The Tree of Knowledge Part 56

"Am I? Very sorry. Here comes d.i.c.k Arden to take you off. I must go and find out if the beauty is here--she is fashionably late."

"The beauty? Has Mr. Miles a new beauty on view to-night?"

"I should just think he has, and no mistake about it this time. Have you not heard about her? She is a great heiress, and all London is to go mad over her. The _pater_ is doing her picture in oils for the R.A. He says she is simply the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. She is coming to-night, under the escort of Lady Somebody-or-other. Hallo!

There are the Ortons!"

"Where?" Wynifred turned her head swiftly. She knew them slightly, on account of the business relations between Osmond and Frederick. She watched with some interest as her brother, who was standing near the door, shook hands and entered into conversation with them. Ottilie was looking excessively handsome, in a black velvet dress, cut very low in the bodice, a profusion of jewels decorating her neck, arms, and head.

She had grown somewhat thinner in the months she had lately spent abroad, but her color was as rich and vivid as ever. Wyn saw Osmond ask her to dance, and lead her away, and then d.i.c.k Arden, the pleasant looking young artist at her elbow, broke in with,

"When your meditation is quite finished, Miss Allonby, I am longing for a turn."

With a laughing apology she laid her hand on his arm, and followed him into the dancing-room.

The drawing-room at Innisfallen adjoined the studio, separated by enormous sliding-doors, and voluminous curtains of amethyst velvet.

To-night the doors were folded back, the curtains looped in ma.s.ses of dusky light and shade, so that the guests standing in the drawing-room could see the couples as they circled round.

Wyn began to enjoy herself. The floor was perfect, the band, as Hilda had prophesied, Willoughby's. She liked dancing, and she liked d.i.c.k Arden. Everyone knows that Woodstead is the suburb of London most famed for its dancing and its pretty girls. In Woodstead the dismal cry of "No dancing men!" is a thing unknown. On this particular night, the dancers were drawn from hundreds of neighborhoods, so that the waltzing was not so faultless as it was wont to be at the Town Hall; but Wyn knew whom to choose and whom to avoid, and her present partner left little to be desired.

Who could be sentimentally afflicted, she cried in her heart, with a good floor, a good band, and a good partner? The vivid memory of the weeks at Edge Combe seemed paler than it had ever been before. After all, it had only been an episode, and it was in the past now. Every day it receded further back; it was dying out, fading, disappearing.

The dancers flashed past. Osmond and Ottilie Orton, tall and commanding; Jacqueline and young Haldane, both talking as fast as they could, and laughing into each other's eyes; Hilda, quiet and queenly, with an adoring partner. It seemed a bright, hopeful world, a world full of people interested in other people. Was there no one in it who had a tender thought for her--for Wynifred? She did not want admiration, or fame, or notice, or favorable criticism. She was a woman, and she wanted love.

But no! This would not do. The stream of her reflections would carry her the wrong way. Forward must she look--never back, on past weakness and shortcoming. The music ceased with a long-drawn chord of strings. The waltz was over.

Wyn and her partner were at the lower end of the vast studio. As they turned to walk up the floor towards the archway, the girl caught sight of a head--a fair head thrown into relief against the dark background of the amethyst curtain. For a moment she felt sick, faint, and cold. Then she rallied, in a little burst of inward rage. What! Upset by a chance likeness?

They moved on. A crowd of intervening people shut out that suggestive head from view. Wyn unfurled her crimson fan, and smiled at d.i.c.k Arden.

"That _was_ delightful," he was saying, warmly. "Won't you give me another? Do say you will. An extra--anything--only do give me one more."

The next instant she was face to face with Claud Cranmer.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

"That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers, And the blue eye Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers."

_A Pretty Woman._

It was no fancy. There he stood, trim and fresh as ever, a small bunch of Neapolitan violets in his b.u.t.ton-hole, his hands behind him, and wearing his usual expression of alert interest in what was pa.s.sing around him. He was looking remarkably well, and a good deal tanned, so that the clearness of his blue-grey eyes showed more strongly than usual. His face was turned fully towards Wynifred, but he was not looking at her, but beyond, away down the room.

