Winding Paths Part 41

"It's a pity about the obtuseness," he commented, "because she is really rather nice to look at. She has improved so much lately."

"Oh no, I haven't," tilting her nose in the air. "I am exactly the same; but you have acquired better taste. Is _he_ going to stay to dinner, Lorraine?""

"I'm afraid so. You will have to call a truce, because I want to hear all about the brief; and I shall hear nothing if you persist in wrangling."

"It isn't my fault," he said. "I always try to be friends."

"Well, as far as that goes, I always _try_ to like you," Hal retorted with a laugh.

"You would find it much easier if you did not hurl insults at me.

Begin another plan altogether."

"Come along to dinner," put in Lorraine, rising, "and let us hear about this brief."

She led the way to the dining-room, and they had a merry little meal, arranging all about the congratulatory dinner Lorraine proposed to give for Alymer to celebrate the important occasion of his first brief.

Afterwards Hal drove to the theatre with her, and stayed a short time in her room while, as Lorraine phrased it, she put on her war-paint.

Then she went rather sadly home alone, feeling lost and unhappy about Dudley. It crossed her mind once that Lorraine and Alymer Hermon seemed be on very much more familiar terms than previously, but she paid little heed to the thought, merely supposing that it amused Lorraine to help him in his profession.

She sat over the fire and tried to read, but presently the book went down into her lap, and her eyes sought the cheery flicker of the flames. Only there was no answering glow in her usually bright face, rather a sad uneasiness and perplexity, as if circ.u.mstances she hardly knew how to cope with were closing in upon her.

She felt she had come to a difficult path in life she would have to face alone; for in her friendship with Sir Edwin Crathie neither Dudley nor Lorraine could help her.

And, gazing into the fire with serious, thoughtful eyes, it was neither Dudley and Doris, nor Lorraine and Alymer who finally held her thoughts, but sir Edwin Crathie himself.

CHAPTER XXII

The first time Sir Edwin rang up the newspaper office after the memorable Sunday it happened that Hal had gone into the country to report an opening ceremony, graced by Royalty, so she was saved the necessity of framing a reply.

One of the usual reporters being ill, the news editor had asked her if she would like to take his place, and she had eagerly accepted the chance. It meant a day in the country, travelling by special train, and the writing of the report did not worry her at all, as she had already served her apprenticeship to journalism, and knew how to seize on the most interesting points and condense them into a small s.p.a.ce.

She had a genius for making friends also, and after an excellent champagne lunch, and a cup of tea captured for her by a pleasant-faced man whom she afterwards discovered to be the Earl of Roxley, she motored back to the railway station with a well-known aeronaut, who promised to take her for a "fly" some day. They travelled up to town in the same compartment, and as Hal had to have her article ready for press when she reached the office, it was necessary to write it in the train.

The "flying man" wished to turn his hand to journalism too, and attempted to help her, without much success, though with a good deal of entertainment for himself. He was specially amused at her determination to lay considerable stress on the fact that one of the horses in the royal carriage fell down between the station and the park.

"What's the good of putting that in?" he argued; "it is of no importance."

"Why, it's almost the most important thing of all," she declared. "You evidently don't know much about journalism. The Public will not be half as interested in the King's speech as in the information that one of the horses fell down, and that the King then put his hands on the Queen's, and told her not to be frightened."

"But he didn't; and the horse only slipped."

"But you're too dense!" she cried, "and, anyhow, you can't be certain that he didn't. It's what he ought to have done, and the British Public will be awfully pleased to know that he did. They'll be frightfully interested in the horse falling down, too. I suppose you would leave it out, and give dated of the building of the edifice, and the different styles of architecture, and the names of ill.u.s.trious people connected with it. As if any one wanted to know that! The horse will make far better reading, though I daresay I ought to work in a few costs of things. The B.P. loves to know what a thing costs."

"Well, why not value the horse, as you think so much of it? or say that it snapped a trace in half which cost two guineas, and was bought in Bond Street?"

They both laughed, and then Hal said seriously:

"I think I'll make it kick over the centre pole, only then perhaps some of the other reporters will catch it for not having seen the kick also.

I once wrote an account of a garden party, and left out that the horses of the Prime Minister's carriage shied and swerved, and one wheel caught against the gate-post. As a matter of fact, it did not do much more than graze it, but some journalist wrote a thrilling account of how the carriage nearly turned over; and I've never forgotten the chief's face when he asked me why I hadn't mentioned the accident to the Prime Minister's carriage. I said there wasn't an accident, and he snapped: 'Well you'd better have turned them all in a heap in the road than left it out altogether!'

"I've never made the same mistake since," she finished, "and now, if the chief sees my paragraphs, he has to ring some one up occasionally, and make sure I haven't gone out of bounds altogether."

"Well, if you're quite determined to lie... I mean romance... why not do it thouroughly? Let the King leap out of the carriage, with the Queen in his arms, and the royal coachman fall backwards off the box - and - and - both the horses burst out laughing?"

"I'd get the sack for that," Hal spluttered, busily plying her pencil, "and then I'd break my heart, because I'm in love with the chief."

"Oh" - with a low laugh, "and is it quite hopeless?"

"Quite. The most hopeless _grande pa.s.sion_ that ever was. He's been married twice already, and the second is still very much alive. Did the Queen wear a black hat, or a dark purple one?"

"Dark purple, of course, like her dress. Why, I could write the thing better than you."

"I'm sure you could, if you might have half the newspaper. I don't know where you'd be in thirty-six lines!"

"By Jove! Have you got to squeeze it all into thirty-six lines?"

"Less, if possible. There's been a row in Berlin, and we have to allow for thrilling developments, which may crowd out lots of other paragraphs."

"And supposing you want it a few lines longer?"

"Then the compiler will add a bit on about the weather, or throw in another dress description, or something. I'm putting you in now,"

scribbling on; "but I don't know your name?"

"And I'm not going to tell it to you for your precious paragraph, so you'll have to cross that bit out again."

"Not at all," airily: "a well-known aeronaut, who has recently beaten the distance-record, and is looking remarkably well in spite of his advanced years, was among the distinguished guests!"

He had to cry "pax" then.

"I give you up," he said; "you're too much for me! But I'll take your for a fly the first opportunity I get. Will you come?"

"Will I come!..." in eager tones. "Oh, won't I?"

And he promised to arrange it.

When they reached Euston, Hal had to dash for the first taxi, and tear to the office with her report, and it was not until she was leaving that the call boy told her a gentleman had asked for her on the telephone in the afternoon.

"Did he give any name?" she asked.

"Yes, Mr. Crathie."

Hal suppressed a smile. "I suppose you told him I was out."

"Yes, miss. He wanted to know when you would be back, and I asked Mr.

Watson, and he told me to say 'Not before evening.'"