"Not yet--but, Peter, I forgot! I've such a lovely piece of news. I'm going to have a birthday party next month ... You'll come, won't you?"

"_Rather_. I say, that's ripping! A dance? Good," as she nodded her head. "I'll bet your people will do it well." Unconsciously he voiced the sentiments expressed that morning by Mrs. Cadell.

"How many dances may I have? I suppose you can't spare the lot?"

The infection of his mood was catching.

"One and an extra..." Cydonia laughed.

"Nonsense!" He hunted for a pencil and pulled out his cuff aggressively.

"Five at least. And supper too. Oh, Cydonia! you really _might_..."

But over the girl's merry face a shadow fell. She turned her head with startled eyes and a quick "Hush!" as a voice outside, loud and harsh, echoed down the long pa.s.sage.

"It's Father!" She gave a gasp. "Oh, Peter, what shall we do?"

McTaggart was on his feet.

"The inner room"--he grasped her arm--"don't speak!" On tiptoe they fled.

"Stand here--in this corner--it's hidden from either door." He whispered the words, his lips brushing the soft hair drawn over her ears.

"Worth it--even if we're caught!" He said to himself with inward joy, conscious of the girl's hand, tightly clasped in his own.

They heard the heavy step pa.s.s and enter the room beyond; then a sound of men's voices broke across their strained attention.

McTaggart crept to the curtain that half veiled their hiding-place, then back to Cydonia, his smile showing his vast relief.

"He's talking to that artist chap. Now, softly into the pa.s.sage, and then we'll make a bolt for it."

But he paused for a moment, very near her, his eyes on her frightened face.

"You dear thing--don't worry! I hate to see you look like that."

For a second's s.p.a.ce he fought hard against the temptation of her answering smile. Then, drawing back, he led the way noiselessly into the hall.

The ruse succeeded, but outside a further problem awaited them. For Mason was "taking her time" conscientiously earning her tip.

"I can't leave you here alone." McTaggart's glance swept the street.

"What shall we do? Walk to Marshall's? or--isn't that your car there?"

He pointed out a landaulette, drawn up against the curb.

"Is Willc.o.x safe, do you think?"

Willc.o.x was the Cadells' chauffeur. He despised the family whom he served, realizing with the flair of his kind their status as parvenu.

But he made an exception of Cydonia. Her sweet voice and well-bred face induced in him the belief of blue blood--achieved by some worthy misdemeanor!

The girl, aware of his silent worship, welcomed the sight of him with relief.

"He'll say nothing--how splendid! I'll just get into the car and wait."

McTaggart agreed. "You can explain you saw your Father go into the Gallery. And, as you felt tired, dispatched Mason to do your shopping, while you rested."

"Yes. That's it." She nodded her head. "Please go now. He might come out. You know what a rush he's always in."

She reached the carriage breathlessly, with a glance at the chauffeur's impa.s.sive face.

"Willc.o.x--I'll wait inside. Mr. Cadell won't be long."

McTaggart tucked the rug around her.

"To-morrow," he whispered, "at Lady Leason's." Then, out loud, "Good-bye, Miss Cadell--I won't forget your Mother's dance."

"Good-bye, Mr. McTaggart." She smiled at the formal address.

Stiff and discreet on the box Willc.o.x was smiling too. He was conscious of the whole manoeuvre, and in his heart he approved. He watched McTaggart stride away, with his careless, well-bred walk, pause at the corner and glance back surrept.i.tiously through the crowd.

And then he heard his young mistress call in a low, quick voice, "Mason!"

And the maid's excuse, rather frightened.

"I hope I'm not late, miss--I've got the satin."

"A little," Cydonia calmly replied, "but you needn't wait. Give me the parcel. I'm driving home with Mr. Cadell when he's bought that picture we went to see."

CHAPTER X

"If you please, miss"--the untidy maid stood in the doorway, aggressively--"the chicken 'asn't come yet and Cook sez it would be no good sending round, as the shop's shut."

Jill jumped up from the floor where she crouched drying her wet hair before the fire. She glanced up at the clock and frowned.

"Why, it's half past seven!--Of course. She ought to have told me long ago."

"I'm sure, miss"--the other protested with a faint smile not unmixed with malice--"it isn't Cook's fault--she does 'er best. But I'm sure in this 'ouse it's 'ard to please. What with meals at any hour and never knowing if it's two or _three_ ... I'm sure..." She stopped short at the sudden anger in Jill's expressive gray eyes.

"That will do." She threw back her hair, which fell in a dark cloud over her shoulders, narrowing into damp points far below the line of her waist. "I'll come down and see Cook myself."

Lizzie retreated, her face sullen, before the peremptory young voice.

Then, changing her mind, she whisked round and barred Jill's pa.s.sage insolently.

"I'd like to say I want to leave. This day month." She tossed her head. "I don't seem to suit--and it don't suit me!--such goings-on ...

an' lawless talk. I ain't used to a mistress as ups and breaks windows--it ain't decent!--an' my young man, 'e sez..."

"Be silent!"--Jill was white with suppressed rage--"If you want to give notice you must speak to Mrs. Uniacke."