If Winter Don't Part 3

"Jumped it," said Jona, and laughed again.

"Sorry," said Lord Tyburn, "but I must rush off. I've just spotted my agent, five fields away. So long, Sharper. Come up and inspect us soon."

He drove the car up the gra.s.sy slope, smashed a way through the hedge--after all, it was his own hedge--and vanished.

"He drives wonderfully," said Luke.

"He's that kind," said Jona. "He does everything well. He does himself well. Are you glad to see me again, Lukie?"

The tips of his ears crept slowly forward. "I shall have to think for a long time to know that I really am to see you again."

"'Fraid I can't wait a long time," said Jona. "See you again soon."

She waved her hand to him and drove off.

Luke rode on as if in a dream. Suddenly he became aware that he had pa.s.sed the door of his office. He thought of turning round in the street and riding back, but he had turned round in the street once before, and a great number of people had been hurt. He dismounted and walked back.

As his custom was, he knocked at the door of Mr. Diggle's room and entered. Mr. Diggle, who still retained much of his schoolmaster manner, sat at his desk with his back to Sharper. He did not look round.

"That you, Sharper?" he said.

"Yes, sir. Good morning," said Sharper.

Diggle went on writing for a minute in silence, and then said drearily: "Well, what is it?"

"Please can I have that partnership now?" asked Sharper.

"Not to-day. Don't fidget with your hands. Keep your ears quiet, if possible. Close the door gently as you go out."

Luke went gloomily back to his own room. He had not done himself justice. He never did do himself justice with Diggle. Diggle made him feel as if he were fifteen.

But thoughts of Diggle did not long occupy his mind. Once more he seemed to be standing in the road, with the warm fragrance of petrol and lubricating oil playing on his face. Once more he saw her.

Jona.

Some would have hesitated to call her beautiful. To Luke she was all the beauty in the world. Concentrated. At one time Jona had had the chance of marrying him, but apparently she did not know a good thing when she saw it. Tyburn had the t.i.tle and the property, and was better-looking and more amusing, and had stationary ears. But had he the character of a child martyr? He had not. Now Luke was great at martyrdom; also at childishness.

For nearly an hour Luke sat with his ma.n.u.script before him. He was writing another elegant little brochure. This one dealt with the jam-pots of Ancient a.s.syria. During that hour he did not write one single word, but thought continuously of Jona.

He pulled himself up abruptly. Why, he was married to Mabel. Of course, he was. It was just as if he could not trust his memory for anything these days. He had been rather rude to Mabel at breakfast.

Well, not rude exactly, but not friendly. Mrs. Smith had a sable stole. He ought to have said something about it. He must try at once to think of something that would be said about a sable stole.

He must make it up to Mabel in some way. What could he give her? He could give her more of his society. He would stop work, go back to her at once, and be just as nice as nice could be.

He put on his hat, and met Diggle in the pa.s.sage.

"Where are you going?" said Diggle.

"I was going home, sir," said Luke, "I'm not very well this morning."

(For a Christian martyr he certainly did lie like sin.)

"Don't let it occur again," said Diggle.

He encountered Mabel in the hall of his house. She had a letter in her hand. She seemed surprised to see him, and very far from pleased.

"What in goodness are you here for?" she said. "Forgotten something?"

He set his teeth. In spite of discouragement, he was going to be very nice indeed.

"I am afraid," he said, "I rather forgot my manners at breakfast this morning. Sorry."

"I didn't notice they were any worse than usual. You surely didn't come back to say that?"

"Oh, no. I thought we'd take a holiday together. Like old times, what?

We'll go for a nice long walk, and take a packet of sandwiches and----"

"Oh, don't be silly. I can't possibly go out. Probably Mr. Doom Dagshaw is coming to lunch."

"He's a d.a.m.ned sweep," said Luke impulsively, and corrected himself.

"I mean to say, he's not a man whose society I'm particularly anxious to cultivate."

"How was I to know you would come barging in like this? I never wanted you to meet him."

More self-control needed.

"I shall be perfectly pleasant and chatty to him," said Luke resolutely.

"This letter's just come for you," said Mabel. "The address is in Lady Tyburn's handwriting."

He blushed profusely. His ears waved to and fro. Why on earth had not Jona warned him that this was going to happen?

"Read it," said Mabel.

He glanced through it. It was very brief.

"Well?" asked Mabel.

"It's nothing. Nothing at all."

"I should like to see it, if you don't mind."

She took the letter and read aloud: "Lukie, dear. Just back from two years' travel. You two might blow in to lunch one day. Any old day.

Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Jona."

"Most extraordinary," said Mabel. "Why does she call you Lukie?"

"Well, d.a.m.n it all," said Luke, "she couldn't call me lucky. Oh, what does it matter? We were boy and girl together. Innocent friends of long standing."