"Oh-oh--" he vaguely waved his hands.

"Smart clothes, you know. Lots of 'em. Dinner parties. Luncheons.

Less parish work, and more amus.e.m.e.nt. Always trotting over to the 'Moat'."

The present owners of the "Moat" were rich City people who gave lavish entertainments, and obviously chose their friends with a consideration of how much amus.e.m.e.nt could be counted upon in return. Pretty, gay Delphine was a valuable addition to a house-party, and would no doubt receive as many invitations as she cared to accept; but the influence could not be good. Continual a.s.sociation with smart, worldly people would of a certainty heighten her discontent, and lure her into extravagance.

I munched my cake in gloomy silence, which was not lightened by the next remark.

"I'm sorry for Delphine's sake that--she--is away! If you worry it out, this development is her doing. She ought to be there to put on the brake!"

"What do you mean? In what possible way is Evelyn to blame?"

"Who spoke of blame? I didn't! It is natural to her to be dainty and beautiful. She has the money, and she has the taste. What is wrong for the wife of a poor man is a virtue in a rich woman. Even I--a man--who never noticed such things before, found pleasure in her clothes. She had one blue muslin--"

He looked at me with dumb, awed eyes. Surely never did a muslin gown at somewhere about a shilling a yard, reap such a harvest of appreciation.

I shall preserve that dress in lavender and rose leaves for evermore.

"Until She came, Delphine had the field to herself in our little village. Any comparisons must have been in her favour. Then suddenly she found herself up against a new standard. Being young and-- er--_vain_, she evidently felt it necessary to her peace of mind to follow the leader. From a spectacular point of view the effect is good."

Spectacular indeed! I was too perturbed, too anxious to speak.

Evidently Delphine had been going in for an orgie of extravagance; a pretty serious one too, since it had attracted the attention of a mere man; and some of the responsibility seemed to fall on my own shoulders!

I determined to write her a letter that very night, and in absent-minded fashion began to compose its sentences as I poured out second cups of tea. "Although I have not written, you must not think that I have forgotten you. I am leading a busy life, and have little time to spare, but if you should ever need me; if there ever comes a time when you feel I can be of real help, write to me through my lawyers, and I could meet you in town, or even run down for the day."

Yes, that would do! That would open the way for confidences, if she were in a mood to make them. In any case, I should feel more satisfied in my own mind when I had sent off the message, and shown that I was to be found if needed.

Looking up suddenly from the tea tray I beheld Ralph Maplestone smiling to himself across the table, with precisely the same mysterious accession of complaisance that I had noticed on his first visit to the flat. Our eyes met, and he turned aside, drawing in his lips to hide the smile, but the light danced in his eyes, and refused to be quenched.

Most mysterious and perplexing! His moods are evidently very variable.

I am glad he was pleased, but I should very much like to know why!

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MRS MERRIVALE'S APPEAL.

Every one has noticed that the thought of a friend after a spell of forgetfulness is frequently the harbinger of a sudden meeting, or of the receipt of a letter or message. Such happenings are called "curious coincidences"; but personally I don't consider them curious at all, or at least no more curious than it is to send a message by telephone, and to hear in reply a familiar voice speaking across the s.p.a.ce. When the heart sends forth a wireless message of love and goodwill, surely, if we have in any sense grasped the wonderful power of thought, we must believe that the message reaches its destination, and calls forth a response! Right thoughts--thoughts of love and pity and helpfulness-- are prayers winged to heaven and earth; bad thoughts--mean and grudging and censorious--well, they injure the person who thinks them so much, that there can't be much poison left for the recipient. In any case, such leaden things can't rise.

This moralising leads up to the fact that while my own letter to Delphine lay unfinished on my desk, a note arrived from Ralph Maplestone, to give me grave news of her husband.

"I am summoned home," he wrote, "in my capacity of vicar's warden.

