When Hal sat on the side of her bed, brushing her hair and meditating on her irritation, she had not misjudged when she anticipated great enjoyment from an afternoon run with her new friend.
It would have been difficult indeed to say who enjoyed it the most.
Hal was in great form, and Sir Edwin Crathie half unconsciously took his tone from her, dropping his usual attitude towards women he liked, and adopting instead one as gay and careless and inconsequent as hers.
It was not in the nature of the man to desist from flirting with her, but his pretty speeches were coupled with a humour and chaff that robbed them of any pointedness, and merely resulted in an amusing amount of parry and thrust, over which they both laughed whole-heartedly.
"You are an absolute witch," he told her as they sat enjoying a big tea at an hotel on the south coast; "ever since we started you have made me behave more or less like a school-boy, and a tea like this is the climax."
"It's a good thing I am the only witness," she laughed. "The poorness of your jokes alone would have horrified your col eagues, but to see you eating such a tea must have meant a request for your resignation -
it is so incompatible with the dignity of a Cabinet Minister."
"I had almost forgotten I was a Cabinet Minister. Gad! but it's nice to get right away from the cares of office occasional y like this.
When wil you come again?"
"Oh, I don't think I must come any more," roguishly. "I'm sure Brother Dudley wil not consent."
"What has Brother Dudley go to do with it?... Did he consent this time?"
"Not exactly. I anticipated his willingness."
"You little fibber. You mean you anticipated his firm refusal, and took French leave, so that you need not disobey him."
"It is true that Dudley and I differ occasional y, but I do not disobey him... if I can help it."
"Well, if you took French leave this time, you can easily do it again."
"But this time it was a novelty. I was curious to find out how I should enjoy an afternoon with you?"
"Rubbish. You knew perfectly wel you would enjoy it immensely. So did I. Two people who like each other always know those kind of things at once."
Hal leaned back in her chair, and her expressive mouth twitched in a way that made him long to kiss it hard.
"There are occasions when I don't like you at al ," she said.
"Fibber again. When don't you like me?"
"Chiefly when you are quite positive certain sure that I do."
"Well, that is never; so you are a fibber."
"I thought you seemed particularly confident nine seconds ago."
"I was only teasing you. I could hardly have been serious after you have called me a worm, and an old man. So now - when wil you come again?"
"In about a month. Let's go out as Guys on the fifth of November."
"A month be blowed! I want to know which day next week?"
"I am ful up next week."
"Ful up of what?"
"Lorraine Vivian, Dick Bruce, Quin, the Beloved Chief, and the Baby."
"What a list! Is Lorraine Vivian the actress? Who are Quin and the Baby?"
"She is... and they are!..."
"Who does the Baby belong to?"
"It would be difficult to say. About a dozen probably claim him."
"And doesn't he know his own mother?"
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of mothers."
"Who were you thinking of?"
"The ladies who have lost their hearts to him."
"I see. Are you one of them?"
"I am not. You see, his beauty has never struck me al of a heap, because I've got so used to it."
"Is he a beautiful baby, or a youth, or a man?"
"A bit of all three. He stands 6 ft. 5 1/2 in., and is superbly handsome. I call him sometimes, for variation, the stuffed blue-and-gold Apollo."
"Well, that's better than 'a positive worm'," laughing, "but I don't mind him. Who is Quin?"
"Quin is a philanthropist, sentimentalist, and hero. He spends his life working in the East End."
"I don't mind him either, and Dick Bruce I've seen. The actress doesn't count, and your precious chief you see every day. Now, then, when will you come again?"
He got up from his seat and came round to her side of the table. He had a vague intention of imprisoning her hand, and perhaps her waist, but some indescribable quality held him off. It was difficult to suppose she did not half guess what was in his mind, and yet, without showing the smal est consciousness or shyness, she faced him with a look so boyishly frank and open it utterly disarmed him.
"I am not a bit more persuasive on my right side than my left, and I have promised next Saturday to the Three Graces - who are Dick and Quin and Baby. We are going to the Crystal Palace to see a footbal match."
"Then what about Sunday?"
"Oh, I can't come on Sunday."
"Why not?"
"I hardly know, except that it usual y belongs to Dudley or Dick."
"Next Sunday needn't."
"Well, that's what I don't know."
"Yes you do." He moved a little nearer. "You've got to keep next Sunday for me. It's my turn. We'll have a splendid day. We'll take Peter, and we'll start early and fly down to the New Forest. It's glorious in the autumn. We'll have a picnic-lunch, and tea at an hotel on the way back. So that's settled." He got up, and lifted her ulster from the back of a chair. "Now come along, and we'll slip home before it gets late enough to cause trouble."
Hal let it pass for the time, and got into her ulster. She was clever enough to see the advantage of retaining a way of escape if she changed her mind, or accepting the invitation if she wanted to later on.
She knew perfectly wel a girl did not always go out for a whole day with a man like Sir Edwin with impunity; but she had also something of contempt for a girl who missed a great treat for want of pluck. She preferred to leave the question open, and if she badly wanted to go at the end of the week she would not, at any rate, stay away because she was afraid.
