Lady Cassandra Part 7

He'd be so pleased!"

"I'm not so sure," Grizel said shrewdly. "I'm his wife and he adores me, but he'd rather play golf with a boring man with a good handicap, and come home to find me sitting on a sofa looking pretty and fluffy, ready to acclaim his exploits, and listen to volumes about every hole, and the marvellous way in which he cleeked his tee off the bogie. Well!

what is it? Don't you call it a bogie?" She laughed herself, in sympathy with the other's merriment, and ended with an involuntary: "Lady Ca.s.sandra! I'm so _glad_ you came. Do let us often laugh together! I have such a comfortable feeling that you won't be shocked at anything I say."

"No one ever shocks me, except myself. You don't know how glad I shall be. I'm really rather a lonely person, though I've lived here so long.

It seems extraordinary to have had this intimate conversation with you on our very first meeting. I wouldn't dream of discussing such matters with any other woman in the neighbourhood."

"Of course not. You don't know anyone else so well. We _are_ intimates, so what's the use of hedging?"

"I don't want to hedge. I'm only too thankful to know it. It's not healthy to live so much alone. One grows introspective. These last years I've been growing more and more absorbed in Ca.s.sandra Raynor."

"Well! she _is_ attractive, isn't she? I'm going to do exactly the same. I felt it in my bones the moment you entered the room. You felt it too! I saw the little spark leap to your eyes."

"It did. It's quite true, but I ought to warn you that being a.s.sociated with me, won't make you any more popular in Chumley. Chumley doesn't-- approve of me! I expect you are sensitive enough to atmospheres to have grasped that fact for yourself?"

"I did. Yes. But why?"

"Oh, many reasons. I dress fas.h.i.+onably. I hate parish work. I don't go to 'teas,' or give them in return. I'm lazy about calls. I'm not interested in the people, and I can't pretend."

"Oh, but I shall be interested. I always am. I love all those dear old things in their dolmans and black silks. They are types of the old-fas.h.i.+oned women, whom I've read about, but never known. I shall love studying them, and hearing their views, and shocking them by telling them mine in return. They'll love being shocked--all prim old ladies love it. They're all walking home now, buzzing over my _faux pas_, and feeling as perked up as if they'd been to the theatre. They think they are grieved, but they have really enjoyed themselves immensely. I lived with a very old great-aunt before my marriage, so I'm an expert in old ladies."

Ca.s.sandra a.s.sented absently. She was not interested in old ladies, but she was interested in watching Grizel as she talked. Her practised eye took in every detail of her appearance, and every detail was right. She studied her features, her expression, the waves of her soft fair hair, the swiftly moving hands, and sat smiling, appearing to listen, while her thoughts raced ahead, planning future meetings, seeing herself blessed with a friend who would fill the empty gap.

"I shall be jealous of the old ladies if you give them too much of your company!" she said, with a charming smile which accentuated the flattery of the remark. Grizel smiled back with a little nod of acknowledgment, and Ca.s.sandra lifted her m.u.f.f as if preparing to depart, asking casually the while:

"Have you good news of your sister-in-law, Miss Beverley? I knew her slightly, and admired her a great deal. She went to India, I think?"

Grizel's eyes danced with animation.

"She did. Yes. To visit a friend. We saw her off at Ma.r.s.eilles, my husband and I, and a fortnight later we were sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee, and flirting outrageously, when we suddenly saw the name of the s.h.i.+p on a poster! It had been in a collision in the Indian Ocean; and the pa.s.sengers had to take to the boats. If another s.h.i.+p had not come to the rescue, they might all have been drowned."

"What a terrible experience! How sad for the poor girl, just when she was starting for such a delightful visit!"

"Not at all sad. Not at all. A very good thing," said Grizel unexpectedly. "Katrine had been wading through trivialities all her life; a big experience was just what she needed. Besides--as a matter of fact... there was a _Man_!"

"Aha!" cried Ca.s.sandra, immediately fired with feminine interest. "On the s.h.i.+p?"

"Pre-cisely! Fastening her into life-belts, bidding her a tragic adieu, waving a gallant hand from the sinking prow."

"Just so. I understand! And when is the wedding to be?"

Grizel's face lengthened in dismay.

"Goodness me--I haven't _told_ you, have I? No one is to know for a couple of months. How on earth did you guess? _Please_ don't speak of it to a soul. You see, it's a trifle awkward, because as a matter of fact the real man,--it wasn't the real man,--I mean it _was_ the real man really, only he pretended--"

Ca.s.sandra held up a protesting hand.

"I think you'd better leave it alone! You didn't tell me anything; I guessed, but I'll promise to forget forthwith, and be agreeably surprised when I hear the news a few months hence. _Don't_ tell me any names!"

