The Hoyden Part 61

"Was there nothing better, then, for you all to do?"

"Many things," coldly. "But your wife started the game. She had doubtless her reasons----"

"Is that another insinuation? But at all events you cannot condemn the game, as you joined in it."

"I could not avoid joining in it. Was _I_ to be the one to censure my hostess?"

"Certainly not," sternly. "No one is censuring her. And besides, as you all----" Then, as though the words are torn from him, "Where is she now?"

"In the picture-gallery, behind one of your favourite screens, with Mr. Hescott."

"A graphic description," says he. He almost thrusts her aside, and steps quickly into the hall. Mrs. Bethune, leaning against the wall behind her, breaks into silent, terrible laughter.

At the foot of the stairs Margaret comes quickly to him. His face frightens her.

"Where are you going, Maurice?"

"Upstairs," returns he quite calmly.

"You are going to be angry with t.i.ta," says Margaret suddenly. "I know it! And nothing is true. _Nothing!_ What has Marian been saying to you? She"--with the very strangest little burst of pa.s.sion, from Margaret, the quiet Margaret!--"she has been telling you lies!"

"My dear Margaret!"

"Oh, Maurice, do be led by me!--by _anyone_ but her!" says Miss Knollys, holding him, as he would have gone on. "Why can't you see?

Are you blind?"

"I really think I must be," returns he with a peculiar smile. "It is only just now I am beginning to open my eyes. My dear, good Margaret!" He lifts her hand from his sleeve and pats it softly.

"You are too good for this world. It is you who are blind, really.

It will take longer to open your eyes than even mine." He runs lightly past her up the stairs.

Margaret gives a little cry of despair. Colonel Neilson, catching her hand, draws her into a room on the left. The expected "Coo-ee"

has been called twice already, but neither Margaret nor Neilson have heard it.

"Marian has done this," says Margaret, in great distress. He has her hand still in his, and now, half unconsciously, she tightens her fingers over his.

"That woman is a perfect devil!" says the Colonel savagely. "She is playing Old Harry with the _regime_ here."

"I can't think what she means to be the end of it," says Margaret.

"She can't marry him herself, and----"

"She might, you know, if--if--she could manage to prove certain things."

"Oh _no!_ I won't believe she is as bad as that," says Margaret with horror. "She has her good points. She has, really, though you will never believe me."

"Never!" says the Colonel stoutly. "The way she behaved to you this evening----"

"To me?" Margaret flushes quickly. The flush makes her charming. She knows quite well to what he is alluding, and she likes him for being indignant with Marian because of it--and yet, if only he _hadn't_ alluded to it! It isn't nice to be called middle-aged--though when one is only thirty, one ought to be able to laugh at it--but when one is thirty and unmarried, somehow one never laughs at it.

"To you. Do you think I should have cared much if she had been beastly to anyone else? I tell you, Margaret, I could hardly restrain myself! I had only one great desire at the moment--that she had been a man."

"Ah! But if she had been a man, she wouldn't have said it," says Margaret. There is a little moisture in her eyes.

"No, by Jove! of course not. I'll do my own s.e.x that credit."

"And after all," says Margaret, "why be so angry with her? There was nothing but truth in what she said."

There is something almost pathetic in the way she says this; she does not know it, perhaps, but she is plainly longing for a denial to her own statement.

"I really think you ought to be above this sort of thing," says the Colonel, with such indignation that she is at once comforted; all the effusive words of flattery he could have used could not have been half so satisfactory as this rather rude speech.

"Well, never mind me," says she; "let us think of my dear little girl. My poor t.i.ta! I fear--I fear----" She falters, and breaks down. "I am powerless. I can do nothing to help her; you saw how I failed with him just now. Oh, what shall I do?"

She covers her face with her hands, and tears fall through her fingers.

Neilson, as if distracted by this sad sight, lays his arm gently round her shoulder, and draws her to him.

"Margaret, my darling girl, don't cry about it, whatever you do,"

entreats he frantically. "Margaret, don't break my heart!"

Miss Knollys' tears cease as suddenly as though an electric battery has been directed at her.

"Nonsense! Don't be foolis.h.!.+ And at _my_ age too!" says she indignantly.

She pushes him from her.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW t.i.tA IS "CAUGHT," BUT BY ONE WHOM SHE DID NOT EXPECT; AND HOW SHE PLAYED WITH FIRE FOR A LITTLE BIT; AND HOW FINALLY SHE RAN AWAY.

Rylton, striding upstairs, makes straight for the picture-gallery.

It strikes him as he pa.s.ses along the corridor that leads to it that a most unearthly silence reigns elsewhere, and yet a sort of silence that with difficulty holds back the sound behind it. A strange feeling that every dark corner contains some hidden thing that could at a second's notice spring out upon him oppresses him, and, indeed, such a feeling is not altogether without justification. Many eyes look out at him at these corners as he goes by, and once the deadly silence is broken by a t.i.tter, evidently forcibly suppressed! Rylton takes no notice, however. His wrath is still so warm that he thinks of nothing but the picture-gallery, and that screen at the end of it--where _she,_ his wife, is----

Now, there is a screen just inside the entrance to this gallery, and behind it are Minnie Hescott and Mr. Gower. Randal's eyes are sharp, but Minnie's even sharper. They both note, not only Maurice's abrupt entrance, but the expression on his face.

"Do something--quickly," says Minnie, giving Randal a little energetic push that all but overturns the screen.

"Anything! To half my kingdom; but what?" demands Mr. Gower, in a whisper very low, as befits the occasion.

"t.i.ta is down there with Tom," says Miss Hescott, pointing to the far end of the long, dimly-lit gallery. "Do you want to see _murder_ done?"

"Not much," says Gower. "But--how am I to prevent it?"

"Don't you know what you must do?" says she energetically. "Those idiots downstairs have forsaken us. Run up the room as quick as you can--past Sir Maurice--and pretend you are the one who is hunting.

_I'll_ go for Tom. If we make a regular bustle, Sir Maurice won't think so much about our little game as he does now. Did you see his face?"