The dinner was a success, even although Simpkins sat through it in one long trance. He ate well to fortify himself and it was obvious to John Breezy, sympathetic soul that he was, that his guest was rehearsing a flowery speech of proposal. The unconscious Lola kept up a merry rattle of conversation and gave them a vivid description of the village through which she had pa.s.sed that afternoon and of her drive back to town alone from Aylesbury. Of Chilton Park she said nothing. It was too sacred. And when presently John Breezy's programme was carried out, the table cleared, the two cats rewarded for their patience and Simpkins left alone with Lola, there was a moment of shattering silence. But even then Lola was unsuspecting, and it was not until the valet unb.u.t.toned his coat to free his swelling chest and placed himself in a supplicating att.i.tude on the sofa at her side, that she tumbled to the situation.

"Oh, Simpky," she said, "what _are_ you going to do?"

It was a wonderful cue. It helped him to take the first ditch without touching either of the banks. The poor wretch slipped down upon his knees, all his pre-arranged words scattered like a load of bricks. "Ask you to marry me, Lola," he said. "Lola, darling, I love you. I loved you the very minute you came down the area steps, which was all wrong because I thought you'd come from heaven and therefore your place was the front door. I love you and I want you to marry me, and I'll buy the inn and work like a dog and we'll send the boy to Lansing or the City of London School and make a gentleman of 'im."

Not resentment, not amus.e.m.e.nt, but a great pity swept over Lola. This was a good, kind, generous man and his emotion was so simple and so genuine. And she must hurt him because it was impossible, absurd.

And so for a moment she sat very still and erect, looking exactly like a daffodil with the light on her yellow head, and her eyes shut, because there might be in them that twinkle which Simpkins had noticed and which he must not see. And presently she said, putting her hand on his shoulder, "Oh, Simpky, dear old Simpky, why couldn't you have loved Ellen? What a difficult world it is."

"Ellen," he said. "Oh."

"I can't, Simpky. I simply can't."

And he sat on his heels and looked like a p.r.i.c.ked balloon. "Ain't I good enough, Lola?"

"Yes, quite good enough. Perhaps too good. But, oh, Simpky, I'm so awfully in love with some one else and it's a difficult world. That's the truth. I have to tell it to you. I can never, never marry you, never. Please accept this. Whatever happens to me, and I don't know whatever _will_ happen to me, I shall always remember how good you were and how proud you made me feel. But I'm so awfully in love with some one else. Awfully. And perhaps I shall never be married. That's the truth, Simpky."

And she bent down and kissed him on the forehead, and then got up quickly and raised the kneeling man to his feet. And he stood there, shattered, empty and wordless, with the blow that she had given him ever so softly marking his face, marking his soul.

And Lola was very, very sorry. Poor old Simpky. Poor little Ellen. It was indeed a difficult world.

VI

The next day was Sat.u.r.day,-a busy day for the Breezys, the one day in the week upon which they pinned their faith to make up for slack business during the remainder of it. In the morning Lola helped her mother to make an enticing display in the windows and along the counter in the shop itself. Mrs. Breezy had recently broadened out a little and now endeavored to sell kodaks and photographic materials, self-filling pens and stationery for ladies, which is tantamount to saying that it was stationery unfit for men. During this busy and early hour, while John Breezy, one-eyed, was looking into the complaints of wrist watches, most of which were suffering from having been taken into the bath, Lola answered her mother's silent inquiry as to what had happened the previous evening. With a duster in one hand and a silver sugar basin in the other, she looked up suddenly and said, "No, Mother, it wasn't and will never be possible. Poor old Simpky."

And Mrs. Breezy nodded and shrugged her shoulders. And Lola hoped that that would be the end of it. But why should she have hoped so, knowing women? A few minutes later Mrs. Breezy began.