While I have been in town, poor Merrivale has had an attack of influenza, which has been pretty serious, and has left him rather alarmingly weak. I insisted upon calling in a consultant from B--, whose verdict is that the lungs are seriously threatened. I have feared it for some time, and am glad that he is now forced to take care. He is ordered complete rest, and is to get out of England for the spring months. I shall be kept busy here for some weeks, but expect to run up to town for a day's business now and then, when I will give myself the pleasure of calling on you. Meanwhile, will you kindly pa.s.s on the news to Miss Wastneys. I know she will be interested. I rely on you to fulfil your kind promise." By the same post came a letter from Charmion, tentatively breaking the news that she would not return for Christmas. Several minor reasons had contributed to this decision, but the big one was that she was still "working out her cure" and could do it better in solitude. What about me? Would I go to Ireland? Could I work in a visit to friends? Rather than think of me sitting alone in my dreary little flat, she would put everything on one side, and come rushing home.

"Dreary little flat, indeed!" I looked round the dainty, rose-lit room, and laughed a derisive laugh. It was strange. I did not feel a bit depressed. Life in the bas.e.m.e.nt flat was very full, very interesting, of late days thrillingly exciting into the bargain. I was not at all sure that I wanted to go back to "Pastimes" so soon. Christmas in the flat offered endless possibilities. I would have a tree! Mrs Manners should help me. Her children would come, and all the Thorolds, and their father, and Mr Hallett. There should be lots of toys, and lots of baubles, but useful things too! Things which should truthfully be "just what I wanted!" Perhaps I would be n.o.ble and forgiving and ask Eric and Claudia and Moreen. Poor mites, it wasn't their fault that their mother wore false pearls! The tree should be on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas night I would invite the grown-ups to dinner, and give them a light, dainty feast, with never a shadow of roast beef or plum pudding! They could do their duty by convention at the midday meal.

In two minutes' time I had thought out the whole menu, even the decorations on the table. What fun it would be! How they would all enjoy it! How little Mrs Manners would revel in the shopping expeditions! Her present should be a pretty blouse--something pretty, bought with a view to what is becoming, and not to what will be useful, and wear for several seasons, and then cut up into dusters. An occasional extravagance _is_ such a tonic to a feminine mind! As for the men, Mr Thorold should have a box of cigars. Mr Hallett should have the same. And in the deadliest secrecy I would commission each to buy for the other. Then they would be sure to get the right brand.

As for "Pastimes"--our guest tenant would be delighted to have her stay extended. I wondered if the gardener would pine for Bridget! I wondered if--_anyone_--would pine for me! Personally the prospect of occasional "calls" pleased me better than the thought of meetings in the country, under the Argus eye of village gossips. In the latter case one would be self-conscious and restrained; in the former, safe from observation, doubly sheltered behind wig and spectacles, there could be no doubt as to which position afforded the better opportunity of getting to know a man's character.

I wrote a letter to Charmion, rea.s.suring her as to Christmas in my "dreary flat"; I tore up the unfinished note to Delphine, and sent another, a.s.suring her of my sympathy, repeating my offers of help. Poor little girl! Her real love for "Jacky" would be in the ascendant now, and all the pleasure and vanities for which she had pined would seem trivial things, compared with his dear life.

I did not write to Mr Maplestone. The difficulty of handwriting came in, and there was no real necessity to answer his note. If I knew Delphine, she would find it a relief to pour forth her woes on paper. I waited confidently for a letter to appear.

Two days pa.s.sed by, three; I was growing anxious, and debating if I should write again, when there came a loud rat-tat at the door, and a reply-paid telegram was handed in, addressed to Miss Wastneys:--

"Letter received. Need urgent. Unable to leave. Can you come to-morrow. Beg you not to refuse. Delphine."

