Bird of Paradise Part 11

Arrangements had been made that Mrs. Nigel Hillier was to have a little dinner at home for her mother (with whom Nigel was not supposed to be on terms); and she and her parent were to go to the St. James's Theatre, for which two stalls had been purchased. Nigel pretended he was dining with an old friend at the club.

Coming in brightly, but, as usual, losing half his personality in the hall, he found Mary at seven o'clock sitting in the little boudoir, in the usual arm-chair, looking our for him, not, apparently, thinking of dressing for dinner.

"Hallo, Mary!" he said. "Hadn't you better get ready for your mother?"

"No," she responded rather coldly and bitingly, "I've put mother off."

He glanced at her with self-control. She looked, he thought, far more bitter than usual.

"That's a pity, because you will be alone--dear. Besides, the stalls will be wasted."

"No, they won't," she said. "You'll stay at home with me, and take me to the St. James's. You can easily put off your man at the club." She looked him full in the eyes.

Colour rose to his face and then faded away.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but that's impossible."

"It isn't impossible--you mean you don't want to do it. ... Oh, do please--please, Nigel!" She came towards him and played with his tie--the trick of hers that he hated most.

She mistook his silence, which was hesitation as to what plan to adopt, for vacillation, and thought she was going to win. ...

"Oh, 'oo will, 'oo will!" she exclaimed, with a rather sickly imitation of a spoilt child, with her head on one side. It was a pose that did not suit her in any way.

He drew back; the s.h.i.+ny red hair gave him a feeling of positive nausea.

She was attempting to defeat him--she was trying to be coquettish--poor thing! ... She suspected something; she hadn't put off her mother for nothing. ... He was going to the Russian Ballet with Bertha--how could he leave Bertha in the lurch? With Madeline and Rupert, too--what harm was there in it? (The fact that he heartily wished there _was_ had really nothing to do with the point.)

Husbands and wives usually know when opposition is useless. Mary privately gave it up when she heard Nigel speak firmly and quickly--not angrily.

"I've made the arrangement now, and I can't back out."

"And what about me?" she said, in a shrill voice.

He went out of the room hastily, saying:

"I can't help it now; if you alter your arrangements at the last minute--stop at home and read a book, or take some friend to the St.

James's."

He ran upstairs like a hunted hare; he was afraid of being late. He had got his table at the Carlton.

Left alone in the boudoir, a terrible expression came over Mary's face.

She said to herself quite loudly:

"He is not going to the club; he'd give it up if he were. It's something about that woman. ..."

A wave of hysteria came over her, also a half-hearted hope of succeeding still by a new kind of scene. ...

There were two large china pots on the mantelpiece; she threw them, first one, then the other, at the half-open door, smas.h.i.+ng them to atoms. Excited at her own violence, she ran upstairs screaming, regardless of appearance:

"You sha'n't go! You sha'n't go! I hate you. I'll kill myself.

Oh--oh--oh! Nigel! Nigel!"

At eight to the minute Nigel in the Palm Court received Bertha Kellynch dressed in black, Madeline in white, and Rupert Denison with a little mauve orchid in his b.u.t.tonhole.

The dinner, subtly ordered, was a complete success, and Madeline Irwin was in a dream of happiness, but Bertha was sorry to see that Nigel, who was usually remarkably moderate in the matter of champagne, and to-night drank even less than usual, had the whole evening a trembling hand. Even at the ballet, where he was more than usually ready to enjoy every shade of the enjoyable, he was not quite free from nervous agitation. He did not drive Rupert home, but let Rupert drop him in Grosvenor Street at twelve-thirty--for a slight supper was inevitable and Rupert had taken them to the Savoy.

Mrs. Hillier was in bed and asleep. The maid said she had been ill and excited. The maid, frightened, had sent for the doctor. His remedy had succeeded in calming her.

The next day Mary seemed subdued, and was amiable. Both ignored the quarrel. Nigel believed it would not occur again. He thought his firmness had won and that she was defeated. He did not understand her.

CHAPTER VIII

PERCY

"I've had such a lovely letter from Rupert, Bertha. I'm so excited, I can't read it almost!"

Bertha held out her hand. Madeline was looking agitated.

"He says," said Madeline, looking closely at the letter in her short-sighted way, "that he wishes he could burn me like spice on the altar of a life-long friends.h.i.+p! Fancy!"

"Rather indefinite, isn't it?"

"Oh, but listen!" And Madeline read aloud eagerly: "_Yesterday evening was perfect: but to-day and for several days I shall be unable to see you. Why is a feast day always followed by a fast?_"

"Is it Doncaster to-morrow?" asked Bertha.

"Don't be absurd, that's nothing to do with it. Listen to this. _What a curiously interesting nature you have! Am I not right when I say that I fancy in time, as you develop and grow older, you may look at life eye to eye with me?_"

"Madeline dear, _please_ don't mistake that for a proposal. I a.s.sure you that it isn't one."

Madeline looked up sharply. "Who said it was? But, anyhow, it shows interest. He must be rather keen--I mean interested--in me. It's all very well to say it means nothing, but for a man nowadays to sit down and write a long letter all about nothing at all, it must have some significance. Look how easily he might have rung up! I know you're afraid of encouraging me too much, and it's very kind of you--but I must confess I _do_ think that letters mean a great deal. Think of the trouble he's taken. And there's a great deal about himself in it, too."

"Of course, Madeline, I don't deny that it does show interest, and he probably must be a little in love with someone--perhaps with himself--to write a letter about nothing. As you say, it's unusual nowadays. But you mustn't forget that, though Rupert's young, he belongs to the '95 period. Things were very different then. People thought nothing of writing a long letter; and a telegram about nothing was considered quite advanced and American."

"Oh, bother!" said Madeline, "I hate being told about the period he belongs to. It makes it seem like ancient history. Listen to what he says about you--such lovely things! '_Mrs. Kellynch is a delightful contrast to you, and is all that is charming and brilliant, in a different way. Is she not one of those (alas, too few) who are always followed by the flutes of the pagan world?_'"

"That's really very sweet of him. I say, I wonder what it means exactly?"

"I have no idea. But it just shows, doesn't it?"

With a satisfied smile, Madeline put the letter away. Bertha did not press to see it, but remarked: "I see he didn't sign himself very affectionately. Evidently there's nothing compromising in the letter."