Paddy The Next Best Thing Part 54

"No, they're just off," put in Gwen quickly. "Good-by, Paddy. Sorry I can't be in for that settling-up. I'm so afraid Lawrence will cheat you. Have a good time. See you on Thursday," and a few seconds later the train was steaming out of the station.

Gwen's last remark with reference to Thursday was an allusion to a visit she and her adoring Goliath were paying to the Blakes in a few days.

They were to have gone over with Lawrence, but at the last her parents refused to part with her for Christmas Day, and they were not starting till the twenty-seventh.

"It will be lovely to have Gwen in Ireland," Paddy said, as they settled themselves, "but she ought to have paid her first visit in the summer."

Lawrence gave a little laugh.

"I don't suppose the seasons make much difference to people in her and Bob's happy state of mind. It's just likely she will hardly know whether it is December or July,"--then he proceeded to shake out his big, warm rug and tuck it all round Paddy.

She tried to remonstrate, but she might as well have talked to the rug.

"I won't worry you the whole way if you're good, Paddy," he said, with a smile, in which there was a touch of wistfulness; "but you'll just have to let me take care of you; it would be any man's right who had known you as long as I have."

She coloured and lowered her eyes, but made no further demur. When he was satisfied he had done everything possible, and again sat down, she opened one of the papers, and buried her face in it, pretending to be carefully studying the ill.u.s.trations. But in reality something of a tumult was stirring in her heart. It was so good to be taken care of-- poor Paddy. The way her mother and Eileen had gone on ahead had hurt her more than any one knew, and Lawrence's careful attentions only made her feel the contrast. If it had only been Jack--or indeed anyone but Lawrence.

He had opened a paper also and now sat quietly reading opposite to her, not attempting to worry her with conversation. Once or twice Paddy ventured to glance covertly into his thin, keen face after discovering she could do so without his knowledge.

She was wondering a little why, occasionally of late, she had experienced a wholly new and unaccountable sensation, something like dread. How could she be afraid?... she the fearless! Was it the subtle suggestion of strength? Hardly so, for Ted Masterman was no less strong, and she had never had any anxious qualms with him, nor remotest suggestion of loss of self-confidence. Was it the thin, cynical lips!

Was it the something indescribable that suggested unscrupulousness? In repose it was not a rea.s.suring face. The mouth was a little cruel, the jaw had an obstinate set, and there were fine lines of irritability round the keen eyes. Only when he smiled was there real charm, and even then it depended on the measure of his wish to please; though, because his smile was rare, it was invariably attractive.

Paddy watched him covertly, feeling interested. She realised that he had the look of a man who could not be thwarted with impunity. A man strong enough to be patient up to a certain point, and then capable of being unscrupulous rather than give in. She wished vaguely that he had been different, and at that moment, before she had time to lower her gaze, Lawrence looked up suddenly from his paper straight into her eyes.

There was no time for subterfuge, and a sudden flood of colour in her cheeks told its own tale.

Lawrence smiled his sudden, fascinating smile, and resting his arms across his knees, leaned toward her.

"What were you thinking about, Patricia!"

"Nothing," said Paddy, and shut her mouth with a little snap.

"Come!" coaxingly, "you may as well tell me."

But she would not be inveigled, and picked up her papers again, saying that she had forgotten. Lawrence, however, was not so easily put off.

"Do you know you have such a funny mouth, Paddy," he said. "It doesn't shut properly, and when you want to be very firm you have to use great pressure. It almost looks as if it had a spring that didn't work quite properly, and sometimes, although you are very determined to be severe, it persists in getting unmanageable and twitching. It's quite the most fascinating, irresistible mouth I ever saw in my life."

"Don't be silly," trying not to see how altogether engaging his manner had become. "In about two seconds I shall put up my umbrella."

"Don't do that," he laughed. "It would be too unkind. I don't mind your firing bombs at me in your conversation, but I should mind very much if you hid yourself."

"That is the reason that would have more weight with me than any other for doing so," promptly.

Lawrence sat back and laughed outright.

"Clean bowled!" he said. "'Pon my word, Paddy, there's no getting in edgeways with you."

"Give up trying," dryly. "Read a book and improve your mind instead."

"Does it need it so badly?"

"Never too old to learn," without looking up.

"You needn't say it as if I were your grandfather. I'm only thirty-five, and what are you? Let me see, Doreen is twenty-five, and you are eighteen months younger, therefore you must be either twenty-three or twenty-four. Time you were growing wiser, Paddy, and suiting yourself to your world, and its exigencies."

"I suppose you mean _your_ world!"

"Mine and yours. It's got to come some day, Patricia. Why not now?"

She shut her lips more tightly, and pretended to be buried in her paper.

"You can't possibly know what you are reading about. Put the paper down and talk for a little. You will only damage your eyesight."

Still no answer.

He ventured further. "Do you remember the last time we were alone in a small s.p.a.ce between four walls at this hour!"

She put the paper down suddenly, and looked straight into his eyes.

"You are not playing fair," she said.

He sat up quickly, and drew his hand across his face, and then said quite simply: "You are right. I apologise."

Paddy was instantly mollified, and he saw it, and took the opportunity to get up and rearrange her rug.

"It is all right," she urged, but he only smiled, and persisted in tucking her up more cozily. Once again Paddy had that fleeting sense of the satisfaction of masculine protection, and looked a little wistfully down at her book.

"If I promise to play fair, will you talk?" he asked. "It is so tiring to read."

She could not but agree with him, and they spent the rest of the journey talking about Lawrence's travels, and the wonders of far-off lands.

When he would take the trouble he was a delightful conversationalist, and Paddy gave an exclamation of astonishment when she found they were nearing Holyhead.

Lawrence smiled inwardly, but was far too clever to mar his momentary triumph by seeming to notice it, and they remained good friends until the train steamed into Omeath station.

Paddy, of course, was hanging out of the window, watching for each familiar landmark, but when the train drew up, she uttered an exclamation of such boundless amazement, incredulity, and delight mingled, that Lawrence was quite startled.

Coming running down the platform was Jack O'Hara.

CHAPTER FORTY.

A BUDGET OF NEWS.

Paddy was out on the platform in half a twinkling, and with a little cry of "Jack!" darted to meet him with hands outstretched. Jack caught hold of both, and shook them until she was quite exhausted, and cried for mercy. Lawrence stood looking on, and his brow grew black as thunder.

If Jack had only known it, in that one minute he had practically all the revenge he need wish, for any fancied contempt in the past.

"Can I give you a lift?" Lawrence said, when they would listen. "My motor is here. How do, O'Hara! You look as if South America suited you."

"It did A1," answered Jack, not even noticing Lawrence's ill-concealed anger--as indeed he had small occasion to. "What shall we do, Paddy, walk or drive?"