Meanwhile Verisschenzko had returned to the Carlton and was softly walking down the pa.s.sage towards the Boleskis' rooms. The ante-room door was at the corner, and as he was about ten yards from it a man came out and strode rapidly towards the lift down the corridor at right angles, but the bright light fell upon his face for an instant, and Verisschenzko saw that it was Ferdinand Ardayre.

He waited where he was until he heard the lift doors shut, and even then he paced up and down for a time before he entered the sitting-room. There must be no suspicion that he had encountered the late visitor.

"Darling Brute, here you are!" Harietta cried delightedly, rising from her sofa and throwing herself into his arms. "I've packed Stanisla.s.s off to the St. James' to play piquet. I have been all alone waiting for you for the last hour--I began to fear you would not come."

Verisschenzko looked at her, with his cynical, humorous smile, whose meaning never reached her. He took in the transparent garments which hardly covered her, and then he bent and picked up a man's handkerchief which lay on a table near.

"_Tiens_! Harietta!" he remarked lazily. "Since when has Stanisla.s.s taken to using this very Eastern perfume?" and he sniffed with disgust.

The wide look of startled innocence grew in Madame Boleski's hazel eyes.

"I believe Stanisla.s.s must have got a mistress, Stepan. I have noticed lately these scents on his things--as you know, he never used any before!"

"The handkerchief is marked with 'F.A.' I suppose the _blanchisseuse_ mixes them in hotels. Let us burn the memento of a husband's straying fancies then; the taste in perfumes of his inamorata is anything but refined," and Verisschenzko tossed the bit of cambric into the fire which sparkled in the grate.

"I've lots of news to tell you, Darling Brute--but I shan't--yet! Have you come to England to see that bit of bread and b.u.t.ter--or--?"

But Verisschenzko, with a fierce savagery which she adored, crushed her in his arms.

CHAPTER XI

On the Tuesday morning after the Carlton dinner, fate fell upon Denzil and Amaryllis in the way the jade does at times, swooping down upon them suddenly and then like a whirlwind altering the very current of their destiny. It came about quite naturally, too, and not by one of those wildly improbable situations which often prove truth to be stranger than fiction.

Amaryllis was settled in an empty compartment of the Weymouth express at Paddington. She had said good-bye to John the evening before, and he had returned to camp. She was going back to Ardayre, and feeling very miserable. Everything had been a disillusion. John's reserve seemed to have augmented, and she had been unable to break it down, and all the new emotions which she was trembling with and longing to express, had grown chilled.

Presumably John must be pleased at the possibility of having a son since it was his heart's desire; but it almost seemed as though the subject embarra.s.sed him! And all the beautiful things which she had meant to say to him about it remained unspoken.

He was stolidly matter-of-fact.

What could it all mean?

At last she had become deeply hurt and had cried with a tremour in her voice the morning before he left her:

"Oh! John, how different you have become; it can't be the same you who once called me 'Sweetheart' and held me so closely in your arms! Have I done anything to displease you, dearest? Aren't you glad that I am going to have a baby?"

He had kissed her and a.s.sured her gravely that he was glad--overjoyed.

And his eyes had been full of pain, and he had added that he was stupid and dull, but that she must not mind--it was only his way.

"Alas!" she had answered and nothing more.

She dwelt upon these things as she sat in the train gazing out of the window on the blank side.

Yes. Joy was turning into dead sea fruit. How moving her thoughts had been when coming up to meet him!

The marvel of love creating life had exalted her and she had longed to pour her tender visionings into the ears of--her lover! For John had been thus enshrined in her fond imagination!

The whole idea of having a child to her was a sacred wonder with little of earth in it, and she had woven exquisite sentiment round it and had dreamed fair dreams of how she would whisper her thoughts to John as she lay clasped to his heart; and John, too, would be thrilled with exaltation, for was not the glorious mystery his as well--not hers alone?

Now everything looked grey.

Tears rose in her eyes. Then she took herself to task; it was perhaps only her foolish romance leading her astray once more. The thought might mean nothing to a man beyond the pride of having a son to carry on his name. If the baby should be a little girl John might not care for it at all!

The tears brimmed over and fell upon a big crimson carnation in her coat, a bunch of which John had ordered to be sent her, and which were now safely reposing in a card-board box in the rack above her head.

Fortunately she had the carriage to herself. No one had attempted to get in, and they would soon be off. To be away from London would be a relief.

Then her thoughts flew to Verisschenzko; he had told her that circ.u.mstances in his country might require his frequent presence in England for the next few months.

She would see him again. What would he tell her to do now? Conquer emotion and look at things with common sense.

The picture of the dinner at the Carlton then came back to her, and the face of Denzil across the table, so like, and yet so unlike John!

If Denzil had a wife would he be cold to her? Was it in the nature of all Ardayres?

At the very instant the train began to move the carriage was invaded by a man in khaki who bounded in and almost fell by her knees, and with a cheery 'Just done it, Sir!' the guard flung in a dressing-bag and slammed the door, and she realised with conscious interest that the intruder was Denzil Ardayre!

"How do you do? By Jove. I am awfully sorry," and he held out his hand.

"I nearly lost the train and I am afraid I have bundled in without asking leave. I am going down to Bath to say good-bye to my mother. I say, do forgive me if I startled you," and he looked full of concern.

Amaryllis laughed; she was nervous and overstrung.

"Your entrance was certainly sudden and in this non-stop to Westbury we shall have to put up with each other till then--shall you mind?"

"Awfully--Must I say that the truth would be that I am enchanted!"

Fortune had flung him these two hours. He had not planned them, his conscience was clear, and he could not help delight rushing through him.

Two hours with her--alone!

There are some blue eyes which seem to have a spark of the devil lurking in them always, even when they are serious. Denzil's were such eyes.

Women found it difficult to resist his charm, and indeed had never tried very hard. Life and its living, knowledge to acquire, work to do, beasts to hunt, had not left him too much time to be spoiled by them fortunately, and he had pa.s.sed through several adventures safely and had never felt anything but the most transient emotion, until now looking at Amaryllis sitting opposite him he knew that he was in love with this dream which had materialised.

Amaryllis studied him while they talked of ordinary things and the war news and when he would go out. She felt some strong attraction drawing her to him. Her sense of depression left her. She found herself noticing how the sun which had broken through a cloud turned his immaculately brushed hair into bronze. She did a little modelling to amuse herself, and so appreciated balance and line.

Everything in Denzil was in the right place, she decided, and above all he looked so peculiarly alive. He seemed, indeed, to be the reality of what her imagination had built up round the personality of John in the weeks of their separation. Denzil believed that he was talking quite casually, but his glance was ardent, and atmosphere becomes charged when emotions are strong no matter how insignificant words may be. Amaryllis _felt_ that he was deeply interested in her.

"You know my friend Verisschenzko well, it seems," she said presently.

"Is not he a fascinating creature? I always feel stimulated when I am with him, and as if I must accomplish great things."

"Stepan is a wonder--we were at Oxford together--he can do anything he desires. He is a musician and an artist and is chock full of common sense, and there's not a touch of rot. He would have taken honours if he had not been sent down."

Amaryllis wanted to know about this, and listened amazedly to the story of the mad freak which had so scandalised the Dons.