An Eye for an Eye Part 21

He crossed to the sideboard, mixed a couple of whisky-and-sodas, and handed me one, saying--

"Thirsty weather this. My mouth's as dry as a kipper."

I willingly admitted that the summer dust of London was conducive to the wholesale consumption of liquid, but was nevertheless reflecting upon his remarkable change of manner towards Lily. Something, I believed, had occurred of which he had not told me.

He stretched himself in the armchair, placed his gla.s.s at his elbow, and began to blow a suffocating cloud from his most cherished brier.

"I wish you'd spend sixpence on a new pipe," I said, coughing.

"This one cost fourpence halfpenny in Fleet Street nearly two years ago," he answered, without removing it from his lips. "Don't you like it?"

"My dear fellow, it's awful."

"Ah! So they said at the office the other day. Don't notice it myself."

"But others do. I'll make you a present of a new one to-morrow."

"Don't want it, old chap. Have a drink yourself with the money. This one's quite good enough for me. Besides, it'll keep the moths out of our drawing-room furniture," and he gazed around the shabby apartment, where, from the leather-covered chairs, the mysterious stuffing was in many places peeping forth upon the world.

We smoked on. Although I had been considerably annoyed by what he had told me regarding Lily, his imperturbable good humour caused me to laugh outright, whereat he observed--

"You're really a very funny beggar, Frank. I like you exceedingly, except when you try and dwell upon themes you don't understand. Those who do that are apt to wallow out of their depth. You don't know my reasons for throwing Lil over; therefore it's impossible for you to regale me with any good advice. You understand?"

"But what are your reasons?" I inquired.

"You shall know them before long," he a.s.sured me. "At present I don't intend to say anything."

"This is the first time, d.i.c.k, we've had secrets from each other," I observed gravely.

"No," he answered. "You love the mysterious Eva, and have never told me so. That's a secret, isn't it?"

I was surprised that he had detected my love for her, and rather alarmed, because if he had noticed it others had doubtless remarked it also. Therefore I questioned him, but he only laughed, saying--

"Why, anybody who saw you together down at Riverdene couldn't fail to guess the truth. People have sharp eyes, you know."

I was silent. If this were actually true, then I feared that I had made a hopeless fool of myself, besides wrecking any chance of eliciting those facts which I had set my mind upon revealing at any hazard.

Presently he rose, crossing to his writing-table to scribble a letter, while I, lighting a cigarette, sat silent, still thinking seriously upon the words he had just uttered.

Through the veil of tobacco smoke I seemed to see that fair, smiling face gazing at me, ever the same open countenance, the same clear eyes of childlike blue, the same half-parted mouth that I had first seen on that fatal night in Phillimore Place. In my dream I thought that she beckoned me to her, that she invited me to speak with her, and saw in her eyes a calm, sweet expression--the expression of true womanly love.

It was but the chimera of an instant, a vision produced by my wildly-disordered brain, yet so vivid it seemed that when it faded I glanced across to my companion's bent figure, half fearing that he, too, had witnessed it.

There are times when our imagination plays us such tricks--times when the constant concentration of the mind reaches its climax and is reflected down the aimless vista of our vision, causing us to see the person upon whom our thoughts are centred. Such a moment was this. It aroused within me an instant and intense longing to walk again at her side, to speak to her, to hear her sweet, well-modulated voice--nay, to tell her the deepest secret of my heart.

Thus it was that without invitation, or without previous introduction to Lady Glaslyn, I called at the Hollies on the following afternoon. A neat maid showed me into a cosy, rather small sitting-room, and for a few moments I remained there in expectancy. Although the house was not a large one it bore no stamp of the _nouveau riche_. It was exceedingly well-furnished, and surrounded by s.p.a.cious grounds, wherein were a number of old yews and beeches. Old-fashioned, queer in its bygone taste, it had stood there on the broad highway from historic Hampton to London for probably a century and a half, being built in the days when the villadom of Fulwell had not yet arisen, and Twickenham was still a quiet village with its historic ferry, and where the stage-coaches changed horses at that low-built old hostelry, the _King's Head_. The place stood back from the dusty-high road, half-hidden from the curious gaze, yet, surrounded as it now was by smaller houses, some of them mere cottages, while a few cheap shops had also sprung up in the vicinity, the place was not really a desirable place of abode. The district had apparently sadly degenerated, like all places in the immediate vicinity of the Metropolis.

Before long the door opened, and Eva, looking cool and sweet in a washing dress of white drill, and wearing a straw hat with black band, entered and greeted me cordially.

"Mother is out," she said. "I'm so awfully sorry, as I wanted to introduce you. She's gone over to Riverdene, and I, too, was just about to follow her. If you'd been five minutes later I should have left."

