The Twelfth Hour Part 18

"You don't really, I know! It's only fun. Besides, people only love once. You would never care for any one but Chetwode."

"Care! I should think not. But Bertie Wilton's amusing. And he knows simply everything. He's a perfectly brilliant gossip. What do you think is the latest thing about the Valettas and Guy Scott?"

Mrs. Ogilvie and Bob preferred the restaurant; Wilton accepted by telephone, telegraphing afterwards to know if it was all right. A _tete-a-tete_ dinner on so short an acquaintance with the most fascinating of hostesses seemed to him almost too great a privilege to be real. Afterwards she told his fortune by cards and he told hers by palmistry.

"You don't tell me all," she said.

"If I told you all--all you are to me--I suppose you would ring for a gla.s.s of iced-water again?" said he.

"Oh, no, I shouldn't. I am in a very good temper to-night," said Felicity, laughing.

She had a telegram announcing Chetwode's arrival by the 9.15. She had not mentioned it.

Bertie Wilton looked at her. She seemed rather nervous. He persuaded himself not to go too far again, but it was really rather wonderful that she had, after the iced-water incident, asked him to spend the evening with her.

They had music. He had a voice, a way of singing, and a choice of songs that had often been most useful to him in the beginning of his social and sentimental career. But he was surprised to see that while he was singing something about "my dream, my desire, my despair" she was standing in front of the looking-gla.s.s making play with a powder-puff as if he wasn't present, and then appeared to be listening at the door.

He came from the piano and she thanked him with an absent-minded warmth.

Incautiously he said, "It's just what you are, 'My dream.' Will you tell me something? But I shall be in disgrace if I ask."

"What is it?"

"Will you always be my despair?"

"Oh no; oh yes--I mean." Then she said, "There he is!"

There was a sound of cabs outside. Then the door opened and Savile came in, while a voice outside with a slight drawl said, "Where are you, Felicity?"

Felicity ran out of the room and shut the door.

"Extraordinary weather for the time of year," remarked Savile, with a condescending air of putting Wilton at his ease. The young man was smiling, rather uncomfortably for him.

"Very," he answered. "No, thanks," to Savile's hospitable offer of a cigarette. "You've been travelling. How delightful."

"I've just come back with Chetwode from Yorks.h.i.+re. By the way, you'll excuse my sister for a few minutes. You know what these newly married couples are!"

Bertie Wilton rose.

"Do I not? I should be more than grieved to intrude on anything so sacred as a--shall I say--a home chat? Thanks very much. No, I won't stay now. Ask Lady Chetwode to excuse me. I shall hope to have the pleasure of meeting your brother-in-law here some time quite soon."

He took his leave very cordially, with his usual smiling courtesy, Savile making no effort to detain him, and chuckling a little to himself as he tried to fancy the language Wilton would probably use in the cab on his way home. Then the boy, saying "Well, I've made that all right!"

went back to Onslow square.

CHAPTER XI

SAVILE AND SYLVIA

One gay irresponsible April afternoon Sir James and Woodville had gone to the House, and Savile, thinking he might be useful as an escort, strolled into Sylvia's boudoir. It was her favourite room, where she received her intimate friends, played and sang, wrote letters, read novels and poetry, and thought about Woodville. The scent from the lilac in the vases seemed to harmonise with the chintz furniture, covered with a design of large pink rosebuds and vivid green trellis-work; there was a mandoline on the lacquered piano and old coloured prints on the walls; books and music were scattered about in dainty disorder. Sylvia was sitting on the sofa with her pretty fair head bent down and turned away.

She did not move when Savile came in, and he was shocked to see she was crying.

Savile turned quite pale with horror. Young as he was, nature and training had made all outward manifestations of emotion so contrary to his traditions and mode of life, and it seemed so unlike Sylvia, that he felt a kind of shame even more strongly than sympathy. He shut the door quietly, whistled to show he was there, and walked slowly up and down the room. Then he stood by the latticed window, looking out, and tried to think of something to say. What comforted girls when they cried? The inspiration "Tea" suggested itself, but that would mean the entrance of outsiders. Presently he said shyly and sympathetically, "Shall I smoke, Sylvia?"

She made a gesture signifying that nothing mattered now, and went on crying.

"I say," said Savile, striking a match, "it can't be as bad as all that."

He went up to the sofa and she held out her hand. Demonstrations of sentiment made him acutely uncomfortable. He put the pretty hand back carefully, and said in a level tone, "I tell you what I should do if I were you. I should tell some one about it--Me, for instance. I've been through a lot--more than any one knows." (Here he gave what he believed to be a bitter smile.) "I might be some use; I'd do my best, anyway."

"Darling boy!"

"Oh, buck up, Sylvia! You're going to tell me every word about it, and more, once you start! I'll help you to start." He waited a moment and then said rather loudly and sternly, "What's wrong between you and Woodville?"

Sylvia sat up, took her handkerchief from her eyes, and stared at him.

"What? Have you guessed?"

"Have I guessed! If I'm always as sharp as this I shall cut myself some day," said the schoolboy ironically. "Why, what do you take me for? Do I live here? Do I come down to breakfast? Aren't I and Woodville great friends? Have I guessed?" He sighed in despair at her denseness.

"Dear boy, I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You're so wonderful and so clever, but how could I know you'd be so sweet about it? Why papa said even you wanted me to marry Mr. Ridokanaki. He quoted you."

"Well, why shouldn't he? I do wish it."

Sylvia's eyes blazed, and she tapped her foot on the carpet.

"Oh, do you? Very well, I'm sure I don't mind! You see it doesn't matter in the very least what you think. After all you're only a little boy."

Savile smiled with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt, patted her golden hair paternally, and said "Of course. But if I'd happened to suggest your going to the registry office with Woodville this afternoon (I believe there's one somewhere in Kensington, near the work-house), I suppose I'd have been what you call a _dear_ little boy, and you'd have let me have some jam for tea.... Poor girl! You must be bad." He laughed, and then said quietly, "Now, then, go ahead."

"Well, Savile, it's too dreadful, and I _will_ confide in you. Last night"--Sylvia began talking very volubly--"that horrid old brute--you know, the Greek--asked Frank, Mr. Woodville, to dinner, and actually had the impertinence to offer him a sort of post in a bank, starting at 2000 a year, at Athens. ATHENS! Do you hear? It's in Greece."

"Don't rub it in. This is no time for geography. What else?"

"Well, it was on these conditions. Frank was to go for a year, and all that time the _fiend_ has given word of honour never to come and see me, or anything, and if at the end of the year Frank and I are still both the same, _he_ will give it up--about me, I mean--and get Frank the same sort of berth in London. And if we're not--just fancy making such a horrible proposition! At Willis's, too!"

"Well, what's the matter with Willis's? Would it have been all right at the 'Ches.h.i.+re Cheese'?"

"What's the 'Ches.h.i.+re Cheese'?"

"Never mind," said Savile mysteriously. (He didn't know.) "And if you're _not_ still the same?"

"Oh, _then_"--she began to cry again--"of course the wretch thinks there might be a chance for him. He _must_ be mad, mustn't he? But the horrible part is that Frank actually thinks of _going_! Fancy! How _degrading_! To accept a favour from my enemy! Isn't Ridokanaki exactly like Machiavelli?"

"Mac who? I see nothing Scotch in the offer. But if he were the living image of Robert Bruce or Robinson Crusoe, that's not the point. Now let's have it straight. Would you marry him in any case?"