The Limit Part 17

"No, dear--that's a little mistake. I told you his father had _taken_ to farming--as a hobby. Besides, that's just what I mean--a fine old yeoman stock--the backbone of the country."

"Why are you praising up this Mr. Backbone--or Rathbone--so much? Is he in love with you?"

Flora laughed coquettishly, putting on her Russian Princess manner. It was voluble, disdainful, and condescending. She often changed, quite suddenly, from an _ingenue_ to a _grande dame_, and then to an adventuress and back again before you knew where you were.

"Of course he's in love with me. What of that? Poor boy, he must take his chance like the others! '_La violette double, double----_' Oh, I forgot, dear. I beg your pardon."

"What's he coming here for?" pursued the relentless mother.

Miss Lus...o...b.. now became a soubrette of a somewhat hooligan type, and pretended to throw a little feather duster she was holding into the depths of the arm-chair.

"That remains to be seen. But I'm a girl who knows how to take care of herself. I shall keep him in his place, old dear. Don't you worry."

"I don't."

There was a ring at the door. Flora blushed genuinely, and put some powder on. She became sweet and tactful again, and refined, the amiable woman of the world. She helped her mother out of the arm-chair, quite unnecessarily, but perhaps to hurry her departure.

"You'd better leave us alone now, darling," she said, "and girlie will tell you all about it afterwards."

Mrs. Lus...o...b.. ran like a hare through a side door.

The servant announced, throwing open the folding doors, "Mr. Rathbone."

In two seconds the feather-duster was behind a screen, and Flora, looking really very handsome--she was, as usual in the daytime, in semi-evening dress--was reading a little book covered in old vellum, and kept for the purpose of her being found reading it. She put it down and welcomed her guest charmingly.

Rathbone, looking very fair and pink and rather determined, had brought with him a kind of case containing his collection of old theatre programmes, so that he gave the impression of being a diplomat of high importance with a portfolio.

She helped him prettily to show her the programmes, and was pleased to see that there was something else on his mind.

She gave him a cigarette and they had tea. He told her the ancient story of his writing to Cissie Loftus, and how he had never received an answer. She welcomed the anecdote as though it combined the brilliance of a jewel with the freshness of a daisy.

Then he spoke in a somewhat thick voice and with that rather gruff manner that she a.s.sociated with sincerity.

"Miss Lus...o...b.., I ..."--he sighed deeply. "To tell you the truth, there's something--for a long time I've wanted to ask you."

He fixed on her intently his blue eyes, in which there was an ardent glare.

"Really, Mr. Rathbone? What can I do for you?"

"A great deal. The question is, what would you do for me?"

"Oh, that depends," she said, smiling, looking down, and enjoying herself.

"Not to put too fine a point upon it, Miss Lus...o...b..----"; he stopped nervously.

"Miss Lus...o...b.. sounds so formal," she murmured.

"You wouldn't allow me to call you Flora, would you?"

He smiled, but she thought he looked disappointed. Perhaps he was a man who needed difficulties--opposition.

"Well ... I ... it depends," she said.

"Look here, Flora, you're a very charming woman. I have a great admiration for you. What is more, I believe you to be a thoroughly good----" he hesitated again; was he going to say 'woman,'

'actress?'--he decided on 'sort.'

"Oh!"

"Now I'll reveal to you the dream of my life, which I wouldn't tell to anybody else."

"I wonder if I can guess it?" she said, wishing he would hurry up. Lady Charles was coming at half-past five to get the address of that fur place Flora knew of, where you got things practically for nothing--and they were worth it, too.

"I know I'm not so very young," continued the young man.

"Why, you're only about thirty-four, aren't you? I call that young."

"Do you--do you really? Now I was afraid I was getting rather too old to begin, as it were, a fresh life. Well now"--he came a little nearer and touched her hand, which lay on the table; it was a pretty hand, thin and bony, with pink polished nails and a garnet ring--"will you do it for me? will you help me? will you not think me foolish--too daring--too sanguine?..."

"What?"

"Yes. I see you've guessed. Yes. I want to go on the stage."

CHAPTER XV

MISS WALMER

"And so you see, don't you, Lady Walmer, that I really simply couldn't do it--I mean I must do it. They're expecting me there for the whole summer. How could I throw them over at the last minute?"

Harry spoke in his most convincing voice. He was calling on Lady Walmer, and they were both sitting in her little yellow boudoir. She had just come in from a bazaar, and was wearing a rather angry-looking hat, very much turned up on one side, with enormous purple feathers. She was looking very far from pleased. Her handsome chin appeared squarer than usual. There was a look in her eyes that more than one man besides Harry would have been by no means anxious to meet.

She drew off her gloves, stroked one over the other thoughtfully, and said--

"Why did you promise to come on the yacht? The whole summer's spoilt for Alec."

"I hoped I could--I thought I could manage it. Surely you understand----"

"But it's got to come to that sooner or later, Harry. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. If you want to be a respectable, dull married man, you'll have to dissolve your romance, you know. I should have thought you were the last person to be weak about anybody else's feelings!--No, it's your own, my dear boy."

Harry's colour rose a little.

"My dear Lady Walmer! I'm going to tell--my cousin Valentia--all about it--I mean about my hopes. I'm certain that she will be charming about it--only too glad, for my sake."

"Oh! And yet I thought she was human! Or--is there some one else?"

"Certainly there's some one else--there's Romer. She's very devoted to him."