Octon's opening was not very conciliatory, but Lacey's good-humor was proof against him. Moreover the lad looked preoccupied.

"I'm not out for a row to-day, Mr. Octon," he said. "I want just one word with you, Austin."

"Then I'll be off," said Octon. He nodded to me; he did not offer to shake hands again.

"I'll come and see you off to-morrow morning. The eleven-five, I suppose?" That was the fast train to London.

"Yes. All right, I shall be glad to see you. To Lord Lacey--and his friends--this is good-by."

"You're going away?" asked Lacey, joy and relief plain in his voice.

"Yes. You seem very glad."

"I am glad," said young Lacey, "but I mean no offense, Mr. Octon."

Their eyes met fair and square. I expected an angry outburst from Octon, but none came; his look was moody again, but it was not fierce. He looked restless and unhappy, but he spoke with dignity.

"I recognize that. I take no offense. Good-by, Lord Lacey." With a slight lift of his hat, courteously responded to by Lacey, he turned his back on us and walked away with his heavy slouching gait, his head sunk low on his shoulders. We watched him go for a moment or two in silence.

"Is he going for good?" Lacey asked me.

"Yes, to-morrow."

He seemed to consider something within himself. "Then I don't know that I really need trouble you. It's a delicate matter and--" He beat his leg with his crop, frowning thoughtfully. "I wonder, Austin, whether you're aware how matters stand between Miss Driver and my father?" His use of "my father" instead of "the governor" was a significant mark of his seriousness.

"Yes, she told me."

"My father told me. To-morrow is the day for the announcement. Austin, the last two or three days my father has been very worried and upset.

Aunt Sarah's been at him about something. I'm sure it's about--about Miss Driver. I can tell it is by the way they both look when her name's mentioned. And I--I tried an experiment. At lunch to-day I began to talk about that fellow Powers. I tried it on by saying I thought he was a scoundrel and that I hoped Miss Driver would give him the sack. I never saw a man look up with such a start as my father did. Aunt Sarah was ready to be on to me, but he was too quick. 'Why do you say that?' he snapped out--eagerly, you know--as if he was uncommonly anxious to hear my reasons. Well, of course, I'd none to give, only my impressions of the chap. Aunt Sarah looked triumphant and read me a lecture on envy, malice, and all uncharitableness. My father sat staring at the tablecloth, but listening hard to every word. Why the devil should my father be so interested in Powers? Can you tell me that, Austin?"

"No, I can't tell you," I said, "but I'm much obliged to you for this--information."

"I thought there would be--well, just no harm in mentioning it to you,"

he said. "Of course it's probably all right really. And if everything is settled, and announced, and all that, to-morrow--and--" He broke off, not adding in words what there was no need to add--"Octon gone to-morrow!"

But to-day was not to-morrow. Lady Sarah was at work, and Fillingford much interested in Mr. Powers! Worried, upset, and very much interested in Powers!

Lacey gathered his reins and prepared to be off. "Sorry if I've meddled in what's not my business," he said. "But I'm ready to take the responsibility." That was permission to me to use his information, and to vouch his authority to Jenny. He nodded to me. "See you to-morrow, perhaps, and we'll drink the health of the engaged couple!" He smiled, but he looked puzzled and not very happy, rather as though he were hoping for the best, and staving off antic.i.p.ation of some hitch or misfortune.

As soon as he was gone, I went up to the Priory. My task was not an easy one, but I had an overwhelming feeling--a feeling which refused all counter-argument--that it was necessary. There was still this one evening--an opportunity for a last bit of recklessness, and Heaven alone knew how great a temptation.

Jenny received me in her little upstairs sitting-room, next to the room where she slept. She wore an indoors gown and, in answer to my formal inquiry, told me that she had a cold and was feeling rather "seedy"--not a common admission for her to make. Then I went to work, stumbling at my awkward story--so full of implied accusation against her, if it were not utterly unmeaning--under the steady thoughtful gaze of her eyes. She heard me to the end in silence.

"If that rascal is trying to make mischief, if he has trumped up some story--" I tried so to put it that she could feel ent.i.tled to be on her guard without making any admissions.

She made none, and offered no direct comment on the story. She took up an envelope from the writing-table by her.

"This is my formal leave to Lord Fillingford to announce our engagement.

I was going to post it to-night. I'll send it now by a groom. Please ring the bell for me, Austin."

Loft appeared. She gave him the letter and ordered that a groom should take it to Fillingford Manor on horseback. Loft glanced at the clock.

"The men will just be at their tea, miss," he said. It was now about half-past four.

"It'll do in half an hour's time," she answered. "But let it get there this afternoon without fail."

As Loft went out, she turned to me. "There now, that's settled."

Was it? There was still to-night. I suspected to-night desperately. I suspected Jenny's love of having it both ways to the very last moment that she could. I suspected the strength of the lure toward Octon.

Whether she divined my suspicions I cannot tell. She went on in her simplest, most plausible way.

