Curiosity had taken its place--curiosity and fear. She must see this woman for herself.
"Yes," she answered after a pause. "I will come. I"ll bring Robert too."
"Good. We"ll fix up a date and write to you. Goodbye."
d.i.c.k went back to Little Beeding and asked for his father. The old gentleman added to his other foibles that of a collector. It was the only taste he had which was really productive, for he owned a collection of miniatures, gathered together throughout his life, which would have realised a fortune if it had been sold at Christie"s. He kept it arranged in cabinets in the library and d.i.c.k found him bending over one of the drawers and rearranging his treasures.
"I have seen Aunt Margaret," he said. "She will meet Stella here at dinner."
"That will be splendid," cried the old man with enthusiasm.
"Perhaps," replied his son; and the next morning the Pettifers received their invitation.
Mrs. Pettifer accepted it at once. She had not been idle since d.i.c.k had left her. Before he had come she had merely looked upon the crusade as one of Harold Hazlewood"s stupendous follies. But after he had gone she was genuinely horrified. She saw d.i.c.k speaking with the set dogged look and the hard eyes which once or twice she had seen before. He had always got his way, she remembered, on those occasions. She drove round to her friends and made inquiries. At each house her terrors were confirmed. It was d.i.c.k now who led the crusade. He had given up his polo, he was spending all his leave at Little Beeding and most of it with Stella Ballantyne. He lent her a horse and rode with her in the morning, he rowed her on the river in the afternoon. He bullied his friends to call on her. He brandished his friendship with her like a flag. Love me, love my Stella was his new motto. Mrs. Pettifer drove home with every fear exaggerated. d.i.c.k"s career would be ruined altogether--even if nothing worse were to happen. To any view that Stella Ballantyne might hold she hardly gave a thought. She was sure of what it would be. Stella Ballantyne would jump at her nephew. He had good looks, social position, money and a high reputation. It was the last quality which would give him a unique value in Stella Ballantyne"s eyes. He was not one of the chinless who haunt the stage doors; nor again one of that more subtly decadent cla.s.s which seeks to attract sensation by linking itself to notoriety. No. From Stella"s point of view d.i.c.k Hazlewood must be the ideal husband.
Mrs. Pettifer waited for her husband"s return that evening with unusual impatience, but she was wise enough to hold her tongue until dinner was over and he with a cigar between his lips and a gla.s.s of old brandy on the table-cloth in front of him, disposed to amiability and concession.
Then, however, she related her troubles.
"You see it must be stopped, Robert."
Robert Pettifer was a lean wiry man of fifty-five whose brown dried face seemed by a sort of climatic change to have taken on the colour of the binding of his law-books. He, too, was a little troubled by the story, but he was of a fair and cautious mind.
"Stopped?" he said. "How? We can"t arrest Mrs. Ballantyne again."
"No," replied Mrs. Pettifer. "Robert, you must do something."
Robert Pettifer jumped in his chair.
"I, Margaret! Lord love you, no! I decline to mix myself up in the matter at all. d.i.c.k"s a grown man and Mrs. Ballantyne has been acquitted."
Margaret Pettifer knew her husband.
"Is that your last word?" she asked ruefully.
"Absolutely."
"It isn"t mine, Robert."
Robert Pettifer chuckled and laid a hand upon his wife"s.
"I know that, Margaret."
"We are going to dine next Friday night at Little Beeding to meet Stella Ballantyne."
Mr. Pettifer was startled but he held his tongue.
"The invitation came this morning after you had left for London,"
she added.
"And you accepted it at once?"
"Yes."
Pettifer was certain that she had before she opened her mouth to answer him.
"I shall dine at Little Beeding on Friday," he said, "because Harold always gives me an admirable gla.s.s of vintage port"; and with that he dismissed the subject. Mrs. Pettifer was content to let it smoulder in his mind. She was not quite sure that he was as disturbed as she wished him to be, but that he was proud of d.i.c.k she knew, and if by any chance uneasiness grew strong in him, why, sooner or later he would let fall some little sentence; and that little sentence would probably be useful.
