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Sir Lawrence rose. “I’ll telephone to Burton’s.” Di
“I feel she’s in trouble, Auntie. Clare’s never rude.”
“Kidnapped or locked up,” said Lady Mont. “There was a case when I was young. Thompson, or Watson—a great fuss. Habeas corpus, or something—husbands can’t now. Well, Lawrence?”
“He hasn’t been in the Club since five o’clock. We must just wait till the morning. She may have forgotten, you know; or got the evening mixed.”
“But she told Mr. Dornford that they would meet again.”
“So they will, tomorrow morning. No good worrying, Di
Di
She threw off her evening frock, put on a day dress, hat and fur coat, and stole downstairs. It was dark in the hall. Quietly drawing back the bolts, she let herself out, and took to the streets. When she entered the Mews—where a couple of cars were being put away for the night—she saw light coming from the upper windows of No. 2. They had been opened and the curtains drawn aside. She rang the bell.
After a moment Clare, in her dressing-gown, opened the door.
“Was it you who came before, Di
“Yes.”
“Sorry I couldn’t let you in. Come up!”
She led the way up the spiral stairs, and Di
Upstairs it was warm and light, the door into the tiny bathroom open, and the couch in disorder. Clare looked at her sister with a sort of unhappy defiance.
“Yes, I’ve had Jerry here, he’s not been gone ten minutes.”
A horrified shiver went down Di
“After all, he’s come a long way,” said Clare; “good of you to worry, Di
“Oh! darling!”
“He was outside here when I got back from the Temple. I was an idiot to let him in. After that—oh! well, it doesn’t matter! I’ll take care it doesn’t happen again.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
“Oh! no. But have some tea. I’ve just made it. I don’t want anyone to know of this.”
“Of course not. I’ll say you had a bad headache and couldn’t get out to telephone.”
When they were drinking the tea Di
“This hasn’t altered your plans?”
“God! no!”
“Dornford was there to-night. We thought it best to tell him you were having a difficult time.”
Clare nodded.
“It must all seem very fu
“It seems to me tragic.”
Clare shrugged, then stood up and threw her arms round her sister. After that silent embrace, Di
“Mr. Croom, isn’t it?”
“Miss Cherrell? Have you been at Lady Corven’s?”
“Yes.”
“Is she all right?”
His face was worried, and his voice anxious. Di
“Oh! yes. Why not?”
“She was saying last night that man was over here. It worries me terribly.”
Through Di
“Walk with me as far as Mount Street.”
“I don’t mind your knowing,” he said, “I’m over head and ears in love with her. Who wouldn’t be? Miss Cherrell, I don’t think she ought to be in that place alone. She told me he came yesterday while you were there.”
“Yes. I took him away with me, as I’m taking you. I think my sister should be left to herself.”
He seemed to hunch himself together.
“Have YOU ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you know.”
Yes, she knew!
“It’s absolute torture not to be with her, able to see that she’s all right. She takes it all lightly, but I can’t.”
Takes it all lightly! Clare’s face looking at her! She did not answer.
“The fact is,” said young Croom, with incoherence, “people can say and think what they like, but if they felt as I feel, they simply couldn’t. I won’t bother her, I really won’t; but I can’t stand her being in danger from that man.”
Di
“I’m glad she’s got you. For God’s sake look after her, Miss Cherrell.”
They had reached the corner of Mount Street, and she held out her hand.
“You may be certain that whatever Clare does I shall stick by her. Good-night! And cheer up!”
He wrung her hand, and went off as if the devil were after him. Di
On what thin ice! She could hardly drag one foot before the other as she went upstairs, and sank down on her bed exhausted.
CHAPTER 11
When Sir Lawrence Mont reached Burton’s Club the following afternoon he was feeling, in common with many who undertake to interfere in the affairs of others, an uneasy self-importance coupled with a desire to be somewhere else. He did not know what the deuce he was going to say to Corven, or why the deuce he should say it, since, in his opinion, by far the best solution would be for Clare to give her marriage another trial. Having discovered from the porter that Sir Gerald was in the Club, he poked his nose gingerly into three rooms before locating the back of his quarry seated in the corner of an apartment too small to be devoted to anything but writing. He sat down at a table close to the door, so that he could simulate surprise when Corven came up to leave the room. The fellow was an unconscionable time. Noting a copy of the British Statesman’s vade-mecum beside him, he began idly looking up the figures of British imports. He found potatoes: consumption sixty-six million five hundred thousand tons, production eight million eight hundred and seventy-four thousand tons! Somebody the other day had written to say that we imported forty million pounds’ worth of bacon every year. Taking a sheet of paper he wrote: “Prohibition and protection, in regard to food that we CAN produce here. A
Taking another sheet of paper, he wrote:
“To the Editor of The Times.
“The Three P. Plan.
“SIR—
“A simple plan for the balancing of our trade would seem to merit the attention of all those not wedded to the longest way round. There are three articles of food on importing which we expend a
But at this moment, becoming aware that Corven was passing from the room, he said:
“Hallo!”
Corven turned and came towards him.
Hoping that he showed as little sign of embarrassment as his nephew twice removed by marriage, Sir Lawrence rose.
“Sorry I didn’t see you when you called the other day. Have you got long leave?”
“Another week only, and then I shall have to fly the Mediterranean probably.”
“Not a good month for flying. What do you think of this adverse balance of trade?”