I seized a pencil, scribbled a hasty "Expect me by train arriving twelve," and having despatched the promise, sat down to consider how I was to keep it. What an excitement to think of feeling young again, and being able to devote my attention to looking as nice as I could, instead of laboriously contriving disfigurements! Under my bed lived a box wardrobe on wheels, in which, carefully stretched and padded to avoid creases, reposed a selection of garments which were certainly not suited to old Miss Harding's requirement. Mentally I reviewed them, selected the prettiest and most becoming, saw a vision of myself putting the last touches before the gla.s.s, with Bridget's beaming face watching every stage. Oh, it would be an exhilarating variety, and easy, too-- perfectly easy. I would give the orphan leave of absence for two days, and send her rejoicing to stay with "me aunt". Then in leisurely enjoyment I would make my toilette and march complacently into the street. We possess no porter in our modest mansions; ten to one I should pa.s.s through the hall unseen, and even if I had the ill-luck to encounter a neighbour--well, if my disguise is good enough to deceive Ralph Maplestone, it can surely defy less interested eyes!

Bridget was as excited as I was. She hustled the orphan out of the flat, and superintended my toilette as eagerly as though I were dressing for a wedding, instead of a country visit.

"Praise the fates, we'll see you looking yourself again! I never was in favour of this dressing up, and playing tricks with a face which anyone else would be proud to have, and to take care of. Not that you hadn't more sense than I gave you credit for! We've been a G.o.dsend to this place, and if anyone doubts it, let 'em look at the kitchen book, and see the pounds of good meat I've made into beef tea with me own hands.

And you running about by day and by night, waiting on 'em all in turns.

There's no doubt but we've done good, but what I say is--why not do it with your own face?"

"Don't be foolish, Bridget! I couldn't do it! Look at me now!"--I swirled round to face her, with a rustle of silk and a flare of skirts.

"_Do_ I look the sort of person to wheel out prams, and give tea parties to widowers, and be looked upon as a prop and support by my neighbours?"

Bridget chuckled.

"Go away wid you then!" said she, and that was the end of the discussion.

I met no one in the hall. I met no one in the street. I jumped into a taxi at the corner and drove off to the station without running the remotest chance of detection. It was so easy that I determined to do it again! Every now and then just for a change--just to remember what it was like to look nice! I arrived at the station and took my ticket.

There was no one I knew upon the platform. I walked to the further end, and took a seat in an empty first-cla.s.s carriage. The collector came round and looked at the tickets; there was a banging all down the length of the train, a sharp call, "Take your seats, please; take your seats!"

The door of my compartment opened and shut. Ralph Maplestone seated himself in the corner opposite mine!

"How do you do, Miss Wastneys," said he, as cool as a cuc.u.mber.

"How do you do, Mr Maplestone," said I, as red as a beetroot.

Was it chance? Was it coincidence? Was it a deep and laborious plan?

Had he heard from Delphine of my coming and rushed to town for the express purpose of returning in my company? It looked very like it. My wire could not have arrived at the Vicarage until after five in the afternoon, and the next train to town left at nine p.m. There was also an early morning one at eight-thirty. My brain seethed with curious questions, but there seemed only a moment's pause before I spoke again:--

"Have you been staying in town?"

"Er--" his eyes showed a faint flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt--"not long. You are going down to see Delphine, I suppose. That's good of you. She needs bucking up. The Vicar's pretty bad, but with rest and change there's no reason why he shouldn't pick up. We are arranging to make things easy for them. It will do him no good if she makes herself miserable."

"That's the sort of futile remark that outsiders generally make on these occasions. They make me furious!" I cried, glad of an excuse to work off my self-consciousness in a show of indignation. "Perhaps it won't; but as he belongs to her, and she loves him, she can hardly be expected to be happy! In illness all the sympathy is lavished on the invalid.

In reality, the relations are more to be pitied. It's far easier to lie still and bear physical pain than it is to be wracked with anxiety, and fatigue, and responsibility all at the same time."

He said, looking at me with an air of the most profound attention:--

"You are thinner than you were. Your face is thinner--"

"We were not talking about my face. How long has Mr Merrivale really been ill?"

"It's difficult to say. He is the sort of fellow who never thinks about himself, and Delphine is not--not exactly noticing! I fancy she blames herself now; but he never complained, and always went on working at full pressure, till this attack came on, and he went down with a crash."