CHAPTER XVI
CONSEQUENCES
The dinner-party at Little Beeding was a small affair. There were but ten altogether who sat down at Mr. Hazlewood"s dinner-table and with the exception of the Pettifers all, owing to d.i.c.k Hazlewood"s insistence, were declared partisans of Stella Ballantyne. None the less Stella came to it with hesitation. It was the first time that she had dined abroad since she had left India, now the best part of eighteen months ago, and she went forth to it as to an ordeal. For though friends of hers would be present to enhearten her she was to meet the Pettifers. The redoubtable Aunt Margaret had spoilt her sleep for a week. It was for the Pettifers she dressed, careful to choose neither white nor black, lest they should find something symbolic in the colour of her gown and make of it an offence. She put on a frock of pale blue satin trimmed with some white lace which had belonged to her mother, and she wore not so much as a thin gold chain about her neck. But she did not need jewels that night. The months of quiet had restored her to her beauty, the excitement of this evening had given life and colour to her face, the queer little droop at the corners of her lips which had betrayed so much misery and bitterness of spirit had vanished altogether. Yet when she was quite dressed and her mirror bade her take courage she sat down and wrote a note of apology pleading a sudden indisposition. But she did not send it. Even in the writing her cowardice came home to her and she tore it up before she had signed her name. The wheels of the cab which was to take her to the big house rattled down the lane under her windows, and slipping her cloak over her shoulders she ran downstairs.
The party began with a little constraint. Mr. Hazlewood received his guests in his drawing-room and it had the chill and the ceremony of a room which is seldom used. But the constraint wore off at the table. Most of those present were striving to set Stella Ballantyne at her ease, and she was at a comfortable distance from Mrs. Pettifer, with Mr. Hazlewood at her side. She was conscious that she was kept under observation and from time to time the knowledge made her uncomfortable.
"I am being watched," she said to her host.
"You mustn"t mind," replied Mr. Hazlewood, and the smile came back to her lips as she glanced round the table.
"Oh, I don"t, I don"t," she said in a low voice, "for I have friends here."
"And friends who will not fail you, Stella," said the old man. "To-night begins the great change. You"ll see."
Robert Pettifer puzzled her indeed more than his wife. She was plain to read. She was frigidly polite, her enemy. Once or twice, however, Stella turned her head to find Robert Pettifer"s eyes resting upon her with a quiet scrutiny which betrayed nothing of his thoughts. As a matter of fact he liked her manner. She was neither defiant nor servile, neither loud nor over-silent. She had been through fire; that was evident. But it was evident only because of a queer haunting look which came and went in her dark eyes. The fire had not withered her. Indeed Pettifer was surprised. He had not formulated his expectations at all, but he had not expected what he saw. The clear eyes and the fresh delicate colour, her firm white shoulders and her depth of bosom, forced him to think of her as wholesome. He began to turn over in his mind his recollections of her case, recollections which he had been studious not to revive.
Halfway through the dinner Stella lost her uneasiness. The lights, the ripple of talk, the company of men and women, the bright dresses had their effect on her. It was as though after a deep plunge into dark waters she had come to the surface and flung out her arms to the sun. She ceased to notice the scrutiny of the Pettifers. She looked across the table to d.i.c.k and their eyes met; and such a look of tenderness transfigured her face as made Mrs. Pettifer turn pale.
"That woman"s in love," she said to herself and she was horrified. It wasn"t d.i.c.k"s social position then or the shelter of his character that Stella Ballantyne coveted. She was in love. Mrs. Pettifer was honest enough to acknowledge it. But she knew now that the danger which she had feared was infinitely less than the danger which actually was.
"I must have it out with Harold to-night," she said, and later on, when the men came from the dining-room, she looked out for her husband. But at first she did not see him. She was in the drawing-room and the wide double doors which led to the big library stood open. It was through those doors that the men had come. Some of the party were gathered there.
She could hear the click of the billiard b.a.l.l.s and the voices of women mingling with those of the men. She went through the doors and saw her husband standing by Harold Hazlewood"s desk, and engrossed apparently in some little paper-covered book which he held in his hand. She crossed to him at once.
"Robert," she said, "don"t be in a hurry to go to-night. I must have a word with Harold."
"All right," said Pettifer, but he said it in so absent a voice that his wife doubted whether he had understood her words. She was about to repeat them when Harold Hazlewood himself approached.
"You are looking at my new pamphlet, Pettifer, _The Prison Walls must Cast no Shadow_. I am hoping that it will have a great influence."
"No," replied Pettifer. "I wasn"t. I was looking at this," and he held up the little book.
"Oh, that?" said Hazlewood, turning away with disappointment.
"Yes, that," said Pettifer with a strange and thoughtful look at his brother-in-law. "And I am not sure," he added slowly, "that in a short time you will not find it the more important publication of the two."