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“What do you think I ought to do about it?”
“Have your instincts out. I can’t imagine anything more ageing than what you’re doing now. As for Diana, she’s of the same sort—the Montjoys have a kind of Condaford up in Dumfriesshire—I admire her for sticking to Ferse, but I think it’s quite crazy of her. It can only end one way, and that’ll be the more unpleasant the longer it’s put off.”
“Yes; I feel she’s riding for a bad fall, but I hope I should do the same.”
“I know I shouldn’t,” said Fleur, cheerfully.
“I don’t believe that anybody knows what they’ll do about anything until it comes to the point.”
“The thing is never to let anything come to a point.”
Fleur spoke with a tang in her voice, and Di
“You haven’t seen Ferse,” she said, “and without seeing him you can’t appreciate how pathetic he is.”
“That’s sentiment, my dear. I’m not sentimental.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a past, Fleur; and you can’t have had that without being sentimental.”
Fleur gave her a quick look, and trod on the accelerator.
“Time I turned on my lights,” she said.
For the rest of the journey she talked on Art, Letters, and other unimportant themes. It was nearly eight o’clock when she dropped Di
Diana was in, already dressed for di
“Di
CHAPTER 25
Portentous—those simple words!
“After you’d gone this morning he was in a great state—seemed to think we were all in a conspiracy to keep things from him.”
“As we were,” murmured Di
“Mademoiselle’s going upset him again. Soon after, I heard the front door bang—he hasn’t been back since. I didn’t tell you, but last night was dreadful. Suppose he doesn’t come back?”
“Oh! Diana, I wish he wouldn’t.”
“But where has he gone? What can he do? Whom can he go to? O God! It’s awful!”
Di
“Sorry, Di
In Ferse’s ‘lair,’ that charming room panelled in green shot with a golden look, they sat through an anxious meal. The shaded light fell pleasantly on their bare necks and arms, on the fruit, the flowers, the silver; and until the maid was gone they spoke of indifferent things.
“Has he a key?” asked Di
“Yes.”
“Shall I ring up Uncle Adrian?”
“What can he do? If Ronald does come in, it will be more dangerous if Adrian is here.”
“Alan Tasburgh told me he would come any time if anyone was wanted.”
“No, let’s keep it to ourselves to-night. To-morrow we can see.”
Di
“Come upstairs and sing to me,” she said, at last.
Up in the drawing-room Diana sang ‘The Sprig of Thyme,’ ‘Waley, Waley,’ ‘The Bens of Jura,’ ‘Mowing the Barley,’ ‘The Castle of Dromore,’ and the beauty of the room, of the songs, of the singer, brought to Di
“I heard the front door.”
Di
“Go on, don’t say anything, don’t show anything.”
Diana began again to play, and sing the Irish song ‘Must I go bound and you go free.’ Then the door was opened, and, in a mirror at the end of the room, Di
“Sing on,” she whispered.
And Ferse stood there listening. He looked like a man excessively tired or overcome with drink; his hair was disordered and his lips drawn back so that his teeth showed. Then he moved. He seemed trying to make no noise. He passed round to a sofa on the far side and sank down on it. Diana stopped singing. Di
“Have you had di
Ferse did not answer, staring across the room with that queer and ghostly grin.
“Play on,” whispered Di
Diana played the Red Sarafan; she played the fine simple tune over and over, as if making hypnotic passes towards that mute figure. When, at last, she stopped, there followed the strangest silence. Then Di
“Is it raining, Captain Ferse?”
Ferse passed his hand down his trouser, and nodded.
“Hadn’t you better go up and change them, Ronald?”
He put his elbows on his knees, and rested his head on his hands.
“You must be tired, dear; won’t you go to bed? Shall I bring you something up?”
And still he did not move. The grin had faded off his lips; his eyes were closed. He looked like a man suddenly asleep, as some overdriven beast of burden might drop off between the shafts.
“Shut the piano,” whispered Di
Diana closed the piano without noise and rose. With their arms linked they waited, but he did not stir.
“Is he really asleep?” whispered Di
Ferse started up. “Sleep! I’m for it. I’m for it again. And I won’t stand it. By God! I won’t stand it!”
He stood a moment transfigured with a sort of fury; then, seeing them shrink, sank back on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. Impulsively Diana moved towards him.
Ferse looked up. His eyes were wild.
“Don’t!” he growled out. “Leave me alone! Go away!”
At the door Diana turned and said:
“Ronald, won’t you see someone? Just to make you sleep—just for that.”
Ferse sprang up again. “I’ll see no one. Go away!”
They shrank out of the room, and up in Di
“Have the maids gone to bed?”
“They always go early, unless one of them is out.”
“I think I ought to go down and telephone, Diana.”
“No, Di
That was, indeed, the question. They debated it in whispers. Diana thought her doctor; Di
“Was it like this before the last attack?”
“No. He didn’t know then what was before him. I feel he might kill himself, Di
“Has he a weapon?”
“I gave his Service revolver to Adrian to keep for me.”
“Razors?”
“Only safety ones; and there’s nothing poisonous in the house.”
Di
“I MUST go and telephone.”
“Di
“He wouldn’t touch ME. It’s you that are in danger. Lock the door while I’m gone.”
And before Diana could stop her, she slid out. The lights still burned, and she stood a moment. Her room was on the second floor, facing the street. Diana’s bedroom and that of Ferse were on the drawing-room floor below. She must pass them to reach the hall and the little study where the telephone was kept. No sound came up. Diana had opened the door again and was standing there; and, conscious that at any moment she might slip past her and go down, Di