Winding Paths Part 10

"The briefs don't come anyway, nor the 'oof': that's all I can see to be sorry for."

"You don't want them badly enough, that's all. If you want the one, you'll make love to an influential woman who can get them, and if you want the other, you'll marry an heiress."

"I say, you're giving me rather a rotten character, aren't you?"

He faced her suddenly, and a new expression dawned in his eyes, as if he were only just awakening to the fact that she was beautiful.

"Do you really think I'm such a rotter as all that?"

She glanced away, lowering her eyelids, so that her long lashes swept the warm olive cheeks, and with a little callous shrug answered:

"Why should you be a rotter for doing what all the rest of the world does? Four-fifths of mankind would give anything for your chances."

"But you just said you were sorry for me?"

"So I am. So I should be for the four-fifths of mankind, if they got all they wanted just for the asking."

He smiled with a sudden, charming whimsicality.

"I don't feel much in need of sympathy, you know. It's a ripping old world, as long as you can indulge a few mild fancies, and be left alone."

"Mild fancies!"

She turned on him suddenly.

"What have you to do with mild fancies? Why, you can have the world at your feet with a little exertion. Haven't you any ambition? Don't you even want to plead in the greatest law court in the world as one of the first barristers in Europe?"

"Not particularly. Why should I? It would be no end of a f.a.g. I'd far rather be left alone."

"You... you... sluggard,' breaking into a laugh. "If I were Fate, I'd just take you by the shoulders and shake you till you woke up. Then I'd go on shaking to keep you awake. You shouldn't be wasted on mere nonent.i.ty if I held the threads."

But his blue eyes only smiled whimsically back at her.

"I'm jolly glad you haven't a say in the matter. Why, I should have to give up cricket, and take to working! You're as bad as Quin with his slumming, and d.i.c.k with his rotten verses."

"You don't know yet that I haven't a say in the matter," she remarked daringly. "Have a cigarette. I'm awfully sorry I didn't remember sooner."

"Indeed, you ought to be," was the gay rejoinder. "I've been just dying for the moment when you would remember."

An electric bell rang out as they were lighting their cigarettes, and a moment later Hal danced into the room with shining eyes and glowing cheeks. A few paces from the door she stopped suddenly.

"Hullo, Baby," she said, addressing Hermon, "where have you sprung from?"

"I found it wandering alone in Sloane Street," Lorraine remarked, "and now we've been teaing together."

Alymer did not look any too pleased at Hal's frank appellation, but former remonstrance had only been met with derision, and he knew he had no choice but to submit with a good grace.

"I might ask the same question, Lady-Clerk," he replied.

"Don't call me a lady-clerk - I hate the term. I'm a typist, secretary, bachelor-girl, city-worker, anything you like, not a lady-clerk - bah!..."

"Then don't call me Baby."

Hal's face broke into the most attractive of smiles.

"I can't help it. Everything about you, your size, your face, your ways just clamour to be called 'Baby'. Of course if you'd rather be Apollo - "

"Good Lord, no: is that the only alternative?"

"I'm afraid so; you needn't go if you don't want to," as he prepared to depart. "We are not going to talk grown-up secrets."

"If I were Mr. Hermon, I'd give you one good shaking, Hal," put Lorraine. "I'm sure you deserve it."

"Not a bit. Nothing could do him more good than regular interviews with me, to undo all the harm he has received in between from silly, idiotic women, who make him think he is something out of the ordinary.

Isn't that so, Baby? Aren't you labouring under the delusion that you're a remarkable fine specimen of humanity? And all the time, Heaven knows, you've about as much honest purpose and brains as a big over-grown school-boy."

"I hope you are not intending to imply he is more richly endowed with dishonest purpose?" said Lorraine.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind that," Hal declared, "so long as it was energy and purpose of some kind."

"Even to giving you that good shaking," he asked, coming forward a step menacingly.

"Not in here," in alarm; "you and I sc.r.a.pping in Lorraine's drawing-room would cost a hundred pounds or so in valuables. I'll cry 'pax'," as he still advanced. "Of course you are rather a fine boy really, I was only pulling your leg."

Hermon subsided with a laugh, and Hal proceeded to explain that she had come on business, having been asked by the editor of one of their small magazines to write up an interview with the actress for him.

"I shall say I found you having a cosy tete-a-tete with a young barrister of many inches and little brains," she laughed. "Come, Lorraine, spout away. What is your favourite hors d'oeuvre? Did you feel like a boiled owl at your first appearance? And which horse do you back for next year's Derby?"

She started scribbling, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the other two, carrying on a desultory conversation meanwhile.

"This isn't anything to do with my department, but I like Mr. Hadley, and he was keen about it, and offered me three guineas, so I said I'do do it... Are your eyes yellow or green? For the life of me, I don't know. Which would you rather I called them? ... I've got to go to Marlboro' House to-morrow to get up a short and vivid account of a garden party, because Miss Alton, who generally does it, is down with 'flu'. Were you a prodigal as a kid? no; I mean a prodigy... Fancy me at Marlboro' House! Awful thought, isn't it? How they dare?

"What is your favourite pastime? Shall I put down shooting? I know you don't know one end of a gun from the other, but it doesn't matter; and it reads rather well - something unique about it in an actress."

"Why not put angling, and give some of my dear enemies a chance to ask what for?"

"Or jam-making," suggested Alymer, "and redeem the stage in the eyes of the British matron."

"Oh, don't talk... how can I write? Shall I bring myself in, and dig up the dear old chestnut of David and Jonathan?... or shall I describe Dudley's disapproval melting into undisguised worship," she rippled with laughter as she scribbled on. "Oh dear, think if Dudley were to find it, and read it, because he hasn't even discovered yet that he has ceased to disapprove.

"Who's your favourite poet? I might say d.i.c.k Bruce; he would write a book of poems at once. And Quin might be your hero in real life. Do you know where you were born? Up in the Himalayas sounds nice and airy, and it might as well have been there as anywhere."

"If you want anymore you must get it while I eat my dinner," said Lorraine, rising. "I have to try and be at the theatre at seven just now. You may as well both dine with me, and you can come to my dressing-room afterwards if you like, Hal."

"No, thank you"; and Hal pulled a wry face. "I've seen quite enough of the wings, and the green-room, and all the rest of it. You might take Baby, just to show him the real thing, and put him off it once for all."

She turned to Hermon.