Carnival Part 27

They shook hands discreetly, and though Maurice held Jenny's hand longer than was necessary, he held Irene's just as long in case she might have noticed and felt hurt by the greater attention paid to her friend.

Jenny and Irene turned in the direction of the Tube station by Leicester Square.

"He might have stood us a cab home," complained the latter.

"Why should he?" said Jenny.

Irene looked at her in perplexity.

"You're usually the one to get all you can out of a fellow. And it was your turn to ask to-night."

"I like Maurice," Jenny replied. "And what's more, I think I shall like him again to-morrow."

The afternoon arrived. Jenny and Irene, walking down Shaftesbury Avenue, perceived Maurice gazing at the photographs outside the Palace.

"There he is," cried Jenny.

Avery turned round.

"You _are_ punctual," he exclaimed.

Tea, at whatever tea-shop they drank it, was dull. The acquaintance did not seem to advance.

When it was time for the girls to go into the theater, Maurice said desperately:

"Could I drive you--both home to-night?"

At the last moment he was afraid to exclude Irene. "I'll wait outside,"

he went on, "till you come out."

Rain fell that night, and Maurice was glad when, along the court, he could see them strolling towards him.

"A hansom, eh?" he said. "Or let's have a drink first."

In the Monico, they sat round a table and nothing mattered to Maurice and Jenny, except eyes. The room seemed full of eyes, not the eyes of its chattering population, but their own. Never before had a London night seemed so gay. Never before had _creme de menthe_ been dyed so richly green. They began to discuss love and jealousy. As Romeo hesitated before he joined the fatal masquerade, Maurice was seized with an impulse to make himself as poor a thing as possible.

"I couldn't be jealous," he vowed. "I think everybody can be in love with two or three people at once."

"I don't," said Jenny.

"Oh, yes, it's absurd to be jealous. Quite absurd. Different people suit different moods. The only trouble is when they meet."

He had caught hold of Jenny's hand while they were speaking, and now she drew it away.

"I think I know what he means," said Irene.

"You think so," scoffed Jenny. "You! You're potty, then."

Maurice felt sorry for Irene and weakly took her hand. She let it recline in his listlessly. It was cold and damp after Jenny's vitality.

"If I loved a man," said Jenny, "I should be most shocking jealous."

"What would you do if you met him with another girl?" asked Maurice.

"I should never speak to him again."

"Wouldn't that be rather foolish?"

"Foolish or not, that's what I should do."

"Well, I'm not jealous," vowed Maurice. "I never have been."

"Then you're silly," a.s.serted Jenny. "Jealous! I'm terribly jealous."

"It's a mistake," said Maurice. "It spoils everything and turns a pleasure into a nuisance."

"I don't think I'm jealous of you-know-who," put in Irene.

"Oh, him and you, you're both mad!" exclaimed Jenny. "But if ever I love a man----"

"Yes," said Maurice eagerly.

Two Frenchmen at the next table were shuffling the dominoes. For Maurice the noise had a strange significance, while he waited for the hypothesis.

Jenny stared away up to the chandeliers.

"Well?" said he. Somebody knocked over a gla.s.s. Jenny s.h.i.+vered.

"It's getting late," she said.

"What about driving home?" asked Maurice.

Outside it was pouring. They squeezed into a hansom cab. Again his politeness seemed bound to mar the evening.

"Let's see. Irene lives at Camden Town. We'd better drive to Islington first and leave Jenny, eh?"

Then Jenny said quite unaccountably to herself and Irene:

"No, thanks. We'll drive Irene home first."

Maurice looked at her quickly, but she gave no sign of any plan, nor did she betray a hint of the emotion he would have been glad to see.

With the gla.s.s let down against the rain, they were forced very near to one another as the horse trotted along Tottenham Court Road s.h.i.+ning with puddles in the lamplight.

"This is jolly," said Maurice, bravely putting an arm round each waist and holding Irene a little closer for fear she should feel that she was the undesired third person. Having done this, he felt ent.i.tled to kiss Jenny first and turned towards her lips. She drew back, whispering:

"Ah, so near and yet for far."