Before Grizel could reply the whizz of an electric bell sounded through the house, and both women involuntarily groaned, foreseeing an end to their _tete-a-tete_, but the next moment Grizel's eyes brightened.

"It's a _man_!" she whispered ecstatically. "It's a man. I can hear his dear boots! My first man caller! Oh joy! Oh rapture!"

"Captain Peignton."

Dane entered, his eyes narrowed in his usual, short-sighted fas.h.i.+on.

Ca.s.sandra noticed that he threw a quick glance round the room and guessed, what was indeed the truth, that he had hoped to meet Teresa Mallison, and have an opportunity of escorting her home. When he caught sight of herself, his face showed a ripple of feeling that came and went before she could decipher its meaning. Then he sat down, and made conversation to Grizel, and was smiled at in return with a display of dimples which seemed to have sprung into existence for his benefit.

Certainly the old ladies had not been treated to them; even Ca.s.sandra herself had come off second best, for Grizel was essentially a man's woman, who awoke to her highest self in the presence of the opposite s.e.x. It was easy to see that the present visitor was making a favourable impression, and that Grizel was alive to the charm which Ca.s.sandra had found it so difficult to define.

Looking on in silence during the first moments of conversation, Ca.s.sandra was not so sure that Peignton reciprocated his hostess's approval. Her light flow of conversation seemed to disconcert rather than put him at his ease, his answers came with difficulty, his eyes had none of their usual brightness. Well! the man who could fall in love with Teresa Mallison would hardly be likely to appreciate Grizel Beverley. Ca.s.sandra made up her mind to take her departure, but some minutes elapsed before she really rose, and then to her surprise Peignton also made his farewells, and accompanied her to the door.

Outside, the car stood waiting, and as he helped her into it and held out his hand in farewell, his face in the fading light looked pale and tired, and Ca.s.sandra spoke on a quick impulse:

"Can I give you a lift? It will be just as quick to go round by the cross roads. Unless you prefer to walk..."

"Thank you, I'd be grateful. I've had a heavy day!"

He seated himself beside her, and the car sped smoothly down the narrow road. For some moments neither spoke, but Ca.s.sandra was conscious of a pleasurable tingling of excitement. She had had so many lonely drives seated in solitary state among the luxurious fitments of her Rolls Royce, that the presence of a companion was in itself an agreeable novelty. Besides, as she reminded herself, she had a double reason in being interested in Dane Peignton, since both for Bernard's sake and Teresa's it was her duty to cultivate the friends.h.i.+p. She turned towards him, met the brown eyes, and smiled involuntarily. They were _nice_ eyes!

"Well! what do you think of the bride?"

"Just what I was going to ask you!"

"I agree with Teresa. She is adorable!"

The mention of Teresa aroused no flicker in his face. His brows contracted in consideration.

"Is she? I'm not so sure. She does not strike me as a woman of very deep feeling."

"You would not say that, if you had heard her talking before you came in!"

"Wouldn't I? That's interesting. What was she talking about?"

"Oh!" The blood mounted into Ca.s.sandra's cheeks, she felt a sudden unaccountable shyness. "Marriage! The relations.h.i.+p of husband and wives--that sort of thing."

Peignton laughed: a breezy laugh without a touch of self-consciousness.

"Naturally! I might have known it. What else could you expect? She is a bride, and head over heels in love,--must have been, to give up all she did--naturally she'd want to prattle to another woman. Boring for you, though, as you know so much more of the game."

Ca.s.sandra looked at him thoughtfully. The electric light overhead showed the small oval face, with the rose flush on the cheek, the soft greys of the furs round her throat. The words came slowly.

"Do you know--it's a strange thing to confess,--but I _don't_! She is a bride of two months, and I've been married ten years--but she realises things now, that I've pa.s.sed by. She sees deeper into the difficulties.

She feels _more_, not less."

"You are too modest," Dane said quickly, his brown eyes softening in involuntary admiration of the beautiful sad face. "Nothing is easier than to talk big, before the event. We can all theorise, and lay down the law; the tug comes when we begin to act. Mrs Beverley is living in Utopia at present, and talks the language thereof. Very exalted and charming, no doubt, but--it isn't real! You should not take her too seriously."

Ca.s.sandra did not reply. It was not for her to betray another woman's confidence, and for the moment she was occupied with the side-light which Peignton's words had given her concerning his own sentiments.-- Grizel Beverley believed in the reality of her Utopia, and intended to preserve it at the point of the sword; Peignton proclaimed it a delusion before he had even come into possession. Such an att.i.tude was not natural, was not right. He was not temperamentally a cold-blooded man, the latent strength of his nature made itself felt, despite the indifference of his pose, and Teresa was young and pretty and fresh.

Once more the older woman felt a stirring of pity for the younger. It was as the champion of Teresa's youth that she spoke at last.

"You seem to have no illusions! Isn't it rather a pity, at your..."