That trifling fact saved her self-respect. Had his eyes been upon her, he must have seen something--some sudden flash of uncontrollable feeling, which would have told him what she would almost have died to prevent his knowing. But in the few moments given to her she was able partially to rally, to tear her eyes from his face, to turn to her partner, even to smile at what he was saying, and to make a reply which, if neither long nor brilliant, was at least not wide of the mark. Those two minutes seemed really two hours to her. First the sudden shock, then the recovery, so slow as it had seemed, the turning of her head an inch to the left, the set smile, the brief answer, and then they were in the doorway ... were, pa.s.sing him by.... No human power could have made her lift her eyes to his as she pa.s.sed; yet she saw him without looking--knew how close he was, felt her gown brush his foot, and heard his voice an instant later e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e,

"Miss Allonby!"

It had come. As she paused, turned her head, raised her gaze to his, she was more thankful than ever that she had even so brief a preparation; for the expression of Mr. Cranmer's face could not exactly be considered flattering. It was made up of several ingredients, but embarra.s.sment was predominant. There was a slight added color in his cheeks--a hesitation in his manner. He was off guard, and could not immediately collect himself.

A secret fury of indignation at her own folly helped to make Wynifred's smile most coldly sweet. As she held out her hand she slightly arched her eyebrows as though he were the last person she had expected to meet; as indeed he had been, not three minutes ago. He greeted her with some confusion, his eyes roamed over her dress, and never in all her life had she been so devoutly thankful that she was in this respect for once past criticism.

Nothing gives a greater confidence than the consciousness of looking one's best. As the girl stood before Claud, she felt that to-night the advantage was hers. He had not thought it worth while to call in Mansfield Road; he should see that the Allonby family was by no means dependent on his chance favors.

The usual tepid and stereotyped formalities were gone through.

"How do you do, Miss Allonby? It is an unexpected pleasure to meet you here."

"Really! I think it is I who ought to be surprised. I am always at Mrs.

Miles' parties, and I never met you before."

"No--it is my first visit. I hope you are all well? Is either of your sisters here?"

"Yes, both; and my brother too. Are you alone?"

"Oh, dear, no: Mab is here somewhere, and Miss Brabourne----"

Here d.i.c.k Arden became restive.

"Miss Wynifred!" he murmured, reproachfully, making an onward step.

Wyn inclined her head with another small and civil smile, and made as though she would have pa.s.sed on.

"Miss Allonby--stay! Won't you give me a waltz?" cried Claud, hastily.

"I have none till quite the end of the programme, and I am afraid you will have gone home by then," replied Wyn, airily, over her shoulder.

Claud went forward, determinedly.

"If you will give me one, I will stay for it," he said, with some energy.

"Well, you shall have number nineteen; but mind you don't trouble to wait if it is not quite convenient."

"Somebody else will be only too happy to step into your shoes, if you are not forthcoming," laughed d.i.c.k Arden. "Miss Wynifred--I hope that is not my promised dance you are giving away!"

They were gone--the slim, white-robed girl and her partner had vanished among the parti-colored couples who paraded the room. Claud's' glance followed them with a fatal fascination. He saw them pa.s.s through a sidedoor into a shadowy conservatory, and then, with a start, roused himself to the consideration of what had pa.s.sed. He had met Wynifred Allonby again. How very nice she looked in white. How nice she looked altogether. Was there not something different about her since the summer--an altered look in her face? Her eyes! He never noticed, at Edge Combe, what pretty eyes she had; but now----. He moved restlessly down towards the band. Why did they not strike up? This was only number four on the programme, and he had to exist, somehow, till the bitter end. He might as well dance, it would perhaps pa.s.s the time rather more quickly.

Actuated by this idea, he started in pursuit of Elsa.

Meanwhile, scarcely had Wynifred gained the shelter of the ante-room, when she turned to her partner abruptly.

"We must hunt up Osmond before we do anything else," she cried, peremptorily. "I want to speak to him at once."

Mr. Arden knew her too well to attempt to gainsay her. They hurried through the rooms till they reached the tearoom, where Mrs. Frederick Orton was seated in state while Osmond waited upon her.

"Osmond, my dear boy," said Wyn, eagerly, going up to him, "I must just say five words to you. Come here--bend down your head--listen! Elsa Brabourne is here to-night. Yes," as he started violently, "she is, I know, for I have just seen Mr. Cranmer, and he told me. I thought I would warn you. Oh, my dear, don't be rash, I implore you! Think of her changed position, since we last saw her--think what a great heiress she is! She has the world at her feet. Don't look like that, dear, I don't want to hurt you--only to warn you. Be on your guard! Don't let her trample on you!"

"Trample on me! She! You don't know her--you could never appreciate--you always misjudged her!" said the young man, resentfully, under his breath. "A more innocent, simple-minded creature I never saw than she!

They cannot have spoilt her--yet!"