"The inn at Wargrave would have been so nice. He said that it had an orchard on one side and a large lawn running down to the river on the other, shaded with old trees,-little tables underneath and lovers' nooks and sweet peas growing in tubs. Ah, how nice after Queen's Road, Bayswater. And your father could have fished for hours and I could have rearranged the furniture-and very good furniture too, he said-and made things look spick and span. And he's a good man, is Albert Simpkins, a very unusual man, educated, religious, honest, with a sort of white flame burning in him somewhere. He would have made a good husband, dearie.-However, I suppose you know best." And she threw an anxious glance at her little girl who had become, if anything, more of an enigma to her than ever. It didn't matter about the ap.r.o.n that she wore; nor did the fact that she was very efficiently cleaning that silver thing detract from the new and subtle dignity and poise that she had acquired.

And her accent, and her choice of words,-they were those of Mrs.

Breezy's favorite actress who played fashionable women. It was very extraordinary. What a good ear the child must have and what a very observant eye,-rather like her father's, although he had to be a.s.sisted by a microscope. "You won't think it over, I suppose?" she asked finally, long after Lola had believed the subject to be closed. Mothers have an amazing way of recurring to old arguments. But Lola shook her head again and gave a little gesture that was peculiarly French, as who should say, "My dear! Marriage!"

As soon as the shop was opened and Mrs. Breezy was on duty and John Breezy was humming softly over his most monotonous job, Lola went upstairs to the little bedroom which she had completely outgrown now, put on her hat and presently slipped out of the house. All the usual musicians were already at work on the curbstone of Queen's Road. The strains of "Annie Laurie" were mixed with those of "Son o' Mine" and there was one daring creature with a concertina who was desecrating Gounod's "Ave Maria." Perambulators cluttered the pavements and eager housewives were in earnest conversation with butchers and greengrocers who had arranged their wares temptingly outside their shops so that they could be handled and considered and sampled. Lola made her way to Kensington Gardens filled with a desire which had been growing upon her ever since she woke up to make another Cinderella dash into the great world. She was seized with another overpowering eagerness to meet Fallaray on his own level. He was to be in town over the week-end. She knew that. The Government, as though it had not already enough troubles to contend with-Germany haggling and France ready to fly at her throat and America hiding her head in the sand of dead shibboleths like an ostrich-was in the throes of the big strike and its members were hurrying from one conference to another with the labor leaders. Lady Feo away, she had a wonderful chance to use that night and nothing would be easier than to dress once more at Mrs. Rumbold's and slip into her mother's house with a latchkey. But she was not able to go into the Gardens because they had been closed to the public. They had been turned over to the military to be used as a center for the mobilization of supplies. She could see men in khaki everywhere, going about their work with a sort of merry energy. "Back to the army agin, Sergeant, back to the army agin." Unconcerned by the crisis which had fallen upon England and unable to wander along her favorite paths, she turned away just at the moment when a large car, followed by a line of motor busses and heterogeneous traffic, was being held up by a policeman to enable a company of boy scouts to cross the high road. She heard a shout. She saw a man in khaki with a red band round his cap and much bra.s.s on its peak and two long lines of ribbons on his chest become suddenly athletic under the stress of great excitement. The next instant her hand was seized and she looked up. It was Chalfont.

"I was just going to think about you," she said.

"I've never stopped thinking of you," said Chalfont. "What became of you? Where did you go? Where have you been? I searched every hotel in the town. I've been almost through every street, like Gilbert a Beckett, calling your name. Good G.o.d, why have you played with me like this?"

Somehow, for all his height and finish, in spite of his uniform and his big car and his obvious importance, he reminded her of Simpkins. ("Lola, I love you.") The same emotion was in the voice, the same desire in the eyes. What _was_ there in her that made her do this thing to men,-while the one man was unattainable, unapproachable? It was a difficult world.

"I'm very sorry," she said. "I had to go away that night. But I was just on the verge of thinking about you again. You can't think how glad I am to see you."

Still holding her hand as though he would never let her escape, Chalfont mastered his voice. "You little lovely de Breze," he said, not choosing his words. "You strange little bird. I've caught you again and I've a d.a.m.ned good mind to clip your wings and put you in a cage."

And Lola laughed. "I've always been a canary," she said, "and some day you may find me in a cage." But she didn't add, "not your cage, however golden." Fallaray's was the only cage and if that were made of bits of stick it would be golden to her.

