The Vision of Desire Part 50

Attached to this characteristic doc.u.ment was a card of invitation to a dance to be given at White Windows by Lady Susan Hallett on February the seventh.... And to-day was the sixth! But it could be done. By travelling all night, catching the morning boat and then the midday train to Silverquay, Eliot realised that he could reach White Windows in time.

A bell stood on a table near by--one of those shiny metal bells with a b.u.t.ton on the top which you press down sharply to induce the thing to ring.

Eliot thumped it, and continued thumping till a half-demented waiter came flying towards him in response.

"Bring me a time-table," he roared. "And bring it quick."

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE GREY SHADOW

The ball-room at White Windows was all in readiness for the forthcoming dance. The floor, waxed and polished till it was as smooth as a sheet of gleaming ice, caught and held the tremulous reflections of a hundred flickering lights, whilst from above, where the orchestra was snugly tucked away in the gallery behind a bank of flowers, came faint pizzicato sounds of fiddles tuning up, alternating with an occasional little flourish or tentative roulade of notes.

The dance was not timed to begin for half an hour or more, but the members of the house-party had congregated together at the upper end of the room and were chatting desultorily. Sir Philip Brabazon and Tony were included amongst them, in addition to a couple of pretty girls, nieces of Lady Susan, and three or four stray men who had been invited down to swell the ranks.

"And how's Ann?" demanded Sir Philip of his hostess.

"Ann? Oh, you'll find her a trifle thinner, I think, that's all," responded Lady Susan discreetly. To her own eyes Ann seemed to have altered wofully in the course of the last few months, but she reasoned that Sir Philip was no more observant than the majority of men and that if she prepared him for the fact that Ann was somewhat thinner than of old he would accept the change quite naturally and not worry the girl herself with tiresome questions as to the cause of such a falling off.

It had been a very difficult winter, but Lady Susan had the satisfaction of knowing that she and the rector between them had triumphantly routed Ann's detractors, and although it was well-nigh impossible to utterly stamp out of a country district such as Silverquay the hydra-headed monster called scandal, they had certainly succeeded in drawing his fangs. But if Lady Susan had been successful in her campaign against the t.i.ttle-tattle of the neighbourhood, she had been powerless to restore that sheer joy and happiness in living which had been so peculiarly Ann's gift until the day when Eliot Coventry went out of her life, taking from her, as he went, everything except the courage to endure.

Lady Susan had never forgiven Brett for his share in the work of destroying Ann's happiness, and she chafed bitterly against her own inability to help matters. It was only through the merest accident that she had at last seen the possibility of being of service. She had been up in town a few days prior to the date fixed for the dance and had encountered Tony shopping in the Army and Navy Stores. He happened to mention that he had run across Coventry at Mentone, and a chance remark elicited the fact that he had regaled him with the history of the Dents de Loup adventure.

Perhaps Lady Susan's face had expressed more than she knew, for Tony, perceiving that she attached some special importance to the matter, looked suddenly anxious.

"I say, I've not been giving Ann away, have I?" he demanded in honest consternation. "I made sure she'd told you all about it by this time. I never thought--"

"Don't worry," Lady Susan rea.s.sured him hastily. "You're not giving her away. She did tell me--all about it."

When she returned home she had taken her courage in both hands and written to Eliot asking him to come back. And to-night, doubtful whether her letter had reached him in time to allow of his returning for the dance, totally ignorant of the reception it would receive, and uncertain even as to how Ann would welcome him if he actually did return, she was on tenterhooks of nervousness and anxiety.

"You do grow thinner in the winter, you know," she continued airily to Sir Philip, unwisely elaborating her comment upon Ann's appearance.

"You don't," contradicted the old man with his usual acerbity. "You grow fatter if you've any sense--to keep the cold out." He glared at her, then demanded abruptly: "How do you think Tony's looking?"

Lady Susan's dark eyes rested thoughtfully a moment on Tony's face before she answered.

"Not too well," she admitted. "He looks a little strained and keyed up.

Have you been bullying him, Philip?"

