Sir Edwin Crathie had come to the front very rapidly under the auspices of the Liberal Government. Without having any special worth, he was sufficiently bril iant and unscrupulous to brush obstacles aside without compunction, and assert himself in a manner that impressed his hearers with the notion that he was very clever, very thorough, and very reliable.
Those who knew him superficial y believed him extra-ordinarily clever.
Those who knew him intimately sometimes shrugged their shoulders. He was possessed undoubtedly of a certain flashy sort of cleverness, but some of his greatest skil existed in imposing it upon others as strenght and insight.
As may be imagined, such a man was not much troubled with principles.
If a step was likely to help him forward with his ambitions, he took it without considering the moral aspect. If no help was likely to fol ow, he only took it if it happened to please his fancy. To say that he had climbed by women was to put it mildly.
Many of his steps he had taken on women's hearts, trampling them mercilessly in the process. And since he was admittedly unscrupulous, it was not surprising, for he was possessed not only of an attractive appearance, but of great personal magnetism when he chose to exert it.
He was a bachelor because so far he had considered the single state best forwarded his aims, but a growing and imperative need for money was now causing him to look round among the richest heiresses for some one to pay his debts in consideration of being made Lady Crathie.
In the meantime Hal's independent spirit and freshness suggested an entertaining interlude; and as she attracted him more strongly than any woman had done of late, he decided to fol ow up their chance friendship just for the amusement of it.
In consequence, he felt quite boyishly eager for the hours to pass on Wednesday, and when at last it was time to start, dismissed his chauffeur with a curt sentence, and started off alone. The chauffeur, it may be mentioned, merely glanced after him, and with a shrug of his shoulders wondered "what the master was up to now."
When Sir Edwin reached the meeting-place he was not particularly surprised to find no signs of Hal. He believed she would come; but evidently she liked being perverse, and would purposely keep him waiting. He ran the car slowly back again, scanning each pedestrian ahead with a certain anxious eagerness, wondering how he would like her in broad daylight.
On returning to the Archway, and stil finding no one waiting, he alighted with a pretence of examining some part of the car, and looked back over the paths leading down from Piccadil y.
And something in his mental regions felt rather foolishly glad when he recognised her afar off.
He had never seen her walk, but his instinct told him Hal would move with just the graceful, swinging stride of the tal , slim figure coming towards him, and carry her head and shoulders with just such a dauntless, grenadier attitude.
He found himself standing quite stil , with his hands deep in his overcoat pockets, watching her. Her costume, too, pleased his fastidious taste. Of course a first-class tailor had cut a coat and skirt with a fit and hang like that; and the smal hat, if it had nothing Parisian about it, anyhow suited the wearer and dress to perfection.
He noted with quiet pleasure that she showed no signs of embarrassment when she met his watching gaze, merely crossing the road with the same jaunty, upright walk, and a gleam of fun in her eyes.
"Hul o!" was her greeting. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting. I've had a busy afternoon helping my chief to give you and The Right Honourable Hayes Matheson a good slanging."
"Oh, you have, have you?"
The grey eyes were growing more and more approving, as he noted each detail most likely to appeal to a man who had made a study of women for many years. The shapely little ears with the glossy hair curling round them, the full, rounded throat, the determined little chin, the frank, fearless eyes.
He still hardly knew whether she was pretty or not, but he discerned wery quickly that she was amply blessed with that rare gift of personality and humour that is so much more durable than a pretty face.
Hal, for her part, was no less interested in him, but she found little else than that she had already seen: humorous, quizzical grey eyes, a face a good deal lined, and a mouth and chin suggesting a nature fond of enjoyment and self-indulgence, which it had never seen any cause to deny itself. She saw that he was very grey about the temples, and a trifle inclined to stoutness, but tal enough and broad enough to carry it off.
A fine figure of a man, though one, she felt instinctively, belonging to a very different world to hers. Because she felt his careful scrutiny, and because she wanted to assert her indifference to it, she remarked suddenly, after a moment:
"Well, how do you like me by daylight?"
"How do you like me?" he retorted, and laughed.
She shook her head, and her eyes grew mischievous.
"Old," she said; "quite old and grey."
"Old be damned! Forty-eight is the prime of life."
She was taking her seat, and gave a low chuckle of enjoyment at having drawn him.
"Ah, you may laugh now," he said, "but I'll soon show you forty-eight is far more attractive than twenty-eight. Where shal we go?"
"I don't mind in the least, but I should prefer to steer for tea and buns."
"Tea and buns!... how like a woman!... How can you expect to get the vote on tea and buns?"
They were spinning along the Broughton Road now, heading for Putney and Richmond, and Hal felt her spirits rising momentarily with the joy of the motion and comfort and fresh air.
"We don't expect to get in on tea and buns; we expect to get it on whisky and beer. That is to say, we expect the course of events to prove that tea and buns conduce to a frame of mind better able to cope with the questions of the day than the whisky and beer drained in such quantities by men."
"And when you've got it you'll al vote for the man who happens to be good-looking, and who can pay you the prettiest compliments."
"A few wil vote that way, no doubt, but not the majority. Women are not so fond of pretty men as they were"; and her lips curled significantly.
"Pretty men!..." he echoed, with enjoyment.
"Little woman, you have a neat way of putting things."
He was silent a few minutes, then added:
"I suppose, down at that office they are all in love with you?"
"I don't know. I haven't asked them," with twinkling eyes. "I'm a bit in love with the chief myself."
"Oh, your are, are you? And what aged man might he be?"
"Oh, he's quite old," she laughed; "somewhere about forty-eight."
"And is he in love with you?"
"It just depends. Sometimes he's rather fond of me on a Saturday; but on Mondays he loathes me."
"I see. And are you as changeable?"