"Now I'm going to lie down, and I'm not sure I shall get up again. A plate of soup and a novel in bed look rather attractive! And I must get a good beauty-sleep--against my lord's coming to-morrow!"

She held out her hand to me. As I took it I gave her a long look. The bright eyes were candid and unembarra.s.sed. Yet I had grave doubts whether Jenny was speaking the whole truth--and nothing but it!

On the stairs I encountered Chat. She broke out on me volubly about Jenny's indisposition.

"You've seen our poor Jenny--the poor child? So ill, such a cold! And she actually wanted to go down to Catsford to see Mr. Bindlecombe and Mr. Powers on some Inst.i.tute business! As if she was fit to go out--a raw cold evening, too, and getting dark so much earlier nowadays! At any rate I persuaded her out of that, and I do hope she'll be sensible and go to bed."

"So do I--very much, Miss Chatters," I replied.

"And she's just given me to understand that she means to do it."

"That's the safe thing," Chat averred with emphasis; and, without a doubt, she was perfectly right--from more points of view than one. In bed at Breysgate, with her soup, her novel, and a watchful maid in attendance, Jenny would be safe. I did not, however, need quite as much convincing of it as Chat seemed disposed to administer to me.

There was nothing more to do. I went back home, brewed myself a cup of tea, and sat down to write letters; writing letters compels an attention which would wander from a book. I had an acc.u.mulation to answer, some on my own account, the greater part on Jenny's affairs, and I worked away steadily till it was nearly seven o'clock. Then I was suddenly interrupted by a loud knock on my door. As I rose, the door opened, and Lacey was again before me. He was still in riding dress, but his boots were covered with dust; he was hot and out of breath. He had been walking--walking fast, or even running. He seemed excited, but tried to smile at me.

"Here I am again!" he said. "I don't know whether I am a fool, Austin--I hope I am--but there's something I want you to hear." He shut the door behind him, glanced at the clock, and went on quickly. "Do you know a sandy-haired boy who wears a red cap and rides a girl's bicycle?"

"Yes," I answered. "That's Powers's boy--Alban Powers."

"I thought I remembered the young beggar. That boy brought a note up to Aunt Sarah while we were having tea--about a quarter past five, it must have been, I think. Aunt Sarah pounced on the note, read it, said there was no answer, and then handed the note over to my father. 'Who's it from?' he asked peevishly. 'You'll see if you read it,' she said. I asked if I was _de trop_, but my father signed to me to sit where I was.

He read the note, and handed it back to Aunt Sarah. 'What are you going to do?' she asked. 'Nothing,' he said. She pursed up her lips and shrugged her shoulders--she made it pretty plain what she thought of that answer. 'Nothing!' she sort of whispered, throwing her eyes up to the ceiling. Then he broke out: 'I've forbidden the subject to be mentioned!'--but he looked very unhappy and uncomfortable. n.o.body said anything for a bit; Aunt Sarah looked obstinate-silent and my father unhappy-silent. I tried to talk about something or other, but it was no good. Then the man came in with another note, saying a groom had brought it for his lordship. Well, he read that--and it seemed to please him a bit better."

"Well it might!" I remarked. "It was from Miss Driver and it said what he wanted."

"Wait a bit, Austin. He sat with this note--Miss Driver's--in his hand, turning it over and over. He didn't offer to show it to either of us, but he kept looking across at Aunt Sarah. I took up a paper, but I watched them from behind it. He was weighing something in his mind; she wouldn't look at him--playing sulky still over the business of the first note, the one that boy in the red cap had brought. At last he got up and went over to her. He spoke rather low, but I heard--well, he could have sent me away, or gone away with her himself, if he hadn't wanted me to hear. 'A note I've had from Miss Driver makes it very proper for me to call on her this evening,' he said. Aunt Sarah looked up, wide awake in a minute. 'You'll go this evening--to Breysgate?' she asked. 'Yes, at seven.' 'At seven,' she repeated after him with a nod. 'But perhaps she'll be out.' 'That's possible,' he answered. 'But I shall wait for her--she must come in before dinner.' Aunt Sarah looked hard at him.

'They'll probably know where she's gone if she is out. You could go and meet her,' she said to him. I can't give you the way they talked--it was all as if what they said meant something different, or something more, at any rate. When Aunt Sarah suggested that he might go and meet Miss Driver, he started a little, then thought it over. At last he said, 'I shall try to find her to-night.' 'You're sensible at last!' she said--and added something in a whisper. My father nodded, and walked out of the room, pocketing his letter. Aunt Sarah went to the fire and burned hers. I wish I could have got a look at it!"

"So do I," I said. "It's just on seven now."

I was thinking hard. The boy with the red cap--Powers's boy--the note--the subterranean quarrel over it--the strange half-spoken half-suppressed conversation that followed--these gave plenty of matter for thought when I added to them my sore doubts of the way in which Jenny in truth meant to spend the evening.

"Of course it may be all nothing. I'm afraid all the time of being infernally officious."

"Your father will pretty nearly be at Breysgate by now."

"And she's there, I suppose, isn't she?" His question was full of hesitation.