This House to Let Part 17

There was no softness in her glance, no tenderness in her rather hard, staccato tones.

A girl with those glorious eyes, and mobile face, with the delicate complexion that flushed and paled by turns, must surely be sweet and sympathetic, and responsive to affection. How her voice had thrilled with emotion when she thanked him. If she was disappointed in her cousin, it must be the fault of the elder woman, who could not give what was demanded by the younger and more ardent temperament.

He would have lingered longer, trying to pierce the riddle from these disjointed remarks, but they were interrupted by Tommy Esmond, who came bustling into the hall, flushed with victory.

"Never had such luck in my life. Just wiped the floor with them," he explained excitedly. "You left your good influence behind, Miss Keane.

A few minutes sufficed for victory."

"I am very glad, but I think my powers for good must be very limited, for I brought bad luck to your friend," was her smiling rejoinder.

He turned briskly to the young man. "It is a perfect night, Spencer.

Shall we walk down to the Club to get a breath of fresh air, and turn in there for a quiet smoke?"

Spencer nodded a.s.sent, and held out his hand to Miss Keane.

"Well, good-bye for the present."

"And I hope you will come and see us again soon. Don't wait for Mr Esmond to bring you: after our thrilling experiences of to-night, we are more than ordinary acquaintances. We are at home nearly every night, if you want to gamble. And, if you would like a little rational chat instead, come in one afternoon to tea."

"Thanks, I will. My card-playing fit has pa.s.sed for a little time.

Once again, good-bye."

And, as soon as they were in the street, Esmond burst in with the question he was longing to ask.

"Well, what do you think of her? Did I exaggerate?"

"Not in the least," answered Spencer, speaking less seriously than he felt, he did not quite know for what reason, unless it was that with a man of his friend's calibre, he always had a tendency to discuss things lightly. "No, I don't think you have exaggerated a bit this time; so many of your swans have been geese, but this is a real swan, at last.

She is very lovely; even in her terror she looked beautiful, and she has a peculiar, elusive charm. She makes you want to know more of her, and penetrate the mystery which seems to hover around her."

"I can't say I see any mystery, myself." Esmond spoke rather sharply, for such a good-natured little man.

"Perhaps it is too strong a word. But I take it, you know something of the _menage_, and can enlighten me on one point. What is her position there: paid companion, a pa.s.sing guest, or does she share the flat with her cousin on some sort of terms?"

It was a little time before Esmond answered. "I have never rightly got at that myself. Sometimes I have thought one thing, sometimes another.

But I am pretty sure she is poor: in fact, she has admitted as much."

"Poverty is relative after all, and it depends on how she was brought up. She seems to dress well, and that cannot be done without money."

Yes, Esmond admitted that she was turned out well. But he either could not, or would not express any positive opinion upon the delicate subject of Miss Keane's finances.

"Does she ever play? She didn't touch a card while we were there, only flitted about from table to table."

No, Esmond had never seen her play since he had frequented the house.

It was clear, therefore, she did not make any pocket-money out of gambling. He had to admit that she seemed to act as deputy hostess, and, he believed, wrote most of her cousin's notes; in other words, made herself useful.

All this information, such as it was, he imparted, as it seemed to Spencer, with some reluctance. Perhaps his keen admiration prompted him to hide anything that served to show her in a dependent position. And Spencer desisted from any further cross-examination on this head.

On one point, however, he was determined to elicit a positive expression of opinion from the cautious little man.

"What is the mystery of the bounder cousin? You must admit he has cad stamped all over him, his speech, his person, his gestures."

Tommy could establish no defence for the gentleman in question. "No, he is past criticism, I allow. The result of some _mesalliance_, I suppose; his mother a very common person doubtless. But then, many highly respectable people have skeletons like that in their cupboards."

"The mystery is that he finds his way, cousin as he may be, into any decent house. Mrs L'Estrange we know to be a woman of good family.

You would think she would lock and bolt the door against a creature like that. What is he supposed to be, if he has any profession beyond that of his intense bounderism?"