"No, I love him always; but on Mondays it's mostly from habit. On Saturdays it's from choice."
He looked down at her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to state some commonplace about being jealous. Then suddenly he looked back to his steering wheel, and the commonplace sentence died unspoken. Quite unaccountably he felt less inclined to flirt and more inclined to be really friendly, and for some distance they skimmed along in silence.
They had tea at the Star and Garter, both chatting volubly on the most interesting topics of the day. Hal's newspaper work had made her cognisant of many subjects very few girls of her age would even have heard of, and her original criticisms delighted him. It was a gay little tea-table, and the time slipped by with extraordinary rapidity.
Hal noticed it first.
"Do you know it is half-past six?" she said, "and I'm dining out to-night. We must fly."
"Is it really past six?..." in astonishment. "How the time has flown!
You know, you are such an entertaining little woman, you make me forget everything but yourself." He looked at her hard, and the force of habit caused him to add: "I doubt if any other woman I know to-day could have given me so much pleasure."
"Well, you needn't thank me," with her low, fresh laugh, "because I came entirely to give myself pleasure."
"Then I hope you have succeeded. I see it is quite hopeless to expect any sort of a complimentary speech from you."
"Quite; though I don't mind admitting I have been very enjoyably entertained as wel ."
"That is something, anyhow. And now I suppose you are going straight off home to dress, and dine with some one else, and forget about me?"
"I don't suppose I shall forget you. It happens to be a journalist dinner, and probably we shall tear you to pieces between us before we have finished."
"Well, I'd rather you did that than forget me."
She felt him looking hard into her face, with something a little sinister in his expression, and she got up and turned away.
"Why do you turn away when I am interested? Don't you think you might be a little pleased that I don't want you to forget me?"
He asked the question with a humorous twinkle, though she felt that he meant it seriously as well. This last, however, she was clever enough to ignore, and merely threw him a mischievous glance over her shoulder as she answered:
"Well, I have to consider Brother Dudley's attitude, you see; and I've a notion he would be best pleased for both the incident and motorist of Sunday evening to be forgotten."
He got up slowly, looking amused.
"I suppose he would be horrified at this outing?"
"I strongly suspect he would."
"What if he hears you were out motoring at Richmond with me?"
"Oh, wel , I shall tell him you are old enough to be my father, and not to be absurd."
"Why do you harp on my age so?... If I am old enough to be your father, it doesn't fol ow that I'm too old to be your lover?"
He was standing clos to her now, looking down into her face, and Hal felt a little conscious tremor run through her blood. She faced him squarely, however, and answered in a gay, careless voice:
"Of course it doesn't, only, as I don't happen to want a lover, it's a contingency not worth considering."
"Perhaps the post is already fil ed?" he suggested, refusing likewise to be daunted.
"Quite fil ed. It's a case for a placard stating 'House Ful ', and you," she finished, "would natural y be at the tail end of the queue which has to go away."
He laughed with relish, and gave it up.
"I can see you wil take some taming," he said, as he handed her into the car. "My weighty and important position evidently does not impress you in the least."
"Of course not, as you're a Liberal. They have so few real y good men, they have to take anything they can get. Back up the Budget and the Chancellor, and exhibit a colossal amount of impudence, and there you are!"
"Well, there isn't much to boast of in the way of men on the Conservative side, is there? Chiefly a collection of cousins, and second-cousins, and cousins by marriage, shoved in by a few interfering old aunts. You don't need me to tell an enlightened young woman like you that even impudence might serve the country better than cousin-ship."
"I wonder sometimes if any of you honestly put the country first at any time; or whether it is just a popular name for a very big 'me'?"
"You are such a little sceptic. Do you always credit people with self-interested motives?"
"I don't know that I do; but if you are a city-worker it is a fairly safe basis to work upon, until you can find proof that you are wrong."
He looked down at her with amusement.
"What a wise little head it is! Do you know, I don't think I ever met any one quite like you before,"
"What you have missed!" was the gay rejoinder, and they both laughed.
"I suppose I mustn't take you home?" as they neared Piccadilly.
"Brother Dudley might see us?"
"No, thanks. If you will drop me at Hyde Park Corner I will take a homely bus, and return to my Bloomsbury level."
"Until my next free afternoon, I hope. Wil you come again soon?"
"Perhaps."
"What do you do on Sundays?"
"I general y go out with Dick Bruce."
"Does Dick Bruce consider himself entitled to every Sunday?"
"Well, I consider myself entitled to Dick!..." laughing.
"You're evidently very fond of Dick."
"Very," with enthousiasm. "I have been for twenty-five years. We were like the two babies in _Punch_ which said, 'Help yourself and pass the bottle.'"
"Dick's a lucky devil. Does he take Saturday afternoons as wel ?"
"No; he plays cricket or hockey then."
"Then may I have a Saturday afternoon?"
"It would be jolly;" and a swift gleam in her eyes told him she meant it.
""Very wel . I shal consider that a promise. The first Saturday I can arrange, we'll run down to some little place on the coast, and get some sea air. And if you feel inclined to write me a letter between now and then, send it to York Chambers, Jermyn Street."
He pul ed up, and instantly she exclaimed in haste:
"Oh, there's my bus. Good-bye, thanks awfully; I must fly"; and before he could get in another word, he saw her clambering on to a motor-omnibus, with the utmost unconcern for his sudden, astonished solitarness.
"Gad!... what a woman she'll be one day," was his comment. "If she'd a hundred thousand pounds I wouldn't mind marrying her myself; she'd never let a chap get bored. I'll warrant," He moved slowly down Piccadil y. "Most of them do," he cogitated; "it doesn't seem as if there were one woman in a thousand who didn't soon become a bore.
Heigh-ho, but debts are more boring still sometimes, and I want a fifty-thousand cheque badly."