A Millionaire of Yesterday Part 39

"I hope," she said, "that your cigarette restored your spirits. You are not going to be as dull all the evening as you were at dinner, are you?"

He sighed a little wistfully. "I'd like to talk to you," he said simply, "but somehow to-night... you know it was much easier when you were a journalist from the 'Hour'."

"Well, that is what I am now," she said, laughing. "Only I can't get away from all my old friends at once. The day after to-morrow I shall be back at work."

"Do you mean it?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course I do! You don't suppose I find this sort of thing particularly amusing, do you? Hasn't it ever occurred to you that there must be a terrible sameness about people who have been brought up amongst exactly the same surroundings and taught to regard life from exactly the same point of view?"

"But you belong to them--you have their instincts."

"I may belong to them in some ways, but you know that I am a revolted daughter. Haven't I proved it? Haven't I gone out into the world, to the horror of all my relatives, for the sole purpose of getting a firmer grip of life? And yet, do you know, Mr. Trent, I believe that to-night you have forgotten that. You have remembered my present character only, and, in despair of interesting a fashionable young lady, you have not talked to me at all, and I have been very dull."

"It is quite true," he a.s.sented. "All around us they were talking of things of which I knew nothing, and you were one of them."

"How foolish! You could have talked to me about Fred and the road-making in Africa and I should have been more interested than in anything they could have said to me."

They were pa.s.sing a brilliantly-lit corner, and the light flashed upon his strong, set face with its heavy eyebrows and firm lips. He leaned back and laughed hoa.r.s.ely. Was it her fancy, she wondered, or did he seem not wholly at his ease.

"Haven't I told you a good deal? I should have thought that Fred and I between us had told you all about Africa that you would care to hear."

She shook her head. What she said next sounded to him, in a certain sense, enigmatic.

"There is a good deal left for you to tell me," she said. "Some day I shall hope to know everything."

He met her gaze without flinching.

"Some day," he said, "I hope you will."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

The carriage drew up at the theatre and he handed her out--a little awkwardly perhaps, but without absolute clumsiness. They found all the rest of the party already in their seats and the curtain about to go up.

They took the two end stalls, Trent on the outside. One chair only, next to him, remained unoccupied.

"You people haven't hurried," Lady Tresham remarked, leaning forward.

"We are in time at any rate," Ernestine answered, letting her cloak fall upon the back of the stall.

The curtain was rung up and the play began. It was a modern society drama, full of all the most up-to-date fashionable jargon and topical illusions. Trent grew more and more bewildered at every moment.

Suddenly, towards the end of the first act, a fine dramatic situation leaped out like a tongue of fire. The interest of the whole audience, up to then only mildly amused, became suddenly intense. Trent sat forward in his seat. Ernestine ceased to fan herself. The man and the woman stood face to face--the light badinage which had been pa.s.sing between them suddenly ended--the man, with his sin stripped bare, mercilessly exposed, the woman, his accuser, pa.s.sionately eloquent, pouring out her scorn upon a mute victim. The audience knew what the woman in the play did not know, that it was for love of her that the man had sinned, to save her from a terrible danger which had hovered very near her life.

The curtain fell, the woman leaving the room with a final taunt flung over her shoulder, the man seated at a table looking steadfastly into the fire with fixed, unseeing eyes. The audience drew a little breath and then applauded; the orchestra struck up and a buzz of conversation began.

It was then that Ernestine first noticed how absorbed the man at her side had become. His hands were gripping the arms of the stall, his eyes were fixed upon the spot somewhere behind the curtain where this sudden little drama had been played out, as though indeed they could pierce the heavy upholstery and see beyond into the room where the very air seemed quivering still with the vehemence of the woman's outpoured scorn.

Ernestine spoke to him at last, the sound of her voice brought him back with a start to the present.

"You like it?"

"The latter part," he answered. "What a sudden change! At first I thought it rubbish, afterwards it was wonderful!"

"Hubert is a fine actor," she remarked, fanning herself. "It was his first opportunity in the play, and he certainly took advantage of it."

He turned deliberately round in his seat towards her, and she was struck with the forceful eagerness of his dark, set face.

"The man," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "sinned for the love of the woman.

Was he right? Would a woman forgive a man who deceived her for her own sake--when she knew?"

Ernestine held up her programme and studied it deeply.

"I cannot tell," she said, "it depends."

Trent drew a little breath and turned away. A quiet voice from his other side whispered in his ear--"The woman would forgive if she cared for the man."

Trent turned sharply and the light died out of his voice. Surely it was an evil omen, this man's coming; for it was Captain Francis who had taken the vacant seat and who was watching his astonishment with a somewhat saturnine smile.

"Rather a stupid play, isn't it? By the by, Trent, I wish you would ask Miss Wendermott's permission to present me. I met her young cousin out at Attra."

Ernestine heard and leaned forward smiling. Trent did as he was asked, with set teeth and an ill grace. From then, until the curtain went up for the next act, he had only to sit still and listen.

Afterwards the play scarcely fulfilled the promise of its commencement.

At the third act Trent had lost all interest in it. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He drew a card from his pocket and, scribbling a word or two on it, pa.s.sed it along to Lady Tresham. She leaned forward and smiled approval upon him.

"Delightful!"

Trent reached for his hat and whispered in Ernestine's ear.

"You are all coming to supper with me at the 'Milan,'" he said; "I am going on now to see about it."

She smiled upon him, evidently pleased.

"What a charming idea! But do you mean all of us?"

"Why not?"

He found his carriage outside without much difficulty and drove quickly round to the Milan Restaurant. The director looked doubtful.

"A table for eighteen, sir! It is quite too late to arrange it, except in a private room."

"The ladies prefer the large room," Trent answered decidedly, "and you must arrange it somehow. I'll give you carte blanche as to what you serve, but it must be of the best."

The man bowed. This must be a millionaire, for the restaurant was the "Milan."

"And the name, sir?"