As it happened, circumstances played into Sir Edwin Crathie's hands.
About Wednesday, with a diffidence that made Hal secretly amused and secretly curious, Dudley asked her if she would mind if he was away for the whole day on Sunday. As she was generally away herself as long as the summer lasted, she wondered why he should ask her in that manner.
It was just as they had finished breakfast, and he busied himself with his pipe-rack as he made the announcement.
"Of course I don't mind," she said. "Are you going into the country?"
"Ye-es." He seemed about to add something further, but changed his mind. Hal, with a little inward chuckle, divined by his manner he must be going somewhere with a lady, and she was pleased, as she liked a man to have woman friends, believing they made him more broad-minded and tolerant and generous-hearted if wel -chosen.
She asked no further question, however, and Dudley commenced to whistle softly as he drew on his boots. Evidently his mind was somewhat relieved after the sentence was said.
So now it remained to discover Dick's attitude. She could, of course, quite easily put him off; but she was not quite prepared to do this of her own initiative, as he had so generously placed al his Sundays at her disposal. On Friday, however, he was speaking to her through the telephone.
"I say, Hal, you're coming to the Footer match to-morrow, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course I am. Why?..."
"Well, it's just this way. I was going to motor the pater to Aunt Judith's, and I forgot all about it. He wants me to take him on Sunday instead. What shall I do?... Would you care to come too?"
Hal had not the smal est wish to go to Aunt Judith's, who belonged to the old school, and disapproved in a most outspoken manner of lady-clerks of every sort and description. It was a constant grievance to her, when she set eyes on Hal,that she did not gratefully accept £20
as secretary to a wel -known, interesting editor.
In consequence, Hal encountered her as little as possible, accepted grateful y her interesting, easy bil et, and consigned the imaginary young children to a Hades peopled with nursery governesses.
"Awful y sweet and good and kind of you, Dicky dear," she called back to him mockingly, "but I think I'll practise a little self-denial this time, and stay away."
"Odd you should say that," he laughed, "because I consider I'm practising a little self-denial in going. What shal you do with yourself? Wil Dudley be at home?"
"No; he's going somewhere for the day, that has a nervous, apologetic sort of air about it. I didn't press for particulars, but I'm dying to know. I can't believe he would real y take a gay young person out, and yet, judging by his manner, it might be a real flyer from Daly's."
"Good old Dudley!... Then I suppose you wil go to Lorraine?"
"Yes, I daresay I shal . Good-bye, see you Saturday."
Hal returned to her work in a meditative mood. She was beginning to wonder why she had not had any message from Sir Edwin all the week.
Had he changed his mind, or had he possibly forgotten? If he rang her up presently what was she going to say?
The notion that he had perhaps forgotten was not pleasing; and yet, with al he must have to think about during the week, it was equally not surprising. As a matter of fact, it had been a most trying week for all Ministers.
The party was emphatically growing into disfavour, and al brains had to be utilised to find the most efficacious remedy. Sir Edwin had been very useful in his suggestions, for he had had considerable practice in getting what he wanted by artfulness if no straighter mode offered.
His suggestions to His Majestu's Cabinet were masterpieces of political trickery, and their adoption was a foregone conclusion in spite of the Ministers who raised objections. The party had to win back favour somehow, and at any rate his were the best plans that offered.
But all through the stirring meetings of the week he never once forgot Hal. His silence was merely an adaptation of the policy he was urging upon his col eagues. If I leave her alone til Friday she will get piqued," was his thought, "and then she wil come."
Accordingly, soon after the luncheon hour he rang her up.
"Hul o," he called. "At last I have got a moment to speak to you."
"What has happened to al the other moments?" she asked.
"We've had a very anxious, worrying week in the House. I've scarcely had time to get my meals. You surely didn't suppose I had forgotten you - did you?"
"I didn't suppose either way. It didn't matter."
The man at the other end of the wire smiled openly in his empty room.
"Prevaricator," was his thought 'but, by Gad, she's game."
"Well, anyhow I hadn't, and I wasn't likely to. I only hope you haven't made another engagement for Sunday? I'm badly in need of a long day in the country. Are you still free?"
"It depends -"
"Oh, nonsense; you can't desert me at the last moment. If I can't get that day off to run down to the New Forest, I shall have to go to a tiresome political luncheon party. Now, be patriotic, and serve your country by attending to the needs of one of her harassed Ministers."
"I am always patriotic."
"Then that settles it. I suppose I'd better not call for you. I'll pick you up at South Kensington Station at 9.30. Peter wil make an excellent chaperone, so you needn't worry - good-bye"; and he rang off, leaving Hal to hang up the receiver, not quite sure whether she had been trapped or not.
At his end he moved across to a window with the smile stil lingering on his face.
"Nothing like making up a woman's mind for her," he mused; "they're all alike when they are on the edge of the stream, hesitating about the plunge. Give 'em a little shove, and once they're in they swim out boldly enough. The trouble is, when they want to keep the whole river for themselves and will not brook any other swimmers.