"Not more than usual"--grimly. "I've told him I'll pay no more debts for him. And a good thing, too! I fancy he's been keeping within his allowance since I put my foot down. Anyhow, he hasn't come to me again, begging for money." He paused and shot a swift glance of inquiry at her, obviously seeking her approval, but Lady Susan preserved a strictly non-committal silence. She thought Tony exhibited decided symptoms of nervous strain. His eyes were restless, and his mouth wore a dissatisfied, thwarted expression.

"It's love," pursued Sir Philip, as she made no response. "That's what's the matter with the boy. He doesn't know; whether he's on his head or his heels."

"Love?"

"Yes. He's in love with that slip of a Doreen Neville. And because I brought him back to Audley Square instead of careering all over Europe after her and her mother he's as sulky as a young bear."

"Doreen Neville?" Lady Susan felt that her replies were hopelessly inadequate, but she was too genuinely taken aback by the news to think of anything to say.

"I said so, didn't I?"--crustily. "I suppose I shall have to let him marry her in the end. She's all right, of course, as regards family. But a bit of a swear-stick--melt in a storm, probably. Confound the boy!"--irritably.

"Why couldn't he have remained in love with Ann?"

"I'm very glad he didn't," returned Lady Susan quietly. "It was only calf-love. Besides, he would have _leant_ on Ann--she's such a stalwart little soldier, you know"--with a smile.

Sir Philip nodded.

"Yes. She'd have kept him straight," he said gloomily. "Whereas Doreen Neville's the hot-house plant type--just the opposite. No good to Tony at all."

"I'm not so sure, Philip. Sometimes the need to care for and protect some one weaker than himself helps to steady a man down more than anything else.

Ah!" Lady Susan broke off, her face brightening. "Here is Ann--with Robin.

I told them to come early."

Sir Philip put up his monocle and glared in the direction of the new-comers. Yes, Ann was certainly thinner--too thin, perhaps--though, as far as appearances were concerned, he thought the change had only served to accentuate the charming angles of her face and give an additional grace to the boyishly slender lines of her figure.

Any one less like a love-lorn maiden than Ann looked at that moment could hardly be imagined. She was wearing a charming frock the colour of a pool of deep green sea-water, with a handful of orange-golden poppies cl.u.s.tered at the waist, and as the lights flickered over her, from the swathed gold-brown of her hair to the tips of her small gold shoes, she was as detail-perfect as a woman who hadn't a single care in life. The simple, appealing black frock generally adopted by the heroine in fiction who has been crossed in love did not allure Ann in the very least. Whatever happened to her, she would always confront the world with a brave face. And even if her small, individual barque of life were hopelessly foundered she would at least go down with colours flying.

Nevertheless, to the discerning eye the alteration in her was very palpable. In repose her mouth fell into lines of quiet endurance, and her eyes held a look of deep sadness. But, fortunately for most of us, the discerning eye is a rarity, and in public Ann rarely allowed herself to lapse into one of those moments of abstracted thought when the unguarded expression of the face gives away the secrets of the heart.

She greeted Sir Philip with all her old gaiety, and, when he told her she was much too thin, laughed at him gently.

"Don't be a fuss-pot, dear G.o.dparent," she adjured him. "I was never one of the fat kine, and really I'm very glad of it. You can dress ever so much more economically when you're thin, you know, and that's quite a consideration these days."

"Are you--do you mean--look here, Ann," he floundered awkwardly. "Are you hard up?"

She laughed outright.

"No, of course not. Robin gets a topping good screw, and I'm doing quite a millionaire business in the poultry line."

"Humph!" Sir Philip grunted. "Got any clothes fit for London?"

She nodded.

"Lots. Put away where moth and rust shan't corrupt their morals."

"Well, get'm out and come up to Audley Square for a bit. You look--I don't know the word I want--peeked."

"It's no use shelving it on to me like that," said Ann teasingly. "What you really mean is that you and Tony are getting awfully bored with each other alone!"

A smile glimmered in the depths of the fierce old eyes.

"Perhaps that's it. Will you come?"

"I'd love to. But you may just as well tell me what's worrying you."

"You're an impudent girl! Who said I was worrying?"