"Something in the City, I am told," replied Esmond shortly. "Something connected with finance; stockbroker or something."

"It must be a shady kind of finance, if he has anything to do with it,"

growled the young man. "To think of his claiming relationship with that exquisite girl."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

It would be idle to a.s.sume that a man of Guy Spencer's natural advantages had reached the age of thirty without experiencing a few affairs of the heart. But he had never been deeply touched, and his friend Tommy Esmond was right when he described him as not very susceptible to feminine influence.

The one feeling which had lasted for some years, was a p.r.o.nounced affection for his cousin Nina. He felt as much at home with her as he would have done with a favourite sister, had he possessed one. But the regard had a warmth in it that is lacking in fraternal relations.

He knew that Lady Nina was not indifferent to him, that she allowed him to a.s.sume a certain air of proprietorship in the disposal of dances, in the claim to her society when he was disposed to enjoy it. He knew also that it was a match which would be warmly approved of by his invalid uncle.

Without being guilty of undue vanity, he felt pretty certain that if he proposed he would be accepted. And once or twice he had been very near to taking the decisive step. He never could quite understand what it was that made him hesitate.

The fact of his hesitation proved to himself, as well as to the young lady concerned, that much as he might like his cousin, he was certainly far from being deeply in love with her.

She was a pretty, winsome girl, possessing an upright, straightforward nature, and quite attractive in a simple, frank fashion. There was nothing subtle or mysterious about her, you could read her like an open book. She was a good daughter, she was the type of girl who could not help making a good wife.

Some day, no doubt, he would put the fateful question, and by her acceptance be made, in conventional parlance, the happiest of men. But although he would know he had chosen very wisely, and look forward to a placid kind of happiness, he was doubtful if Nina's smiles and kisses would ever thrill him, if with her he would ever learn the meaning of real love.

He was not by any means sure that he was capable of very strong attachment. He had indulged in a few fancies, but they had only exercised a very small portion of his thoughts. Up to the present, he had certainly not experienced the wild ecstasies, the mingled joy and pain of the true lover.

For the first time in his life, he had been seriously perturbed by the advent of Stella Keane. He had not fashioned in his imagination any particular ideal, any special type of woman who would make to him an irresistible appeal. But, if she had been Lady Nina, if he had met her in his own world, he would have owned at once this was the girl for whom he had been waiting.

Her image pursued him persistently in his waking and his leisure hours.

He could recall every word she had spoken during the short time they had spent together. He could see her a dozen times a day standing in the "Excelsior" dining-room, paralysed with terror.

He remembered the break in her voice, the mist in her beautiful eyes, when she had thanked him. And ever and again, he longed to fathom the mystery of her loneliness, the cause of that sadness that was always lurking underneath.

Was it wise to pursue the acquaintance, with the pretty certain result of intensifying the interest he already felt in her? He had no liking for Mrs L'Estrange, a woman merely on the fringe of his world, or her gambling circle. If he wanted to lose or win money, there were plenty of other houses where he could indulge his fancy.

And he knew nothing of Miss Keane's antecedents. The only thing he did know was that she had a cousin who was obviously a bounder of the first water. Tommy Esmond knew nothing about her either, or, if he did know, would not tell.

For three days he wavered, one moment eager to rush off to the flat, the next determining that it would be better not to renew the brief acquaintance.

On the fourth day, his impulse conquered his prudence. He told himself soothingly that his visit was due to curiosity, that he merely wanted to penetrate the mystery of her loneliness, her unprotected position.

The bounder cousin was coming out as he entered. Mr Dutton nodded affably to him with a greasy and familiar smile. Spencer acknowledged him in the coolest fashion compatible with bare civility. Why were there people, he wondered, whom you instinctively wanted to kick, for no apparently sufficient reason?

Miss Keane was alone. Mrs L'Estrange, she explained, was in bed with a racking headache. She had lost heavily the night before, and this was the usual penalty she paid for losing.