Affairs wore a different complexion a little later. When the rosy finger heralded the dawn of the day before Christmas, it was the precursor of brightness of another kind. Two incidents happened which changed the current of things.

Miss Chantrelle had the watchful, veiled eyes of the domestic cat. On the principle of striking the iron whilst hot, she urged her brother to propose marriage to their hostess forthwith. Thought that delays were dangerous.

She took him out for a walk to discuss the pros and cons of the proposal. Was a wise little woman, and a firm believer in the theory that walls have ears. Knowing what she knew, she mapped out the route her brother was to travel in his journey to Mrs. Seton-Carr's heart.

But there is such a thing as being too clever: so sharp that one cuts oneself. The average brain has a direct way of working; sees no by-paths, so wastes no time on them; goes straight to the point.

Amy's cleverness led to her undoing.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

A TEACUP STORM

The coast being clear, d.i.c.k's storm-cloud burst. The Chantrelles out for their walk, he imagined them to be washing their domestic dirty linen, he took the floor.

Being alone, he meant having it out, as he termed it, with his sister.

Had quite determined on doing it very quietly and calmly. Whistling a few bars of Rule Britannia by way of appropriate prelude, he said suddenly:

"I am expecting one or two important letters, Mab. I wish directly they come you would send them to the post, will you--re-directed to my club?"

"Re-directed--to--your--club!"

"Yes. I have not quite made up my mind where I shall put up, but I am bound to go into the club each day. You won't forget, will you?"

He made a pretended movement in the direction of the door. She was on her feet in a moment, stopping him; stood by his side in dismay. Seized the lapels of his coat and looked at him reproachfully, horror-stricken; fear for him tearing at her heart-strings.

"d.i.c.k!"

"Hullo!"

"What--do--you--mean?"

"What do I me--. Surely I spoke plainly. I just want you to re-direct----"

"Yes, yes, yes. But you are here!"

"Ah! Now. But I am going up to London by the afternoon train."

"To--London!"

"Yes."

Mabel's heart sank. She read obstinacy in that frowning face of his; knew what sort of thing that was to fight; had had experience of it. She played what was usually a trump card.

"And at Christmas time, too! Christmas! You will leave me here alone?"

"Alone? Well--I like that! You have got your dear friends, the Chantrelles. There isn't much of a lonely look about you when Percy is around."

"d.i.c.k!"

"Hullo!"

"Don't be horrid!"

"Why? Do you claim a monopoly of the right to be so?"

"d.i.c.k!"

Her eyes were flashing now; her face had gone crimson-coloured, and her little foot was tapping the floor. She had emotions which ran up her thermometer with the rapidity of a lightning's flash. The alt.i.tude of their tempers just then was about equally high.

"Don't keep calling me d.i.c.k like that," he said. "It's irritating."

"What's the matter?"

"With me? Nothing!"

"There is."

"Very well, there is. Have your own way. I know that way--you are like the Pears' Soap boy--you won't be happy till you get it."

"d.i.c.k!" She almost spat out his name in her fierce emphasis. "You are not going--you shall not go to town to-day!"

"All being well," he replied calmly--white heat calm--"I shall catch the three-thirty-five up."

She was white too, with annoyance. Managed to choke down some of the things she was burning to say; was alive to what their effect would be if uttered. She knew d.i.c.k; experience had taught her how large was the amount of patience needed to cope with his impetuosity. Her foot heavily on the pedal of her temper, she gave forth sweet sounds:

"What does this mean? Tell me, d.i.c.k. Why are you going?"

The voice was so very gentle that it hurt d.i.c.k to hurt her. But he persisted--the little wretch, to treat his best friend so!--she deserved it. Yawning, he said:

"Oh, I feel like spending a merry Christmas. The kind of thing that clings to Christmas cards and d.i.c.kens was so full of, you know. I am afraid there isn't enough merriment to go round here; not enough to satisfy a man with a large appet.i.te for it."

"Why not?"

"Way it is dished up, I suppose: surroundings. I don't like your friends----"

"My friends!"

The foot slipped off the pedal: the note of temper sounded as she blazed out indignantly:

"Who asked them here?"

d.i.c.k shrugged his shoulders. Otherwise disregarded her interruption as he continued:

"--you positively insult mine."