"Reynolds," she said, "show this young person into the housekeeper"s room, and ask Mrs. Brown to take charge of her for the night."
The girl moved forward impulsively, but something in Wilhelmina"s expression checked her little speech of grat.i.tude. She followed the man from the room without a word. Wilhelmina also turned towards the door.
"You will excuse me," she said coldly to Macheson. "I am already later than I intended to be."
"I can only apologize for disturbing you at such an hour," he answered, taking up his hat. "I could think of nothing else."
She looked at him coldly.
"The girl"s parents," she said, "are respectable people, and I am sheltering her for their sake. But I am bound to say that I consider her story most unsatisfactory."
They were standing in the hall--she had paused on her way out to conclude her sentence. Her maid, holding out a wonderful rose-lined opera cloak, was standing a few yards away; a man-servant was waiting at the door with the handle in his hand. She raised her eyes to his, and Macheson felt the challenge which flashed out from them. She imagined, then, that he had been the girl"s companion; the cold disdain of her manner was in itself an accusation.
His cheeks burned with a sort of shame. She had dared to think this of him--and that afterwards he should have brought the girl to her to beg for shelter! There were a dozen things which he ought to have said, which came flashing from his brain to find themselves somehow imprisoned behind his tightly locked lips. He said nothing. She pa.s.sed slowly, almost unwillingly, down the hall. The maid wrapped her coat around her--still he stood like a statue. He watched her pa.s.s through the opened door and enter the electric brougham. He watched it even glide away. Then he, too, went and joined Holderness, who was waiting outside.
"Hail, succourer of damsels in distress!" Holderness called out, producing his cigar-case. "Jolly glad you got rid of her! It would have meant the waiting-room at St. Pancras and an all-night sitting. Smoke, my son, and we will walk home--unless you mind this bit of rain. Was her ladyship gracious?"
"She was not," Macheson answered grimly, "but she is keeping the girl.
I"d like to walk," he added, lighting a cigar.
"A very elegant lady," Holderness remarked, "but I thought she looked a bit up in the air. Did you notice her pearls, Victor?"
Macheson nodded.
"Wonderful, weren"t they?"
"Yes. She wears them round her neck, and these--these wear always their shame," he added, pushing gently away a woman who clutched at his arm.
"Funny thing, isn"t it? What are they worth? Ten thousand pounds, very likely. A lot of money for gewgaws--to hang upon a woman"s body. Shall we ever have a revolution in London, do you think, Victor?"
"Who knows?" Macheson answered wearily. "Not a political one, perhaps, but the other might come. The sewers underneath are pretty full."
They pa.s.sed along in silence for a few minutes. Neither the drizzling rain nor the lateness of the hour could keep away that weary procession of sad, staring-eyed women, who seemed to come from every shadow, and vanish Heaven knows where. Macheson gripped his companion by the arm.
"Holderness," he cried, "for G.o.d"s sake let"s get out of it. I shall choke presently. We"ll take a side street."
But Holderness held his arm in a grip of iron.
"No," he said, "these are the things which you must feel. I want you to feel them. I mean you to."
"It"s heart-breaking, d.i.c.k."
Holderness smiled faintly.
"I know how you feel," he declared. "I"ve gone through it myself. You are a Christian, aren"t you--almost an orthodox Christian?"
"I am not sure!"
"Don"t waste your pity, then," Holderness declared. "G.o.d will look after these. It"s the women with the pearl necklaces and the scorn in their eyes who"re looking for h.e.l.l. Your friend in the electric brougham, for instance. Can"t you see her close her eyes and draw away her skirts if she should brush up against one of these?"
"It"s hard to blame her," Macheson declared.
Holderness looked down at him pityingly.
"Man," he said, "you"re a long way down in the valley. You"ll have to climb. Vice and virtue are little else save relative terms. They number their adherents by accident rather than choice."
"You mean that it is all a matter of temptation?"
Holderness laughed. They had pa.s.sed into the land of silent streets.
Their own rooms were close at hand.
"Wait a little time," he said. "Some day you"ll understand."
CHAPTER XVIII
LETTY"S DILEMMA
"You are quite sure," the girl said anxiously, "that Miss Thorpe-Hatton wants to see me? You see there"s a train at ten o"clock I could catch."
The housekeeper looked up from the menu she was writing, and tapped the table impatiently with her pencil.
"My dear child," she said, "is it likely I should keep you here without orders? We have sent a telegram to your mother, and you are to wait until the mistress is ready to see you."
"What time does she generally get down?" Letty asked.
"Any time," Mrs. Brown answered, resuming her task. "She was back early last night, only stayed an hour at the ball, so she may send for you at any moment. Don"t fidget about so, there"s a good girl. I"m nervous this morning. We"ve twenty-four people dining, and I haven"t an idea in my head. I"m afraid I shall have to send for Francois."
"Is Francois the man-cook who comes down to Thorpe?" Letty asked.
Mrs. Brown nodded.
"The _chef_ you should call him," she answered. "A very clever man, no doubt, in his way, but takes a lot of keeping in order."
"Do you have to look after all the servants?" Letty asked. "Doesn"t Miss Thorpe-Hatton ever order anything?"
Mrs. Brown looked pityingly at her guest.
"My dear child," she said, "I doubt if she could tell you to three or four how many servants there are in the house, and as to ordering anything, I don"t suppose such a thought"s ever entered into her head.
Here"s James coming. Perhaps it"s a message for you."
A footman entered and greeted Letty kindly.
"Good morning, young lady!" he said. "You are to go into the morning-room at once."
Letty rose with alacrity.