The Bandbox Part 6

She was a lean, angular, inordinately vivacious body whose years, which were many more than forty, were making a brave struggle to masquerade as thirty. She was notorious for her execrable taste in gowns and jewelry, but her social position was impregnable, and her avowed mission in life was to bring together Society (meaning the caste of money) with the Arts (meaning those humble souls content to sell their dreams for the wherewithal to sustain life).

Her pa.s.sion for bromidioms always stupefied Staff--left him dazed and witless. In the present instance he could think of nothing by way of response happier than that h.o.a.ry ba.n.a.lity: "This is indeed a surprise."

"Flatterer!" said Mrs. Ilkington archly. "_I'm_ not surprised," she pursued. "I might have known _you'd_ be aboard this vessel."

"You must be a prophetess of sorts, then," he said, smiling. "I didn't know I was going to sail, myself, till late yesterday afternoon."

"Deceiver," commented the lady calmly. "Why can't you men _ever_ be candid?"

Surprise merged into some annoyance. "What do you mean?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh, but two can play at that game," she a.s.sured him spiritedly. "If you won't be open with me, why should I tell all I know?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're driving at, Mrs. Ilkington."

"Would it improve your understanding"--she threatened him gaily with a gem-encrusted forefinger--"if I were to tell you I met a certain person in Paris last week, who talked to me about you?"

"It would not," said he stiffly. "Who--?"

"Oh, well, if you _won't_ be frank!" Mrs. Ilkington's manner implied that he was a bold, bad b.u.t.terfly, but that she had his entomological number, none the less. "Tell me," she changed the subject abruptly, "how goes the _great_ play?"

"Three acts are written," he said in weariness of spirit, "the fourth--"

"But I thought you weren't to return to America until it was _quite_ finished?"

"Who told you that, please?"

"Never mind, sir! How about the fourth act?"

"I mean to write it _en voyage_," said he, perplexed. From whom could this woman possibly have learned so much that was intimate to himself?

"You have it all mapped out, then?" she persisted.

"Oh, yes; it only needs to be put on paper."

"R'ally, then, it's true--isn't it--that the writing is the least part of play construction?"

"Who told you that?" he asked again, this time amused.

"Oh, a _very_ prominent man," she declared; and named him.

Staff laughed. "A too implicit belief in that theory, Mrs. Ilkington,"

said he, "is responsible for the large number of perfectly good plays that somehow never get written--to say nothing of the equally large number of perfectly good playwrights who somehow never get anywhere."

"Clever!" screamed the lady. "But aren't you wasteful of your epigrams?"

He could cheerfully have slain her then and there; for which reason the civil gravity he preserved was all the more commendable.

"And now," he persisted, "won't you tell me with whom you were discussing me in Paris?"

She shook her head at him reprovingly. "You don't _know_?"

"No."

"You can't guess?"

"Not to save me."

"R'ally?"

"Honestly and truly," he swore, puzzled by the undertone of light malice he thought to detect in her manner.

"Then," said she with decision, "_I'm_ not going to get myself into trouble by babbling. But, if you promise to be _nice_ to me all the way home--?" She paused.

"I promise," he said gravely.

"Then--if you happen to be at the head of the companion-ladder when the tender comes off from Queenstown tonight--I promise you a _huge_ surprise."

"You won't say more than that?" he pleaded.

She appeared to debate. "Yes," she announced mischievously; "I'll give you a leading hint. The person I mean is the purchaser of the Cadogan collar."

His eyes were blank. "And what, please, is the Cadogan collar?"

"You don't mean to tell me you've never _heard_ of it?" She paused with dramatic effect. "Incredible! Surely, everybody knows about the Cadogan collar, the most magnificent necklace of pearls in the world!"

"Everybody, it seems, but myself, Mrs. Ilkington."

"R'ally!" she cried, and tapped his arm playfully. "You are as stupid as most brilliant men!"

A bugle sang through the evening air. The lady started consciously.

"Heavens!" she cried. "Time to dress for dinner: I must _fly_!... Have you made your table reservation yet?"

"Yes," he said hastily.

"Then _do_ see the second-steward at once and get transferred to our table; we have just one vacant chair. Oh, but you _must_; you've promised to be nice to me, you know. And I do so want you to meet one of my protegees--such a _sweet_ girl--a Miss Searle. I'm sure you'll be crazy about her--at least, you would be if there were no Alison Landis in your cosmos. Now, do attend to that right away. Remember you've promised."

Staff bowed as she fluttered away. In his heart he was thoroughly convinced that this were a sorry scheme of things indeed did it not include a special h.e.l.l for Mrs. Ilkingtons.

What had she meant by her veiled references to this mysterious person in Paris, who was to board the steamer at Queenstown? How had she come by so much personal knowledge of himself and his work? And what did she know about his love for Alison Landis?

He swore thoughtfully, and went below to dress, stopping on the way to make arrangements with the second-steward to have his seat changed, in accordance with his exacted promise.

IV