonishment I watched him for a moment from the kerb, and then made my way slowly to the other side. I found him in conversation with an emaciated, bedraggled woman standing by an enormous bundle, about three times her own cubic bulk, which she had rested on the slimy pavement. One hand pressed a panting bosom.

"You are going to carry that in your arms all the way to South Kensington?" I heard him cry as I approached.

"Yes, sir," said the woman.

"Then you shan't. I'm not going to allow it. Catch hold of this."

The umbrella which he thrust out at her she clutched automatically, to prevent it falling about her ears. The veto she received with a wonderment which deepened into stupefaction when she saw him lift the huge bundle in his arms and stalk away with it down the street. She turned a scared face at me.

"It's was.h.i.+ng," she said.

Pasquale paused, looked round and motioned her onward. She followed without a word, holding the trim silver mounted umbrella, and I mechanically brought up the rear. It had all happened so quickly that I too was confused. The scanty populace in the rain-filled street stared and gaped. A shambling fellow in corduroys bawled an obscene jest.

Pasquale put down his bundle.

"Do you want to be sent to h.e.l.l by lightning?" he asked, with the evil snarl of the lips.

"No," said the man, sheering off.

"I'm glad," remarked Pasquale, picking up the bundle. And we resumed our progress.

Luckily a four-wheeled cab overtook us. Pasquale stopped it, squeezed the bundle inside, and held the door open for the faltering and bewildered woman, as if she had been the authentic d.u.c.h.essa at Ealing.

"You were saying, Ordeyne," he observed, as the cabman drove off with three s.h.i.+llings and his incoherent fare, "you were saying that your breakfast disagreed with you."

In spite of my heaviness of heart, I laughed and loved the man. There was something fantastically chivalrous in the action; something superb in the contempt of convention; something whimsical, adventurous, unexpected; and something divine in the wrathful pity; and something irresistible in his impudent apostrophe to myself. It has been the one flash of comfort during this long and desolate day.

I have kept my promise to Judith. I have lunched and dined at the club, and in the library of the club I have tried to while away the hours.

I intended this morning to make the necessary arrangements for the marriage. After my interview with Judith I had not the heart. I put it off till to-morrow. I have observed the day as a day of mourning. I have worn sackcloth and ashes. I have done such penance as I could for the grievous fault I have committed. Carlotta is in bed and asleep. She went early, says Antoinette, having a bad headache. No wonder, poor child.

A few moments ago I was tempted to peep into her room and satisfy myself that she was not ailing. A headache is the common precursor to many maladies. But I remembered my promise and refrained. The cooing notes of the voice would have called me to her side, and her arms would have been around my neck and I should have forgotten Judith.

CHAPTER XVII

October 28th.

I rose late this morning. When I went down to breakfast I found that Carlotta had already gone for her music lesson.

I drove at once to the Temple to see my lawyers and to make arrangements for a marriage by special license.

I returned at one o'clock. Stenson met me in the hall.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Marcus, but Mademoiselle hasn't come back yet."

I waited an uneasy hour. Such a lengthy absence from home was unprecedented. At two o'clock I went round to Herr Stuer in the Avenue Road--a five minutes' walk.

He entered the sitting-room into which I had been ushered, wiping his lips.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Herr Stuer," said I, "but will you kindly tell me when Miss Carlotta left you, this morning?"

"Miss Carlotta came not at all this morning," he replied.

"But it was her regular day?"