Mr. Waddington of Wyck Part 51

"Dearest f.a.n.n.y:

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Waddington and I have had a sc.r.a.p. It's made things impossible, and I'm going to Ralph. He'll turn out for me, so there won't be any scandal.

"You know how awfully I love you, that's why you'll forgive me if I don't come back.

"Always your loving

"Barbara."

"P.S.--I'm frightfully sorry about my birthday dinner. But I don't feel birthdayish or dinnerish, either. I want Ralph. Nothing but Ralph."

That would make f.a.n.n.y think it was Ralph they had quarrelled about.

Barbara put this note on f.a.n.n.y's dressing-table. Then she went up to the White Hart, to Ralph Bevan. She waited in his sitting-room till he came back from Oxford.

"Hallo, old thing, what are _you_ doing here?"

"Ralph--do you awfully mind if we don't dine at the Manor?"

"If we don't--why?"

"Because I've left them. And I don't want to go back. Do you think I could get a room here?"

"What's up?"

"I've had a simply awful sc.r.a.p with Waddy, and I can't stick it there.

Between us we've made it impossible."

"What's he been up to?"

"Oh, never mind."

"He's been making love to you."

"If you call it making love."

"The old swine!"

As he said it, he felt the words and his own fury fall short of the fantastic quality of Waddington.

"No. He isn't." (Barbara felt it.) "He was simply more funny than you can imagine.... He had on a canary yellow waistcoat."

In spite of his fury he smiled.

"I think he'd bought it for that."

"Oh, Barbara, what he must have looked like!"

"Yes. If only you could have seen him. But that's the worst of all his best things. They only happen when you're alone with him."

"You remember--we wondered whether he'd do it again, whether he'd go one better?"

"Yes, Ralph. We little thought it would be me."

"How he does surpa.s.s himself!"

"The funniest thing was he thought I was in love with _him_."

"He didn't!"

"He did. Because of the way I'd worked for him. He thought that proved it."

"Yes. Yes. I suppose he _would_ think it.... Look here--he didn't do anything, did he?"

"He kissed me. _That_ wasn't funny."

"The putrid old sinner. If he _wasn't_ so old I'd wring his neck for him."

"No, no. That's all wrong. It's not the way we agreed to take him. We'd think it funny enough if he'd done it to somebody else. It's pure accident that it's me."

"No doubt that's the proper philosophic view. I wonder whether Mrs.

Levitt takes it."

"Ralph--it wasn't a bit like his Mrs. Levitt stunt. The awful thing was he really meant it. He'd planned it all out. We were to go off together to the Riviera, and he was to wear his canary waistcoat."

"Did he say that?"

"No. But you could see he thought it. And he was going to get f.a.n.n.y to divorce him."

"Good G.o.d! He went as far as that?"

"As far as that. He was so c.o.c.ksure, you see. I'm afraid it's been a bit of a shock to him."

"Well, it's a thundering good thing I've got a job at last."

"_Have_ you?"

"Yes. We can get married the day after tomorrow if we like.

Blackadder's given me the editors.h.i.+p of the _New Review_."

"No? Oh, Ralph, how topping."

"That's what I ran up to Oxford for, to see him and settle everything.

It's a fairly decent screw. The thing's got no end of hacking, and it's up to me to make it last."

"I say--f.a.n.n.y'll he pleased."

As they were talking about it, the landlady of the White Hart came in to tell them that Mrs. Waddington was downstairs and wanted to speak to Miss Madden.