Helena Brett's Career Part 27

She refused to argue this; she felt that it was mean. "What am I to do," she said, "all these lonely afternoons?"

"I should send for your good friend Alison," he answered with a grim humour, and went out to his own room.

Helena sighed, a sigh of despair; then she got up with more energy than during all these days, buoyed by a resolve.

Anything was better than inaction. Even a row would not be so awful as this freezing calmness! She would do something--must!

She took his advice. She went to the telephone and left a message with the Studio porter. She asked Mr. Alison to tea.

Then she went back to the drawing-room, and as she tidied the neglected flowers there was on her tight-pressed lips the whole eternal mystery of the sphinx-woman.

He arrived punctually to the moment--one second after the tea-urn--secretly nervous but outwardly full of a relieved delight. "I am forgiven then?" he cried, and she felt cheered already. It was something to talk. Besides, he really _did_ look funny.... He laid on the table some roses he had bought and now had not the courage to present.

"I'm afraid I was a pig," she answered, n.o.bly. One feud was quite enough for her. "I know you never meant to do it and you were awfully good about it all till then. You helped me such a lot."

"And I hope to do the same again," he said with an absurd little bow.

"Not give me away again?" she asked, mainly as a good excuse for smiling. But really she felt happier already. Tea smelt almost good again!

He looked at her with the reproachful eyes of a whipped hound. "You know I shouldn't, you know I never meant to. And I'm afraid you'll never trust me any more." He sighed cavernally.

"That's just what I'm going to do," she said, and then she could not refrain from laughing, for he looked so alarmed at new responsibility.

"Oh, nothing like the other," she went on gaily, "this is a most harmless secret."

"What is it?" he answered keenly. "Tell me?" He hoped that Brett was teaing out somewhere.

"Well," said Helena, giving him his tea, "you know you said I ought to follow up the other with a second book and I said no? Well, now I think I will." She felt heroic and excited, merely saying it. It was her new resolve.

"Hooray!" cried Geoffrey Alison, catching some of the great moment's fire. "Blatchley _will_ be bucked. He was immensely keen."

"Bother Blatchley," answered Helena. "I think he has behaved disgracefully and it is all his fault. But I can't stand this any longer; Hugh won't even speak to me; besides, if I write other books about quite different husbands, n.o.body can say they are all us."

"Excellent," said the other, grasping the involved idea at once, "and so----"

Helena laughed. "So now I'm going to write one about a woman married to an artist, and you must give me all the local colour."

"Shall _I_ be Zoe's husband?" he asked eagerly. It still pleased him to say things like that.

"Oh no," she said, unconsciously ruthless, "no more than Hugh was the first; but I mean you must tell me what--well, what artists do."

"They paint," he answered gravely; and that made her laugh again. Ally was not a man to trust; she had been a real fool; but he was splendid company. He told her everything that artists did. He made her laugh a lot. Those endless hours of misery seemed nightmares of the past--until she was alone again.

But when business released Hubert Brett conveniently in time for their silent meal, he found in the hall a wife somehow less broken and submissive; less the girl-penitent serving a long sentence, much more a woman with secret laughter playing round the hard lines of her mouth.

"I'm glad you've got back," she said in the usual tone. "I took your advice and asked Mr. Alison to tea."

He had the sense to make no answer. But back in his study, he was weak enough to slam the door. And she was glad to hear it.

CHAPTER XXIV

BATTLE ROYAL

Geoffrey Alison felt very well content as he rang the bell and hastily fluffed out his hair. He was the bringer of good tidings and everything in general was going as it ought to go. Zoe was quite her old self again (would even let him call her that), had recovered from her silly temper, seen that he was not to blame, and now looked like making a bit of a stand against the conceited swine Brett, whom she had seen through finally.

He beamed on Lily, who remained impa.s.sive. There were, to her expressed mind, men and men. Mr. Alison, she had told Cook, was of the second kind.

"Is Mrs. Brett at home?" he asked.

"Mr. Brett, did you say, sir?" asked Lily. Humour is a wonderful a.s.sistance to those whose work is with the daily round.

"No; _Mrs._," he replied, dwelling upon the sibilants in a way to delight an elocution-tutor.

He certainly did not want to see Brett, he told himself as Lily finally held the door open. He had not seen him since the crash, and fellows who had met him in the tube said that he was pretty surly. Geoffrey Alison did not like surly people--nor had he quite forgotten that scene in the garden.

Now whether it was that in his general delight with life he rang the bell with more than customary vigour and so brought out the owner of the house, or whether (as seems probable) there is some devilish telepathy that always tinkles into people's heads the exact thought one most wishes to avoid--whatever the cause, as in Lily's wake Geoffrey Alison stepped quietly past the study door this morning, it opened and Hubert looked out with something between suspicion and alarm upon his worried features.

Geoffrey Alison instinctively took a step backward.

The owner of the house, however, merely looked at him as though he had been dirt.

"Oh, it's you, Alison," he said, not holding out his hand; and then with an obvious sneer, "As busy as ever?" With which he put his head back and promptly shut the door. He might have acted thus if it had been the plumber--and he had wanted to change plumbers.

The other, naturally upset, poured this out instantly to Helena.

"Just like him, isn't it?" he said.

Helena would not be drawn to disloyalty, even about trifles.

"Hugh's such a worker," she said. "He thinks of nothing but his writing."

The artist, who was never busy, snorted. "He certainly does not think much about his wife," he answered. Extraordinary how a hog like Brett could keep the respect of a dear little girl like this!

"Well, what news have _you_ got?" she enquired, to change the subject.

That reminded him. That scene with the great beast Brett had quite thrown the good news out of his head; but now, remembering, he won back his complacency.

"Capital!" he said, sitting down happily and pulling up his trousers to show light grey socks. Life was itself again. "Couldn't be better.

What do you think? Guess."

"It might be anything at all, you see," she said with desolating common sense. "I never guess; it's only wasting time; so tell me."

"Well," began Geoffrey Alison, a little crushed, "I called along yesterday, after our talk, to tell Blatchley he had acted like a common cad."

"I don't see that's so very splendid," she objected. "You might have done it sooner, and anyhow he must have known that all the time. He only did it to get money, and he's getting it."