A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus Part 40

Now I'll give you your orders for the day, and don't you forget them.

To-morrow (Thursday, 14th, no excuses about the date) you will leave your office at 3.30. I know that you can when you like. You will drive to Mariani's, and you will find me at the door. We shall go up to our old private room, and we shall have tea together, and a dear old chat about all sorts of things. So come! But if you don't, there is a train which leaves Waterloo at 6.10 and reaches Woking at 7. I will come by it and be just in time for dinner. What a joke it will be!

Good-bye, old boy! I hope your wife does not read your letters, or this will rather give her fits.

- Yours as ever, VIOLET WRIGHT.

At the first reading this letter filled him with anger. To be wooed by a very pretty woman is pleasant even to the most austere of married men (and never again trust the one who denies it), but to be wooed with a very dangerous threat mixed up with the wooing is no such pleasant experience. And it was no empty threat. Violet was a woman who prided herself upon being as good as her word. She had laughingly said with her accustomed frankness upon one occasion that it was her sole remaining virtue. If he did not go to Mariani's, she would certainly come to Woking. He shuddered to think of Maude being annoyed by her. It was one thing to speak in a general way to his wife of prematrimonial experiences, and it was another to have this woman forcing herself upon her and making a scene. The idea was so vulgar. The sweet, pure atmosphere of The Lindens would never be the same again.

No, there was no getting out of it. He must go to Mariani's. He was sufficiently master of himself to know that no harm could come of that. His absolute love for his wife shielded him from all danger.

The very thought of infidelity nauseated him. And then, as the idea became more familiar to him, other emotions succeeded that of anger.

There was an audacity about his old flame, a spirit and devilment, which appealed to his sporting instincts. Besides, it was complimentary to him, and flattering to his masculine vanity, that she should not give him up without a struggle. Merely as a friend it would not be disagreeable to see her again. Before he had reached Clapham Junction his anger had departed, and by the time that he arrived at Waterloo he was surprised to find himself looking forward to the interview.

Mariani's is a quiet restaurant, famous for its lachryma christi spumante, and situated in the network of sombre streets between Drury Lane and Covent Garden. The fact of its being in a by-street was not unfavourable to its particular cla.s.s of business. Its customers were very free from the modern vice of self-advertis.e.m.e.nt, and would even take some trouble to avoid publicity. Nor were they gregarious or luxurious in their tastes. A small, simple apartment was usually more to their taste than a crowded salon, and they were even prepared to pay a higher sum for it.

It was five minutes to four when Frank arrived, and the lady had not yet appeared. He stood near the door and waited. Presently a hansom rattled into the narrow street, and there she sat framed in its concavity. A pretty woman never looks prettier than in a hansom, with the shadows behind to give their Rembrandt effect to the face in front. She raised a yellow kid hand, and flashed a smile at him.

'Just the same as ever,' said she, as he handed her down.

'So are you.'

'So glad you think so. I am afraid I can't quite agree with you.

Thirty-four yesterday. It's simply awful. Thank you, I have some change. All right, cabby. Well, have you got a room?'

'No.'

'But you'll come?'

'Oh yes, I should like to have a chat.'

The clean-shaven, round-faced manager, a man of suave voice and diplomatic manner, was standing in the pa.s.sage. His strange life was spent in standing in the pa.s.sage. He remembered the pair at once, and smiled paternally.

'Not seen you for some time, sir!'

'No, I have been engaged.'

'Married,' said the lady.

'Dear me!' said the proprietor. 'Tea, sir?'

'And m.u.f.fins. You used to like the m.u.f.fins.'

'Oh yes, m.u.f.fins by all means.'

'Number ten,' said the proprietor, and a waiter showed them upstairs.

'All meals nine shillings each,' he whispered, as Frank pa.s.sed him at the door. He was a new waiter, and so mistook every one for a new customer, which is an error which runs through life.

It was a dingy little room with a round table covered by a soiled cloth in the middle. Two windows, discreetly blinded, let in a dim London light. An armchair stood at each side of the empty fireplace, and an uncomfortable, old-fashioned, horsehair sofa lined the opposite wall. There were pink vases upon the mantelpiece, and a portrait of Garibaldi above it.

The lady sat down and took off her gloves. Frank stood by the window and smoked a cigarette. The waiter rattled and banged and jingled with the final effect of producing a tea-tray and a hot-water dish.

'You'll ring if you want me, sir,' said he, and shut the door with ostentatious completeness.

'Now we can talk,' said Frank, throwing his cigarette into the fireplace. 'That waiter was getting on my nerves.'

'I say, I hope you're not angry.'

'What at?'

'Well, my saying I should come down to Woking, and all that.'

'I should have been angry if I thought you had meant it.'

'Oh, I meant it right enough.'

'But with what object?'

'Just to get level with you, Frankie, if you threw me over too completely. Hang it all, she has three hundred and sixty-five days in the year! Am I to be grudged a single hour?'

'Well, Violet, we won't quarrel about it. You see I came all right.

Pull up your chair and have some tea.'

'You haven't even looked at me yet. I won't take any tea until you do.'

She stood up in front of him, and pushed up her veil. It was a face and a figure worth looking at. Hazel eyes, dark chestnut hair, a warm flush of pink in her cheeks, the features and outline of an old Grecian G.o.ddess, but with more of Juno than of Venus, for she might perhaps err a little upon the side of opulence. There was a challenge and defiance dancing in those dark devil-may-care eyes of hers which might have roused a more cold-blooded man than her companion. Her dress was simple and dark, but admirably cut. She was clever enough to know that a pretty woman should concentrate attention upon herself, and a plain one divert it to her adornments.

'Well?'

'By Jove, Violet, you look splendid.'

'Well?'

'The m.u.f.fins are getting cold.'

'Frankie, what IS the matter with you?'

'Nothing is the matter.'

'Well?'

She put out her two hands and took hold of his. That well-remembered sweet, subtle scent of hers rose to his nostrils. There is nothing more insidious than a scent which carries suggestions and a.s.sociations. 'Frankie, you have not kissed me yet.'

She turned her smiling face upwards and sideways, and for an instant he leaned forward towards it. But he had himself in hand again in a moment. It gave him confidence to find how quickly and completely he could do it. With a laugh, still holding her two hands, he pushed her back into the chair by the table.

'There's a good girl!' said he. 'Now we'll have some tea, and I'll give you a small lecture while we do so.'

'You are a nice one to give lectures.'

'Oh, there's no such preacher as a converted sinner.'