"I'm lucky then to have just caught you," I remarked. "But if you're going to Riverdene, may I not accompany you?"

"Most certainly," she answered. "Of course I shall be delighted," and the light in her clear blue eyes told me that she was not averse to my company. She ordered a gla.s.s of port for me, and then said, "It's a whole week since you've been down there. Mary has several times mentioned you, and wondered whether you'd grown sick of boating."

"I've been rather busy," I said apologetically.

"Busy with murders and all sorts of horribles, I suppose," she observed with a smile.

"Yes," I answered, regarding her closely. "Of late there have been one or two sensational mysteries brought to light!"

"Mysteries!" she exclaimed, starting slightly. "Oh, do tell me about them. I'm always interested in mysteries."

"The facts are in the papers," I answered, disinclined to repeat stories which had already grown stale. "The mysteries to which I referred were very ordinary ones, containing no features of particular interest."

"I'm always interested in those kind of things," she said. "You may think me awfully foolish, but I always read them. Mother grows so annoyed."

"It's only natural!" I answered. "We who are engaged on newspapers, however, soon cease to be interested in the facts we print, but of course, if they didn't interest the public our papers wouldn't have any circulation."

She glanced at me, and a vague thought possessed me, for the look in her eyes was one of suspicion.

When she had drawn on her gloves we together went forth through the garden and down to the road. Suddenly it occurred to me that we might go by train to Shepperton, and thence take a boat and row up to Riverdene. This I suggested, and she gladly welcomed the proposal, declaring that it would be much more pleasant than driving along the dusty, shadowless road from Shepperton to Laleham.

Half an hour later we were afloat at Shepperton, and although the afternoon sun was blazing hot, it was nevertheless delightful on the water. With her lilac sunshade open she lolled lazily in the stern, laughing and chatting as I pulled regularly against the stream. Her conversation was always charming, and her countenance, I thought, fresher and more beautiful at that hour than I had ever before seen.

About her manner was an air of irresponsibility, and when she laughed it was so gay a laugh that one would not dream that she had a single care in all the world. She was dainty from the crown of her hat to the tip of her white _suede_ shoe, and as I sat in the boat before her, I felt constrained to take her in my arms and imprint a fervent kiss of love upon those sweet lips, arched and well-formed as a child's.

My position, however, was, to say the least, an exceedingly strange one.

I was actually loving a woman whom I suspected to be guilty of some unknown but dastardly crime. Dozens of times had I tried to impress upon myself the utter folly of it, but my mind refused to be convinced or set at rest. I loved her; that was sufficient. Nothing against her had been proved, and until that had been done, ought not I, in human justice, to consider her innocent?

Indeed, it was impossible to believe that this bright-eyed, pure-faced girl before me, light-hearted, and graceful in every movement, had actually secretly visited that dark little den in the Walworth Road and purchased a drug for the purpose of taking the life of one of her fellow-creatures. Yet she wore at her throat the small enamelled brooch with its five of diamonds, the ornament described by old Lowry, the ornament which she had told me she had purchased as a souvenir at one of the fashionable jewellers in the Montagne de la Cour in Brussels.

We had pa.s.sed both locks, and were heading up to Laleham, when we suddenly glided into the cool shade of some willows, the boughs of which overhung the stream. The shadow was welcome after the sun glare, and resting upon the oars I removed my hat.

"Yes," she said, noticing my actions, "we've come up unusually quick.

Let's stay here a little time, it is so pleasant. The breeze seems quite cool."

Let it be punt, canoe or skiff, what more delightful than to moor oneself snugly in the leafy shade, and with a pleasant companion "laze"

away the hours until the time comes to take up the sculls and gently pull against the placid stream. Everything was so peaceful, so quiet, the ripple of the sculls alone breaking the stillness. Yet, after all, what a change has come over the river in recent years! Good "pitches"

for anglers and quiet nooks for the lazy were, ten years ago, to be discovered in every reach. Now they must be diligently sought for, and when found a note must be made of them. Warning boards notifying that landing or mooring alongside is prohibited were almost unknown, now they greet one in every direction. It is a pity; nevertheless there are still many real joys in river life.

So we remained there beneath the willows, where the water was white with lilies and the bank with its brambles was covered with wild flowers, and as I "lazed" I looked into those clear blue eyes wherein my gaze became lost, for she held me in fascination. I loved her with all my soul.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THIS HAPLESS WORLD.

How it came about I can really scarcely tell. I remember uttering mere commonplaces, stammering at first as the bashful schoolboy stammers, then growing more bold, until at length I threw all ceremony and reserve to the winds, and grasping her tiny hand raised it to my lips.

"No," she said, somewhat coldly, drawing it away with more force than I should have suspected. "This is extremely foolish, Mr. Urwin. It is, of course, my fault. I've been wrong in acting as I have done."