The Hillman

  XXII

  John was awakened the next morning by the sound of rain against hiswindow. He got out of bed and looked upon a scene of desolation. Theclouds hung low, and rain was coming down in level sheets. The lawns andgardens which yesterday had had the air of waiting for the spring wereto-day a sudden wilderness.

  There was a knock at the door, and the butler brought in his tea.

  "Lady Hilda sends her compliments, sir," he announced, "and as themorning is so unfavorable she will not rise until eleven o'clock.Breakfast will be ready down-stairs at half past nine, or can be servedin your room."

  "Thank you, I'll come down," John replied.

  He bathed and shaved himself, he even packed his own clothes. Then heleft the room, descending the stairs softly, and glancing furtively atthe door of Lady Hilda's room with an air almost of a guilty schoolboy.He breakfasted alone and spent the morning in the billiard room untilLady Hilda appeared.

  "I am a terrible hostess, am I not?" she said apologetically, as sheopened the door; "but what is there to be done? The weather is toohopeless, isn't it?"

  "Appalling!" John agreed. "Still, it's very comfortable in here, and Ihave just made a seventy-one break."

  "We'll have a two hundred and fifty up--that ought to last untillunch-time," she suggested, throwing herself into a chair. "Give me tenminutes, will you? This weather is so depressing. Even the effort ofgetting up seems to have tired me."

  She threw herself into an easy chair, and John tried to concentrate hisattention upon the balls. More than once, however, he glanced across athis hostess. She was looking older this morning, paler, her face alittle drawn, her eyes large and soft. She sat looking into the fire; onher knee were some letters, at which she scarcely glanced. Presently shethrew them aside and rang the bell.

  "Bring me a brandy-and-soda and the cigarettes," she told the butler."Now, Mr. Strangewey, I am ready," she went on, turning to John. "Giveme fifty in two hundred and fifty, if you dare!"

  "We'll try," he agreed.

  They played until lunch-time, both affecting a rapt interest in thegame. At the sound of the gong Lady Hilda laid down her cue.

  "We'll finish later," she suggested.

  John strolled to the window. There were some signs of clearing in thesky, although the whole place seemed still to reek of moisture.

  "I am afraid I shall have to start soon after lunch," he said. "It willtake some time to get up to town. I am not a very experienced driver,and my car is a little inclined to skid on wet roads."

  She made no remark, and to both of them the presence of servants duringthe meal appeared to be somewhat of a relief. The coffee and liqueurs,however, again were served in the billiard room, and there was a veryawkward silence. For some time Lady Hilda had baffled his efforts atordinary conversation, and his last few remarks about the weather shehad ignored altogether.

  "So you are going up this evening?" she said at last.

  "This afternoon, if you don't mind," he replied, glancing at the clock,and thinking of the bliss with which he would turn his car out into theroad. "I explained, didn't I, that I had an engagement this evening?"

  "Quite right," she admitted. "All the same, you are rather aninconsiderate guest, aren't you, to leave me here alone in this swamp?"

  "Come, too?" he suggested. "I'll motor you up."

  "Thanks," she replied, "I will."

  He was a little taken aback, but, after all, it was perhaps the simplestway out of his difficulties.

  "I'll take you, with pleasure, if you don't mind being drenched."

  "I can stand physical discomforts," she said. "It's the other sort ofknocks that bruise."

  "It won't be so bad," he continued, ignoring her last speech, "if youwear a mackintosh and something thick for your head. Shouldn't wonder ifit cleared up presently."

  Lady Hilda smiled.

  "I have been out in a shower in Patagonia," she reminded him, "whichlasted for three weeks. Will it suit you to start in half an hour?"

  "Any time you like," he agreed.

  She had changed her position a little, and he was forced to look at her.

  "Mr. Strangewey," she said, "I want to ask you a question. Are you goingto marry Louise Maurel?"

  "I am," he replied, without hesitation; "at least, I hope to do so."

  She looked at him for a moment with a strange expression. Then she roseto her feet. Her lips were quivering. She leaned against themantelpiece, with her forehead upon her arms. At first he imagined thatshe was going to weep; then, to his horror, he found that she waslaughing--half-hysterically, perhaps, but still laughing. He drew a stepnearer to her, but she waved him away.

  "Sit down!" she gasped. "Oh, if I might tell this to Henri Graillot!What a play! What humor! My friend John Strangewey, I congratulate you!You have created a new situation in life. Leave me alone, please!"

  She bent forward until her face was completely hidden. Her body wasshaken. Once or twice he fancied that her laughter had turned to sobs.When at last she looked up, however, there were the remains of an almostdevilish mirth on her lips. She rang the bell.

  "That is for my maid," she said. "I am now going to change my clothesand let you motor me up to London. I shall get some fresh air, at anyrate, and your car always fills me with longing. Amuse yourself, won'tyou? I shall be an hour getting ready, and I will order an early tea."

  "You wouldn't care to tell me, I suppose," he asked, "what is the newsituation in life which you say I have created?"

  She turned to him from the door. She was really a very handsome woman.Her lips were most expressive.

  "My friend," she said, "if you knew, if you understood, the pricelesshumor of it would be gone."

  She closed the door and left John alone. He went back to thebilliard-table, but somehow or other his skill seemed to have vanished.He had the picture of her face in his mind, the subtle meaning of herlips, the mockery of her eyes.

  They drove up to London almost in silence. It was nearly seven o'clockwhen John swung the little car in Pont Street. It was still rainingsoftly.

  "Thank you very much," he said, "for my week-end. I enjoyed the riverimmensely yesterday afternoon."

  "And thank you very much for everything, Mr. John Strangewey," shereturned. "You have given me what we are all sighing for, a newsensation--not exactly what I expected, perhaps, but something new."

  "I know you think I am a country yokel and a fool," John said; "but Iwish you'd tell me why you laughed at me in that mysterious fashion."

  She shook her head.

  "It would spoil it," she replied. "Besides, it isn't for me to tell you.I am the last person who should."

  They drew up outside her little house, from which came no sign of light.

  "Will you dine with me to-night?" he asked suddenly.

  She turned toward him quickly--and understood.

  "Very nice of you," she replied lightly. "I shall go round to my club.You don't agree with me, somehow. When I look at you or think of you, Ifeel inclined either to laugh or cry, and I hate emotions. Don't getout, please. You see, they are opening the door already."

  She slipped away and disappeared into her house. John drove slowly backtoward the Milan. Just as he was turning in, a little waterproofedfigure from the pavement waved her hand and called to him. He drew upand she hastened to his side.

  "What are you doing here?" Sophy asked. "I thought you were spending theweek-end up the river."

  "I stayed there last night," he answered. "To-day--well, look at theweather! I have just motored Lady Hilda up."

  "And what are you going to do now?" she inquired eagerly.

  "Give you some dinner," he replied promptly.

  "Hurrah!" she answered. "I have been so bored and miserable that I wentand walked over Waterloo Bridge in a mackintosh, just to get a littleair. I'll be round in an hour. Will that do?"

  "Any time you like," he agreed; "the sooner the better. I was almostwishing, a few minutes ago," he we
nt on, "that I could find the courageto storm you in your little room. Louise is away, and I'm hatingmyself."

  "So I am to come and amuse my lord!" she laughed. "Well, I'll come," shewent on quickly. "We'll sit and you shall imagine that I am Louise, andmake love to her. Will that make you happy?"

  John leaned out of the car.

  "Sophy," he whispered, as he slipped in his clutch, "just now I do notfeel like making love to any woman on earth!"

  "Fed up with us, eh?"

  He nodded.

  "You're different, thank Heaven! Don't be late."