"Well, you're back in town. That's the chief thing. Get into my car and I'll drive you home and let's do something to-night. Let's dine at the Savoy or the Carlton. I don't care. Or don't let's dine. Anything you like, so long as you're with me. I've got to go along to the War Office now, but I have my evening off, like any factory hand." And he drew her towards the car, which was waiting by the curb.

"You can drive me as far as Marble Arch," said Lola. "I must leave you there because I want to buy something in Bond Street."

"All right, Bond Street then. I want to buy something there too." He helped her in and said to his man, "Masterman's, quick."

The scout master who had drawn his company up against the railings gave a command as Chalfont helped Lola in. The boys presented arms and Chalfont returned their salute with extreme gravity. "The future strike-breakers of the country," he said. "The best inst.i.tution we've got.-How well you look. Don't you think you might have sent me a line? I felt like a man in a parachute dropping from twenty-two thousand feet in the dark when I found that you had left me. It was rather a rotten trick of yours."

"It was very rotten," said Lola, "but it couldn't be helped, and I may have to do it again. I don't want you to ask me why. I don't want you to ask me anything. There's a wee mystery about me which I must ask you to respect. Don't think about it. Don't let it worry you, but whenever we go out again just let me disappear. One of these days I'll tell you all about it, General, and probably you will be very much amused." She ran her finger along his ribbons and gave him a little smile of respect and admiration which almost made him blush. "Well, then," she added, "what about to-night? I'm free. That's why I was just going to think of you and really wasn't a bit surprised when you suddenly pounced upon me.

Things happen like that, don't they? I can meet you at the Savoy or the Carlton or anywhere else you like. Personally, I'm all for the Carlton."

"The Carlton then," he said. "Seven-thirty, and after that,-what?"

"Let's leave it," said Lola. "I love doing things on the spur of the moment."

"You swear you'll come?"

And Lola made a little cross over her heart.

Chalfont heaved a sigh and settled back and looked at her, longing to touch her, longing, in front of all the world, to draw her into his arms and kiss her lips. G.o.d, if only this girl knew what she had done to him.-And all the while the car bowled along, competing with every other type of car for precedence, all selfish and many badly driven. Lola had no eyes for the undercurrent of excitement that gave the crowds the look that they had worn in the first days of the War or for the outbreak of khaki that lent the streets their old familiar appearance. She was thinking ahead and making plans and tingling at the idea of dipping once more into the current of life.

Masterman's, it turned out, was a florist's shop, filled attractively with lovely blossoms. Chalfont sprang out and gave Lola his hand. "Come in," he said, "and tell them where to send enough flowers to make a garden of your house. Please,-to celebrate my having found you at last."

He wished to Heaven that he might have taken her to Aspray's and covered her with diamonds. He would willingly have gone broke to do her honor.

And one of the men came forward to offer his eager services to one who certainly must be of great importance to appear so plainly dressed.

"How kind of you," said Lola. "Those, then," and she pointed to a bunch of proud red roses that were standing in a vase.

"Is that all?"

"I want to carry them," she said.

Chalfont was almost boyishly disappointed. He would like to have pictured her among a riot of color. He had not brought her there with a Machiavelian desire to hear her give her address. He was not that kind of man. "Won't you have some more?"

But somehow-what was it in her that did these things to men-Lola could see the inn at Wargrave, its orchard and its smooth lawn with little tables under the trees and the silver stream near by, and hear the words, "I love you, Lola; am I good enough--" And she shook her head.

"No more," she said. "They're lovely," took them from the man and put them to her lips.

Chalfont gave his name and followed her to the street. "Now where?" he asked.

Lola held out her hand. "Nowhere else. I'm walking. A thousand thanks.

Seven-thirty, the Carlton then."

And once more Chalfont saluted, not as though to a company of boy scouts but to a queen.

And when he had gone, Lola heaved a great big sigh and put the roses to her heart. If they had come from Chilton Park-if Fallaray had cut them for her-If.

PART V