"I expect I'm going to have a devil of a time with Gladys, and she'll take a lot of squaring. Women are the deuce when you're short of funds. But I can't help being susceptible, and Hal has caught my fancy altogether. Dear little girl, I expect she'll want a big shove yet before she'll take the real plunge. But it's interesting, by Jove!
it's interesting; and when she looks a veiled defiance at me with those candid, mischievous eyes of hers, I know I've got to win somehow."
Hal went back to her work, feeling a little as if she had been swept off her feet; and she was not entirely without misgivings. The possible impropriety of going out alone with a man for the whole day did not rouble her, but the nature of the man, she was shrewd enough to perceive, was a doubtful point.
Of course she was perfectly aware that Aunt Judith, for instance, and Dudley, and probably her mother, had she been alive, would have been scandalised at such a proceeding; but then she had pluckily fended for herself so long, she did not consider she was any longer called upon to mould her actions according to their views. She belonged to the large army of women who have to spend so much of their time on office chairs that their comparatively few hours of pleasure have no room for the ordinary conventions that hem round the leisured, home-wal ed maiden.
If a treat offered, and it was reasonably within bounds, they took it and were thankful and gave no thought to the possibly uplifted hands of horror among possibly restricted relatives. She was one of those who enjoy the freedom of the American girl, without being of those who, unfortunately, often fall short of her level-headed characteristics; largely perhaps through those very uplifted hands which suggest harm, where harm otherwise might never have been thought of.
It was not, now, any suggestions born of uplifted hands that gave Hal that faint misgiving. It was that growing doubt concerning the nature of the man, and a consciousness that she was unduly pleased the treat was actually to take place - a growing consciousness that in spite of the doubt she cared more about seeing Sir Edwin Crathie than most men, with a like recognition that this might seriously endanger her own peace of mind.
It was all very wel to go out together on a basis of good-fellowship and mutual enjoyment, so long as neither care anything beyond; but what if this unmistakable attraction he exercised over her deepened and widened? What if the commonplace, middle-class Hal Pritchard, secretary and typist, fel in love with Sir Edwin Crathie, the Cabinet Minister, and nephew of Lord St. Ives?
But she thrust the thought away, and apostrophised herself for a sil y goose, who deserved to get hurt if she had not more sense. Was he not twice her age, and bril iantly clever (so his own party said), and so obviously out of her range altogether that it would be sheer stupidity to al ow herself to feel anything beyond the frank fel ow-ship they now enjoyed? She insisted vigorously to herself that it would, and went off to have dinner with Lorraine, who was once more delighting her London audience nightly.
It was a curious thing which occured to both afterwards, that there had been some indefinable change, observable in each to each, dating from that particular evening.
Lorraine was more contentedly gay than she had been for some time - a quiet, natural light-heartedness, born of some attainment that was giving her joy. Hal was not clever enough to actual y perceive this, but she did perceive that a certain restless, anxious indecision of manner and plans had passed away. For the time being Lorraine was happy in a sense she had not been over her success. That Alymer Hermon had anything to do with it never entered Hal's head. She had treated the whole matter of Lorraine's attraction to him with the lightness that seemed its only claim, and scarcely remembered it at all.
And yet, al the time, it was the young giant who was bringing the soothing and restfulness into the actress's storm-tossed life. He was beginning to be with her constantly - to come to her with all his doings, and his imagings, and his hopes. And, as she had suspected, natural or unnatural, he was the companion of all others who gave her the most pleasure at the time.
World-wearied and brain-wearied with her own unsatisfying successes, she found a new interest in entering into his projects, and scheming and dreaming for his future instead of her own.
She was quite open to herself about the probability that she would have felt nothing of the kind had he been merely a giant, or had he been plain. It was the rare, and indeed remarkable combination of such physical attributes, with brains, and nobility and an utter absence of all assumption.
She forgot about his youth and a certain natural crudity; and what he lacked in experience and development she easily balanced with the extraordinary physical attraction that had never ceased to sway her.
For the rest, the future might go. Her friendship would not hurt him, and his had become necessary to her. If they dreamed over a volcano, what of it? Most dreams for such lives as hers usual y were in close proximity to sudden destruction. Waves from nowhere came up and overwhelmed them. Rocks from unseen heights fel on them and crushed them. If she was wise she would take what the present offered, and leave the future alone.
For Hal, on the other hand, had developed something of the restlessness that had fallen from Lorraine. The new element dawning in her life was not a restful one; neihter did it lend itself to her usual spontaneous chaff and gay badinage.
She told Lorraine about her afternoon drive, without giving half the particulars she would have done ordinarily; and when Lorraine asked her about Sunday, she only said she was perhaps going for another run with Sir Edwin. Lorraine did not press the point, because she was having a day with Alymer, and was chiefly glad that Hal was happily provided with a companion to take Dick's place.
Then she went off to her theatre, and Hal went home, wishing the next day were Sunday.