Prince Charlie Part 43

"I think I can manage alone!"

"I think you can, old girl!... Do you know," he added with mock severity, "when you look a little demon like that, I don't somehow fancy trusting my friend into your keeping. One good turn----; you know the rest. I believe I should be carrying that out by preventing his marrying you."

"He hasn't asked me yet!"

She spoke saucily with sparkling eyes; yet with a rosy blush on her face.

"That's true; perhaps he won't! There's hope for the poor beggar after all! He came all the way from the Mediterranean framing words how he should ask you to marry him, and he had a narrow escape on the dinner party night. Perhaps you killed him then by your nice behaviour; killed any desire he might have had to marry you." Then he added maliciously: "Let's hope so, for his sake."

"d.i.c.k! You are a perfect horror!"

"It was 'Dear d.i.c.k' a minute ago! But there--you're as uncertain as the weather."

The shot went home; told in the flushed, shamefaced look; d.i.c.k inquired:

"What are you going to say to the Chantrelles?"

"That is my business. They will travel up by the afternoon train. Your business is to go to Prince Charlie, and see that he comes here to-night to dinner."

He sobered down in a moment at that; answered seriously:

"No, old girl, that is out of the question. Nothing I could say would induce him to that. He simply hates the Chantrelles."

"I have told you--they won't be here."

"Even the knowledge of their absence wouldn't make him come to your house, after the way in which you behaved to him last time."

"All the same," she said defiantly, "a place shall be set for him at table."

"Look here, old girl, I'm willing to help you, but don't make a pocket idiot of yourself. I tell you nothing I could say would induce him to----"

"Well, you can get him to go for a walk, I suppose, can't you?"

"You know we always go for a walk late every afternoon--weather permitting or otherwise."

"Very well; this afternoon walk eastwards. You know the seat at the end of the Parade?"

"You mean, that one by the wall, which Gracie calls Our Seat?"

"Yes. Make your way there; walk to that, sit down and wait--till I come."

It dawned on him then: her intent. Admiration of her diplomacy found vent in the strains of "Rule, Britannia."

"Don't say anything, d.i.c.k. Promise me that. Not a word to Prince Charlie about--about--anything."

"But when you turn up at the seat, what am I to do? I suppose it will be a case of two's company, three's none?"

"Oh, you can go and pick sh.e.l.ls and seaweed on the beach!"

"What! In the dark? Is thy brother a dog that he should do these things?

I'll find my way back by myself. You think he'll see you home?"

"You can rely on it he will."

Mrs. Seton-Carr had confidence in herself. Perhaps it was as well; few things are won without that.

"All right. We shall be there about five o'clock."

"So shall I."

"Right.... There are the Chantrelles coming up the road; I'll clear out the back way. If they are going, I'd rather be spared saying farewells.

I might introduce some choice expressions of my opinion of them."

"Leave that to me!"

Mabel spoke with bitter sweetness. One glance at her face convinced d.i.c.k that he could do so with safety.

"Right!"

He disappeared through the back as the Chantrelles entered by the front door. Mrs. Seton-Carr was waiting for them. She smiled pleasantly, iced pleasantry, and invited them into the drawing-room. Seated, she faced them. There, wasted no time in preliminaries; struck out:

"There is something I want to clear up, Mr. Chantrelle."

She fixed that gentleman with her eyes. On her face was a pleasant smile; it never faded once during the interview.

"Yes?"

"About Mr. Masters," she continued. "There has been something unpleasant--so far as he is concerned--said of the voyage home you all made from the Mediterranean. Did you ever see him attempt to make love to your sister?"

"Great Scott! No. He seemed to like her about as little as Amy liked him."

From the corner of her eye, Mrs. Seton-Carr could see that her dear friend Amy had grown very white--Amy had a quicker brain than had her brother--but she never lost her hold on Percy's face; went on:

"Did he bear the reputation of a lady-killer? Of making love to every woman on board?"

"My dear Mrs. Carr!" Percy laughed heartily as he replied, "I never saw him talk to a woman! He had the reputation on board of being a woman-hater. He was a perfect bear!"

Amy glanced at her brother reproachfully, meaningly--too late. Besides, he was looking at his hostess and not at her; her telegraphic communication was without effect. It was a pity, a thousand pities, from Amy's point of view. She had to sit quiet and listen.

"Thanks so much," Mrs. Seton-Carr was saying sweetly. "You see, I was told all that, and it was not a pleasant thing to be told. You must understand that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Masters shortly--but I think you knew that?"

Percy's face fell; all the merriment dropped out of it. A moment's silence ensued; not what could fairly be labelled a dull moment. Then Percy broke it; said slowly:

"No; I had not the slightest idea of such a thing."

"Is that possible? Surely your sister told you! She says in this letter that when you heard of my forthcoming marriage to Mr. Masters you grew white. Although why," she laughed, "you should grow white, I cannot conceive. Our pleasant intercourse has always been quite platonic, hasn't it? That was its charm; one has so few friends. You know that?"

"I--yes. Now I know it."