Overjoyed at the prospect of a renewed chat on topics dear to his heart, the boy ran off, light-heartedly, to The Elms. His task seemed easier now. The wholesome breeze of intercourse with a cultivated mind had momentarily swept into the background a host of unpleasing things.

He found he could not see Mrs. Saumarez, so he asked for Miss Walker.

The lady came. She was prim and severe. Instantly he detected a note of hostility which her first words put beyond doubt.

"My mother sent me to return some money to Mrs. Saumarez," he explained.

"Mrs. Saumarez is ill. Mrs. Bolland must wait until she recovers. As for you, you bad boy, I wonder you dare show your face here."

Martin never flinched from a difficulty.

"Why?" he demanded. "What have I done?"

"Can you ask? To drag that poor little mite of a girl into such horrible scenes as those which took place in the village? Be off! You just wait until Mrs. Saumarez is better, and you will hear more of it."

With that, she slammed the door on him.

So Angle had posed as a simpleton, and he was the villain. This phase of the medley amused him. He was retreating down the drive, when he heard his name called. He turned. A window on the ground floor opened, and Mrs. Saumarez appeared, leaning unsteadily on the sill.

"Come here!" she cried imperiously.

Somehow she puzzled, indeed fl.u.s.tered, him. For one thing, her attire was bizarre. Usually dressed with unexceptionable taste, to-day she wore a boudoir wrap--a costly robe, but adjusted without care, and all untidy about neck and breast. Her hair was coiled loosely, and stray wisps hung out in slovenly fashion. Her face, deathly white, save for dull red patches on the cheeks, served as a fit setting for unnaturally brilliant eyes which protruded from their sockets in a manner quite startling, while the veins on her forehead stood out like whipcord.

Martin was utterly dismayed. He stood stock-still.

"Come!" she said again, glaring at him with a curious fixity. "I want you. Franoise is not here, and I wish you to run an errand."

Save for a strange thickness in her speech, she had never before reminded him so strongly of Angle. She had completely lost her customary air of repose. She spoke and acted like a peevish child.

Anyhow, she had summoned him, and he could now discharge his trust. In such conditions, Martin seldom lacked words.

"I asked for you at the door, ma'am," he explained, drawing nearer, "but Miss Walker said you were ill. My mother sent me to give you this."

He produced the little parcel of money and essayed to hand it to her.

She surveyed it with lackl.u.s.ter eyes.

"What is it?" she said. "I do not understand. Here is plenty of money. I want you to go to the village, to the 'Black Lion,' and bring me a sovereign's worth of brandy."

She held out a coin. They stood thus, proffering each other gold.

"But this is yours, ma'am. I came to return it. I--er--borrowed some money from Ang--from Miss Saumarez--and mother said----"

"Cease, boy. I do not understand, I tell you. Keep the money and bring me what I ask."

In her eagerness she leaned so far out of the window that she nearly overbalanced. The sovereign fell among some flowers. With an effort she recovered an unsteady poise. Martin stooped to find the money. A door opened inside the house. A hot whisper reached him.

"Tell no one. I'll watch for you in half an hour--remember--a sovereign's worth."

The boy, not visible from the far side of the room, heard the voice of Franoise. The window closed with a bang. He discovered the coin and straightened himself. The maid was seating her mistress in a chair and apparently remonstrating with her. She picked up from the floor a wicker-covered Eau de Cologne bottle and turned it upside down with an angry gesture. It was empty.

Martin, whose experience of intoxicated people was confined to the infrequent sight of a village toper, heavy with beer, lurching homeward in maudlin glee or fury, imagined that Mrs. Saumarez must be in some sort of fever. Obviously, those in attendance on her should be consulted before he brought her brandy secretly.

Back he marched to the front door and rang the bell. Lest Miss Walker should shut him out again, he was inside the hall before anyone could answer his summons, for the doors of country houses remain unlocked all day. The elder sister reappeared, very starchy at this unheard-of impertinence.

"I was forced to return, ma'am," he said civilly. "Mrs. Saumarez saw me in the drive and asked me to buy her some brandy. She gave me a sovereign. She looked very ill, so I thought it best to come and tell you."

The lady was thoroughly nonplussed by this plain statement.

"Oh," she stammered, so confused that he did not know what to make of her agitation, "this is very nice of you. She must not have brandy. It is--quite unsuitable--for her illness. It is really very good of you to tell me. I--er--I'm sorry I spoke so harshly just now, but--er----"

"That's all right, ma'am. It was all a mistake. Will you kindly take charge of this sovereign, and also of the two pounds ten which Miss Angle lent me?"

"Which Miss Angle lent you! Two pounds ten! I thought you said your mother----"

"It is mine, please," said a voice from the broad landing above their heads. Angle skipped lightly down the stairs and held out her hand.

Martin gave her the money.

"I don't understand this, at all," said the mystified Miss Walker. "Does Mrs. Saumarez know----"

"Mrs. Saumarez knows nothing. Neither does Martin."

With wasp-like suddenness, the girl turned and faced a woman old enough to be her grandmother. Their eyes clashed. The child's look said plainly:

"Dare to utter another word and I'll disgrace your house throughout the village."

The woman yielded. She waved a protesting hand. "It is no business of mine. Thank you, Martin, for coming back."

Angle lashed out at him next.

"Allez, donc! I'll never speak to you again."

She ran up the stairs. He stood irresolute.

"Anyhow, not now," she added. "I may be out in an hour's time."

Miss Walker was holding the door open. He hurried away, and Franoise saw him, wondering why he had called.

And for hours thereafter, until night fell, a white-faced woman paced restlessly to and fro in the sitting-room, ever and anon raising the window, and watching for Martin's return with a fierce intensity that rendered her almost maniacal in appearance.

Happily, the boy was unaware of the pitiful tragedy in the life of the rich and highly placed Mrs. Saumarez. While she waited, with a rage steadily dwindling into a wearied despair, he was pa.s.sing, all unconsciously, into the next great phase of his career.

He took one forward step into the unknown before leaving the tree-lined drive. He met Fritz, the chauffeur, who was so absorbed in the study of a folding road-map that he did not see Martin until the latter hailed him.

"h.e.l.lo!" was the boy's cheery greeting. "That affair is ended. Please don't say anything to Mrs. Saumarez."

The German closed the map.

"Whad iss ented?" he inquired, surveying Martin with a cool hauteur rare in chauffeurs.