She went to the door, opened it and shouted. Then she returned and said: "What brings you to town--shopping?"

"Yes, I've been doing some shopping." "Is Miss Meredith up, too?"

"Yes, she's gone with Major Despard to a solicitor."

"Solicitor, eh?"

Mrs. Oliver's brows rose inquiringly.

"Yes. You see, Major Despard told her she ought to have one. He's been awfully kind--he really has."

"I was kind, too," said Mrs. Oliver, "but it didn't seem to go down very well, did it? In fact, I think your friend rather resented my coming."

"Oh, she lidn't--really she didn't." Rhoda wriggled on her chair in a paroxysm of embarra.s.sment. "That's really one reason why I wanted to come to-day-to explain, You see, I saw you had got it all wrong. She did seem very ungracious, but it wasn't that, really. I mean, it wasn't your coming. It was something you said."

"Something I said?"

"Yes. You couldn't tell, of course. It was just unfortunate."

"What did I say?"

"I don't expect you remember, even. It was just the way you put it. You said something about an accident and poison."

"Did I?"

"I knew you'd probably not remember. Yes. You see, Anne, had a ghastly experience once. She was in a house w]aere a woman took some poison--hat paint, I think i.t wasby mistake for something else. And she died. And, of course, it was

448

an awful shock to Anne. She can't bear thinking of it or speaking of it. And your saying that reminded her, of course, and she dried up and got all stiff and queer like she does. And I saw you noticed it. And I couldn't say anything in front of her.

But I did want you to know that it wasn't what you thought. She wasn't ungrateful."

Mrs. Oliver looked at Rhoda's flushed eager face. She said slowly:

"I see."

"Anne's awfully sensitive," said Rhoda. "And she's bad about--well, facing things. If anything's upset her, she'd just rather not talk about it, although that isn't any good, really--at least, I don't think so. Things are there just the same whether you talk about them or not. It's only running away from them to pretend they don't exist. I'd rather have it all out, however painful it would be."

"Ah," said Mrs. Oliver quietly. "But you, my dear, are a soldier. Your Anne isn't."

Rhoda flushed.

Mrs. Oliver smiled.

"Anne's a darling."

She said, "I didn't say she wasn't. I only said she hadn't got your particular brand of courage."

She sighed, then said rather unexpectedly to the girl:

"Do you believe in the value of truth, my dear, or don't you?"

"Of course I believe in the truth," said Rhoda, staring.

"Yes, you say that but perhaps you haven't thought about it. The truth hurts sometimes--and destroys one's illusions."

"I'd rather have it, all the same," said Rhoda. "So would I. But I don't know that we're wise."

Rhoda said earnestly:

"Don't tell Anne, will you, what I've told you? She wouldn't like it."

"I certainly shouldn't dream of doing any such thing. Was this long ago?"

"About four years ago. It's odd, isn't it, how the same things happen again and again to people. I had an aunt who was always in shipwrecks. And here's A.nne mixed up in two sudden deaths--only, of course, this one's much worse. Murder's

rather awful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

The black coffee and the hot b.u.t.tered toast appeared at this minute.

Rhoda ate and drank with childish gusto. It was very exciting to her thus to be sharing an intimate meal with a celebrity.

When they had finished she rose and said:

"I do hope I haven't interrupted you too terribly. Would you mind--I mean, would it bother you awfully--if I sent one of your books to you, would you sign it for me?"

Mrs. Oliver laughed.

"Oh, I can do better than that for you." She opened a cupboard at the far end of the room. "Which would you like? I rather fancy The Affair of the Second Goldfish myself. It's not quite such frightful tripe as the rest."

A little shocked at hearing an auth.o.r.ess thus describe the children of her pen, Rhoda accepted eagerly. Mrs. Oliver took the book, opened it, inscribed her name

with a superlative flourish and handed it to Rhoda.

"There you are."

"Thank you very much. I have enjoyed myself. Sure you didn't mind mY coming?"

"I wanted you to," said Mrs. Oliver.

She added after a moment's pause: "You're a nice child. Good-bye. Take care of yourself, my dear."

"Now, why did I say that?" she murmured to herself as the door closed behind her guest.

She shook her head, ruffled her hair, and returned to the masterly dealings of Sven Hjerson with the sage-and-onion stuffing.

CHAPTER 18

Tea Interlude

Mrs. Lorrimer came out of a certain door in Harley Street.

She stood for a minute at the top of the steps, and then she descended them slowly.

There was a curious expression on her facea mingling of grim determination and of strange indecision. She bent her brows a little, as though to concentrate on some all-absorbing problem.

It was just then that she caught sight of Anne Meredith on the opposite pavement.

Anne was standing staring up at a big block of flats just on the corner.

Mrs. Lorrimer hesitated a moment, then she crossed the road.

"How do you do, Miss Meredith?"

Anne started and turned. "Oh, how do you do?"

"Still in London?" said Mrs. Lorrimer.

"No. I've only come up for the day. To do some legal business."

Her eyes were still straying back to the big block of flats.

Mrs. Lorrimer said: "Is anything the matter?"

Anne started guiltily.

"The matter? Oh, no, what should be the matter?"

"You were looking as though you had something on your mind."