"No; she"s going to Felixtowe in a week or two with the children, and I"m going to join her there. I"m quite alone, so you must take pity on me. Must we have your friend Miss Sutton too?" he asked.
"Oh no--I don"t think it"s necessary; it will be a change to go out without her. You see, here I am a worker and a Bohemian," she explained.
"I don"t go in for chaperons. I"m not social here!"
"Besides, I"m English. You"re all right with me," he returned in his most charming way. "Have you many English friends here?"
He wanted to find out whether she was seeing Rupert; he soon discovered she was not, and he determined not to tell her of the presence of that young man. They might make it up, and Nigel thought it would be far better for Rupert to come back to Madeline. He was sure she was his real taste. And he still wanted to please Bertha.
They dined in a small but particularly excellent restaurant. She seemed to enjoy herself immensely, and grew every moment more confidential.
Nigel tried not to flirt. He had no intention of doing so, and, had they met in London, would not have dreamt of such a thing; but meeting an English girl placed as she was gave a tinge of adventure and romance to his taking her out.
She told him she had no flirtations and cared for no man in the world.
He then led the conversation gradually to Rupert Denison. It did not take long for her to work herself up to give him a somewhat highly coloured version of their quarrel, which amused him. It ended with "and so I never saw him again."
"I can"t see that you have any real grievance, I must say. He seems to have been very nice to you, taken you out a great deal, and gone to see you pretty often. Did he not make love to you?"
"Never, never, never," she replied. "He was just like a brother, or, rather, a sort of schoolmaster."
"Then I believe that"s what made you angry," he replied.
"Indeed it isn"t. At any rate, if it was a little, I a.s.sure you I"m not in love with him."
He laughed, teased her about it, and now he found that she wished to go home. Feeling he ought not to take advantage of her position here, he was exceedingly respectful, and drove her to her flat, not before she had consented to dine and go to the theatre with him the next day.
"That sort of girl is rather difficult to understand," he thought, as he drove away from the studio. "Perhaps now she"s thinking me a fool as she thought Rupert."
However, he remembered _he_ was married. He looked forward to the next evening with interest. At least Miss Chivvey was different from other people. One wasn"t quite sure of her, and that fact had its attraction.
She was really very good-looking too, very young, had beautiful eyes and teeth, and the high spirits of youth and health and enthusiasm. Pity she thought she could draw. How much better if she had gone in for first-rate plain cooking! He was sure she could learn that--if it was really plain.
Next day he sent her a few flowers. After all, an Englishman must be gallant to his country-woman; but the next evening he thought she met him with a slightly cooler air and even with a little embarra.s.sment.
This melted away before the end of the evening.
He then took her to the theatre in a little box. He was careful to choose a piece that he would have taken his own sister to see, but he forgot that he would not have let his own sister go to see it with a married man and no chaperon.
His manner was becoming a shade more tender than was necessary, and he was sitting perhaps a shade nearer to her than was absolutely required, when, looking up, he saw two young men in the stalls, one of whom was looking at him and his companion with very great interest through an opera-gla.s.s. It was Rupert.
Moona had not seen him, and Nigel now became aware of a distinct anxiety that she should not. He was rather sorry he had come: it might give Rupert a mistaken impression. It was not right to compromise her. He would explain, of course, the next day. But it was annoying to have to explain, and he would have explained anyhow. Nigel greatly disliked getting the credit, or, rather, the discredit, of something he did not deserve.
He pretended to be bored with the play, and persuaded her to come and have an ice at a quiet and respectable place before she saw Rupert. She went in high spirits and great innocence.
When they left Nigel said: "Do you know that I oughtn"t to have taken you there to-night? It was wrong of me. If anyone had seen us there they would probably have mistaken our relations."
She gave her boisterous laugh and said: "I see. Well, you would have had all the credit and none of the trouble."
"You mean," he replied, "that I should have had all the infamy and none of the satisfaction."
As they drove to the studio he took her hand and said: "One kiss."
"Certainly not," she replied, taking it away. "Certainly not. Do you want me to be sorry I came out with you?"
"I should like you to be glad," he replied. "Never mind, Miss Chivvey, forgive me. I won"t ask you out again."
"Why not? Haven"t I been nice?"
"Very nice. Too nice, too charming, too dangerous." He kissed her hand respectfully. "Good-bye. I"m angry with myself."
"Never mind, I"ll forgive you," she laughed flippantly.
He drove away. Yes, one loses one"s bearings travelling about alone, taking _jeunes filles_ to the theatre who live alone in Paris, say anything, have no chaperons, and are prudes all the time.
"Confound it. I"ve made a fool of myself. But I must go and see Rupert."
He lunched with that young man that day and told him word for word what had pa.s.sed, even to the incident in the cab.
He need not have been so expansive nor have humbled himself so much.
Rupert had not for a moment misconstrued their presence at the theatre.
Also he was not in the least surprised about the incident in the cab.
Rupert was on the whole irritating. Nigel was glad to leave him.
CHAPTER x.x.xV
TWO WOMEN
Bertha was very much surprised at Mary"s wishing to see her. She thought it most extraordinary and was much inclined to refuse, remembering the strangely insulting way Mary had behaved at her party. Nigel had apologised indeed; had implored for forgiveness; and she had written to say it was forgotten. But it is not an easy thing to forget.
Percy had given a mild version of his interview with Nigel. He had also told her now about the destroyed letters. Bertha was certainly vexed that she had not been told before. It would have, at least, prevented her going to the party. However, she was soon tired of the subject and agreed with Percy not to mention it again. Bertha was, as she said herself, nothing of a harpist. She could not go on playing on one string. She made up her mind to forget it. She had begun to do so when Mary"s telephone message reached her.
Bertha was sitting by the fire when Mary was shown in. She looked at her most serene, her calmest and prettiest. It was not in her nature to bear malice nor even to be angry for more than a few hours about anything. By the end of that time she was always inclined to see the humorous side of anything, and to see that it was of less importance than appeared. She had already laughed several times to herself at the mere thought of the absurdity of a hostess asking one to her house and then behaving as Mary had done. Also she saw a comic--though pathetic--side to the typewritten letters. But it was painful, too, and she would very much rather have avoided this visit from Mrs. Hillier. It must be embarra.s.sing for her, at least, and could hardly be other than disagreeable.
Mary came in looking very pale and rather untidy. In the excitement of her mind and her general perturbation she had come out with two left-handed gloves, and during the whole of her visit endeavoured to force a left hand into a right-hand glove. It was maddening to watch her.
Just as she started to go to see Bertha, poor Mary had gone to her toilet-table and put what she supposed to be powder lavishly on her nose without again looking in the gla.s.s. It was red rouge--the reddest and brightest. Although she afterwards rubbed a little of it off, she never saw herself in the gla.s.s again before starting. The result of this was to give her that touch of the grotesque that is so fatal to any scene of a serious nature but that in this case appealed to Bertha"s kindness and sympathy rather than her sense of humour.
"How are you, Mrs. Hillier? I have really hardly met you to speak to until to-day."
"Good-morning, Mrs. Kellynch. ... It was kind of you to let me come."
Mary sat down awkwardly and began to put her left hand into the right-hand glove. She sat near the light, and Bertha saw that she had been covering her face with what she supposed to be powder, but what was nothing else than carmine.