The Imaginary Marriage Part 18

"Haven't I told you? I hated the thought of you having to work for such a man as Slotman. I am thankful you are freed from any such need."

She had wronged him by that thought, she was glad to realise it. He had not known, then.

"My uncle died. He left me his fortune and the old home of our family, which he had recently bought back, Starden Hall, in Kent. I am living there now with Mrs. Everard, my friend and companion, and now--"

While she had been waiting to be served with a bag that she did not particularly require, Helen Everard watched them through the shop-window. She watched him particularly.

"I like him; he looks honest," she thought. "It is all strange and curious. If it were not true what Lady Linden said, why did she say it?

If it is true, then--then why--what is the cause of the quarrel between them? Will they make it up? He does not look like a man who could treat a woman badly. Oh dear!" Helen sighed, for she had her own plans. Like every good woman, she was a born matchmaker at heart. She had a deep and sincere affection for John Everard. She had decided long ago that she must find Johnny a good wife, and here had been the very thing, only there was this Mr. Hugh Alston.

She had been served with the bag, it had been wrapped in paper for her, and now Helen came out. She had lingered as long as she could to give this man every chance.

"I am afraid I have been a long time, Joan," she began.

Hugh turned to her eagerly.

"Mrs.--Everard," he said, "I have been trying to induce Miss Meredyth to come and have lunch with me."

"Oh!" Joan cried. The word lunch had never pa.s.sed his lips till now, and she looked at him angrily.

"I suggest Prince's," he said. "Let's get a taxi and go there now."

"Thank you, I do not require any lunch," Joan said.

"But I do, my dear. I am simply famished," said Helen.

It was like a base betrayal, but she felt that she must help this good-looking young man who looked at her so pleadingly.

"And it is always so much nicer to have a gentleman escort, isn't it?"

"You can't refuse now, Joan," Hugh said.

Joan! The name suggested to Helen that Joan had not spoken quite the truth when she had told General Bartholomew that she and this man were practically strangers. A strange man does not usually call a young girl by her Christian name.

"As you like," Joan said indifferently. She looked at Hugh resentfully.

"I do not consider it is either very clever or very considerate," she said in a low voice, intended for him alone.

"I am sorry, but--but I couldn't let you go yet. You--you don't understand, Joan!" he stammered.

She shrugged her shoulders; she went with them because she must. She could not create a scene, but she would take her revenge. She promised herself that, and she did. She scarcely spoke a word during the luncheon. She ate nothing; she looked about her with an air of indifference. Twice she deliberately yawned behind her hand, hoping that he would notice; and he did, and it hurt him cruelly, as she hoped it might.

But she kept the worst sting for the last.

"Please," she said to the waiter, "make out the bills separately--mine and this lady's together, and the gentleman's by itself."

"Joan!" he said, as the waiter went his way, and his voice was shocked and hurt.

"Oh really, you could hardly expect that I would wish you to spend any of your--eight thousand a year on me!"

Hugh flushed. He bent his head. His eight thousand a year that once he had held out as a bait to her, and yet, Heaven knew, he had not meant it so. He had only meant to be frank with her.

He was hurt and stung, as she meant he should be, and seeing it, her heart misgave her, and she was sorry. But it was too late, and she must not confess weakness now.

There was a cold look in his face, a bitterness about his mouth she had never seen before. When he rose he held out his hand to Mrs. Everard; he thanked her for coming here with him, and then he gave Joan the coldest of cold bows. He held no hand out to her, he had no speech for her. Only one word, one word that once before he had flung at her, and now flung into her face again.

"Ungenerous!" he said, so that she alone could hear, and then he was gone, and Helen looked after him. And then, turning, she glanced at Joan, and saw that there were tears in the girl's grey eyes.

CHAPTER XIX

THE INVESTIGATIONS OF MR. SLOTMAN

"And who the d.i.c.kens," said Lady Linden, "is Mister--Philip what's-his-name? I can't see it--what's his name, Marjorie?" Lady Linden held out the card to the girl.

"It--it is--Slotman, auntie," Marjorie said.

"Don't sniff, child. You've got a cold; go up to my room, and in the medical--"

"I haven't a cold, auntie."

"Don't talk to me. Go and get a dose of ammoniated tincture of quinine.

As for this Mr. Slotman--unpleasant name--what the d.i.c.kens does he want of me?"

Marjorie did not answer.

Slotman was being shewn into the drawing-room a few moments later. He was wearing his best clothes and best manner. This Lady Linden was an aristocratic dame, and Mr. Slotman had come for the express purpose of making himself very agreeable.

"Oily-looking wretch!" her ladyship thought. "Well?" she asked aloud.

"I am grateful to your ladyship for permitting me to see you."

"Well, you can see me if that's all you have come for."

"No!" he said. "If--if I--" He paused.

"Oh, sit down!" said Lady Linden. "Well, now what is it you want? Have you something to sell? Books, sewing machines?"

"No, no!" He waved a deprecating hand. "I am come on a matter that interests me greatly. I am a financier, I have offices in London. Until lately I was employing a young lady on my staff."

"Well?"

"Her name was Meredyth, Miss Joan Meredyth."

"I don't want to hear anything at all about her," said Lady Linden. "Why you come to me, goodness only knows. If you've come for information I haven't got any. If you want information, the right person to go to is her husband!"