He bent down and poked the fire, then stood beside it, looking down at her as she sat in the chair.
She glanced round the room. It was well furnished and contained two or three good pieces, but there was nothing in it which showed personality, a thoughtful guiding mind and taste; there was nothing in it even which marked it definitely as the home of a woman rather than a man, or vice versa.
"I rent it furnished," said Arabian, evidently guessing her thought.
"Are you here for long?"
"I do not quite know. That depends."
His large eyes were fixed upon her as he said this, and she longed to ask him what intentions he had with regard to her. He had never made love to her. He had never even been what is sometimes called "foolish"
with her. Not a word to which she could object had ever come from his lips. By no action had he ever claimed anything from her. And yet she felt that in some way he was governing her, was imposing his will on her. Certainly he had once followed her in the street. But on that occasion he had not known who she was. Now, as he gazed at her, she felt certain that he had formed some definite project with regard to her, and meant to carry it out at whatever cost. Garstin said he, Arabian, was in love with her. Probably he was. But if he was in love with her, why did he never hint at it when they were alone together except by the expression in his eyes? She asked herself why she was afraid of him, and the answer she seemed to get was that his reticence frightened her.
There was something in his continued inaction which alarmed her. It was a silence of conduct which lay like a weight upon her. She felt it now as he stared at her.
"What do you want with me?"
That was what she longed, and yet was afraid, to say to him. Did he know how violently she was attracted by him and how fiercely he sometimes repelled her? No doubt he did. No doubt he knew that at times she believed him to be horrible, suspected him of nameless things, of abominable relationships; no doubt he knew that she was degradingly jealous of him. When his eyes were thus fixed upon her she felt that he knew everything that was going on in her with which he had to do. Yet he never spoke of his knowledge.
His reserve almost terrified her. That was the truth.
The dark man with the light eyes brought in tea on a large silver tray.
She began to drink it hastily.
"You--forgive me for asking--you will not leave London because of this sad news?" said Arabian.
"Do you mean for America?"
"Yes."
Miss Van Tuyn had not thought of such a possibility till he alluded to it. She could not, of course, be at her father"s funeral. That was impossible. But suddenly it occurred to her that she had no doubt come into a very large fortune. There might be business to do. She might have to cross the Atlantic. At the thought of this possibility her sense of confusion and almost of mental blackness increased, and yet she realized more vividly than before the death of her father.
"I don"t know. I don"t think so. No, thank you. I won"t smoke. I must go. I ought never to have come after receiving such news."
She stood up. He took her hand. His was warm and strong, and a great deal of her personality seemed to her to be in its clasp--too much indeed. His body fascinated hers, made her realize in a startling way that the coldness of which some men had complained had either been overcome by something that could burn and be consumed, or perhaps had never existed.
"You will not go to America without telling me?" he said.
"No, no. Of course not."
"You told me first of your sorrow!"
"Why--why did I?" she thought, wondering.
"And you did not tell d.i.c.k Garstin."
"No."
"And you came here to me."
"No, no! With you!"
"To my rooms in spite of your grief. We are friends from to-night."
"To-night . . . but it is afternoon!"
He still had her hand in his. She felt, or fancied she felt, a pulse beating in his hand. It gave her a sense of terrible intimacy with him, as if she were close to the very sources of his being. And yet she knew nothing about him.
"It gets dark so early now," he said.
Dark! As he said it she thought, "That"s his word! That"s his word!"
Everyone has his word, and dark was Arabian"s.
"Good-bye!" she said.
"I will take you down."
Quietly and very naturally, he let her hand go. And at once she had a sensation of being out in the cold.
They went down together in the lift. Just as they left it, and were in the hall, a woman whom Miss Van Tuyn knew slightly, a Mrs. Birchington, an intimate of the Ackroyde and Lady Wrackley set, met them coming from the entrance.
"Oh, Miss Van Tuyn!" she said, stopping.
She held out her hand, looking from Miss Van Tuyn to Arabian.
"How are you?"
Her light eyes were searching and inquisitive. She had an evening paper in her hand.
"I--I am so grieved," she added, again looking at Arabian.
"Mr. Arabian--Mrs. Birchington!" Miss Van Tuyn felt obliged to say.
Mrs. Birchington and Arabian bowed.
"Grieved!" said Miss Van Tuyn.
"Yes. I have just seen the sad news about your father in the paper."
Miss Van Tuyn realized at once that she was caught, unless she lied. But she did not choose to lie before Arabian. Something--her pride of a free American girl, perhaps--forbade that. And she only said:
"Thank you for your sympathy. Good-bye."
"Good-bye!"
Mrs. Birchington bowed again to Arabian, swept him with her sharp inquisitive eyes, and stepped into the lift.
"She lives here," he said, "in the apartment opposite to mine."
As Miss Van Tuyn drove away towards Claridge"s she wondered whether Arabian was glad because of that fortuitous meeting.