The Brother of Daphne Part 57

She tried not to laugh.

"I've given it, you silly man."

"My dear, I come in on the eye. It's most important. You must give it to me, because I've got to give it back to you in a second or two."

She gave it me exquisitely.

"'There are with whom I can be more than gentle, madam.'"

Here I returned the eye with vigour.

"'What manner of men are these you favour?'"

"'They are not men, madam. Neither are they favoured of me.

"'Of whom, then?'"

"'Of Heaven, madam, and at birth. I mean fair women."'

"Such as--"

"'Such as you, madam.'"

The way she said 'Hush!' at that was a flash of genius. It was indescribably eloquent. She forbade and invited in the same breath.

It was wonderful, and it made me Buckingham. And Buckingham it brought to her feet. Little wonder. It would have brought a cardinal. In the pa.s.sionate rhetoric of my lines I wooed her, sitting there on the tree trunk, her head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, and always the faint smile that sends a man mad. I never had to tell her to rise. To the line she swayed towards me. To the line she slipped into my arms.

She even raised her lips to mine at the last. Then, as I stooped for the kiss, she placed her two small hands firmly on my face and pushed me away.

"Very nice, indeed," she said. "You know your lines well, and you know how to speak them. Hare, I think you're going to be rather good."

I wiped the perspiration off my forehead.

"You made me good, then. I shall never give such a show again."

"Of course you will."

"Never! Never, Alice! But you--you're wonderful. Good Heavens, la.s.s, this might be the two hundredth night you'd played the part. Are you some great one I've not recognized? And will you sign a picture-postcard for our second housemaid--the one who saw 'Buzz-Buzz'

eighteen times?"

"What! Not the one with fair hair?"

"And flat feet? The very one. Junket, her name is. By Curds out of Season. My mistake. I was thinking of our beagle. Don't think I'm quite mad. I'm only drunk. You're the wine."

"The Queen is, you mean."

"No, no--you, Alice."

She looked at her wrist-watch.

"Oh, all right," I said. "The Queen's the wine, the play's the thing.

Anything you like. Only I'm tired of play-acting, and I only want to talk to Alice. Come and let me introduce Pomfret."

"He hasn't been here all the time?"

"Waiting in the road."

"Oh, he's a horse."

I laughed by way of answer, and we walked to where Pomfret stood, patient, immobile. I introduced him elaborately. My lady swept him a curtsey.

"I have to thank you for lending me your rug, Pomfret," she said.

I replied for the little chap:

"It's not my rug; I am but the bail--"

"That's all right. Is your master nice to you?"

"But yes, lady. Don't you like him?"

"He seems to mean well."

"Isn't that rather unkind?" said Pomfret.

"I'm not in the witness-box now."

"Then there's no reason why you shouldn't tell the truth."

"Really, Pomfret!"

"Forgive me, Alice. I'm only a young car, and sometimes, when the petrol gets into my tank--"

"I hope you don't take more than you should."

"I'm sober enough to see you've got a fine pair of headlights."

"I'm afraid you're of rather a coming-on disposition, Pomfret."

"Oh, I can do my thirty-five. His licence will show you that.

"Oh, Pomfret, did you get it endorsed?"

"It was his own fault. Kept egging me on all the time, and then, when we were stopped, tells the police that it's a physical impossibility for me to do more than fifteen. And I had to stand there and hear him say it! He told me afterwards that it was only a facon de parler, but I was angry. I simply shook with anger, the radiator was boiling, too, and one of the tires burst with rage."

"And I suppose the petrol pipe was choked with emotion."

"And the engine almost throttled in consequence. But that is another story. And now, won't you let me take you for a little run? My clutch is not at all fierce."

My companion leaned against Pomfret's hood and laughed.