The Oyster Part 33

"I promised--I will fulfil. After dinner you shall have your letters, little girl. Now, don't get silly and nervous."

"Of course I'll send you that money when I can," Sybil faltered, "but--"

"I won't ask you for the money. You were a good child to come here, little Sybil."

Esme looked in.

Sybil was lying back in a long chair, her face white, her eyes half resentful, half fascinated. Jimmie Helmsley, bending over her, began to stroke her hands softly. His dark eyes bore no half thoughts in them.

"After dinner," he whispered. "I won't tease you any more about that silly debt."

Esme pushed aside a spiky frond; she was righteously angry.

"Oh, Sybil," she said. "Your mother asked me if I came across you to take you home in our car. I was sampling hotels and luckily ran you to earth."

Sybil sprang up. Resentment, fascination, merged to sudden wild relief.

She had told her mother that she was spending the day with a school friend.

"But--How very lucky your running across us." Gore Helmsley's teeth showed too much as he smiled; it made his greeting exceedingly like a snarl.

"Oh, yes, so lucky." Esme listened to Helmsley's pattered explanation.

"His cousin, Mrs Gore, etc. Very awkward. Out of Brighton. They had come here to wait for her."

"Very awkward," said Esme, drily. "Well, you must join us at dinner.

You can't wait here--alone."

A waiter padded noiselessly in. Dinner would be ready in ten minutes in Number Twenty-seven. They had procured the roses which Monsieur had ordered.

It amused Esme a little to watch Gore Helmsley fight back his anger, mask himself in a moment in a thin cloak of carelessness. He followed the waiter into the hall.

"Sybil," said Esme, sharply, "this is not wise, not right."

"We came to meet a cousin," Sybil whimpered. "She never came. I had to come--I had to. And now he's angry." She shivered a little, half tearful, half frightened.

"No, she would not come," said Esme, drily; "but lie as I lie, my child, or there may be some pretty stories floating about London."

"Oh! you've ordered dinner," she said to Angy, "and I've just found Miss Chauntsey. She was dining with Captain Helmsley's cousin, Mrs Gore. But she is putting her off and joining our party at the Metropole."

Mr Beerhaven opened his mouth twice without emitting any particular sound.

"She's just gone home, hasn't she, Sybil?" said Esme. "Quite a pretty woman. Come along."

Again Angy opened his mouth and shut it. It was not his part to say that he knew Mrs Gore to be in London. Angy was not altogether bad-hearted and he disliked Jimmie Gore Helmsley.

"Rotten!" said Mr Beerhaven, speaking at last.

"Eh?" said Esme, sharply.

"Rotten luck, y'know, on Mrs Gore, but so glad. We'd better drive back.

And a rotten chap," said Angy, forcibly. "You're a brick, Mrs Carteret." This speech made Esme understand that Angy Beerhaven was not as big a fool as he looked.

In the cab Sybil leant back, frightened. She was afraid of Gore Helmsley's too-pleasant smile--afraid of the look in his eyes.

Esme had whispered a few swiftly-spoken words to him, directing that their lies should be alike.

"It was exceedingly awkward," she said drily.

Angy had ordered everything he could think of. They began on iced caviare and finished up with forced peaches. He was exceedingly rich, and a snare wrought of gold was the only one he knew of.

Sybil was quiet through dinner, eating nothing, visibly unhappy.

Afterwards, as they sat in the cool, smoking, Gore Helmsley slipped to her side.

"Was there ever anything so unlucky?" he said.

"It was--very unlucky," said Sybil, dully.

"That woman hunting round for dinner, so she says. She's fairly decent, I fancy, won't blab. She lied brilliantly. It was so very awkward, and now Cissy will be quite disappointed. She 'phoned to say she was just starting to meet us. It was a lovely day together," he whispered. "Come to tea with me to-morrow, Sybil."

"You promised me my letters," she shot out, her heart thumping, "and my I.O.U. Give them to me."

"To-morrow," he said lightly. "I would have given them to you to-night, Sybil. Silly child ever to sign things."

Sybil's lip trembled; the snare was about her feet.

A tall man pushed his way through the crowd, looking anxiously at the tables. He was covered with the dust of a long journey; he came quickly, staring at each group.

"Oliver!" Sybil sprang to her feet, rushed across to him. "Oh, Captain Knox, why did you not come yesterday?"

"I only got back to York this morning. I motored to London, and it took me hours to find your mother. Who is that--in the shadow?"

"Captain Gore Helmsley." Sybil's voice grew shrill.

"And Sybil is here with me," said Esme, coming out of another shadow.

"Take her for a walk before we start. I want to talk to my friend here."

"Sybil--why did you write for me like that?"

"I wanted you to save me, and you never came," she faltered.

"But I am not too late. My G.o.d, not that!"

Then, stumblingly, she told him her story of sorrow.

"I was going to ask you to pay the debt for me," she said, "to get me clear. I dare not tell my mother or father."

"I brought money, as you said you wanted it; and there is nothing more, Sybil?" he said, taking her hands.