It was Hal also who filled Dudley's thoughts as he made his way homeward. In her attitude to his engagement he was afraid she was going to personate what is known as a 'though nut to crack." He wondered if she would be waiting up for him, and what in the world she would say when he told her.
As it happened, she was waiting, sitting over the remains of a little fire she had lighted for company. The reason she felt the need of company, and the reason she was waiting, was the fact of a perturbed frame of mind she was endeavouring to soothe, until he came in to give the final touch.
She was perturbed because of the change in Sir Edwin Crathie, and the closing scene of a somewhat eventful day. Until tea-time he had been as gay and lighthearted and inconsequent as ever.
Their lunch in the New Forest had been an immense success, and both had enjoyed it thoroughly. On their way home they further enjoyed a big tea at an hotel.
Moreover, the drive had been delightful. The glory of the autumn tints; the delicious stillness of the autumn weather, and the sunny coolness of the atmosphere had al contributed to make the day perfect.
After her long hours of office work and monotony, Hal was only the better tuned to enjoy it, and as she leant back in blissful ease in the luxurious motor, she thought what a goose she would have been to let prudish thoughts influence her to forgo it.
Then, once more, after tea, he had deliberately moved his chair nearer to hers, and struck a personal note that she found it difficult to combat.
"Do you know," he told her blandly, "you're the dearest litte woman I've met for a long time? I don't know when I've enjoyed a whole day with any one so much as this."
"It's just the novelty," she said, adopting a note of unconcern to head him off; "most of your friends flatter and try to please you. It amuses me more to contradict you; that's al ."
"Oh, that's al , is it! Well, I dare say if I found a special joy in being contradicted, I could easily humour the fancy without going for a whole day into the country."
"Ver likely - only, since you wanted your day in the country, you kil two birds with one stone, don't you see?"
"And supposing I badly wanted something else from you besides contradiction!... a little affection, for instance!"
"Oh, I'm giving you a lot of that thrown in," gaily, but she pushed her chair a little farther away; "if I didn't rather like you I shouldn't bother to contradict you."
"Rather like me!... that's very cold - I, a great deal more than _rather_ like you."
"That, of course, is different," with a jaunty air, that made them both laugh.
"Stil , I don't think we can stop a 'rather liking', now - do you?"
"I don't see why we shouldn't; we are getting on very nicely."
He got up suddenly, and walked away to the window. In his heart of hearts he was a little nonplussed. Of course they couldn't stop where they were, he argued; but how, with a girl of Hal's practical level-headedness get any farther?
Then he remembered he was a firm believer in swift and sudden measures, and usual y found they fitted al contingencies. So he swung round, crossed the room, put his hand on her shoulders, and boldly kissed her.
"There," he said - "that is how I 'rather like' you."
Hal was quite taken aback - almost too taken aback to speak; but a red spot burned in each cheek, and a sudden flash seemed to gleam angrily in her eyes. Her quick brain, however, took in the position instantly.
If she grew indignant and melodramatic, he would merely laugh at her.
Of course he knew she must be perfectly aware that men often kissed a girl who stood to them in her position, without thinking much of it.
To make a fuss would be rather absurd. On the other hand, of course, he had to be disil usioned concerning what he apparently supposed would be her feelings on the subject.
"I cal that bad taste," she said cool y. "You might have given me a sporting chance to let you know beforehand I should object." He looked about to repeat the action, but she edged away from him. "Of course I know lots of girls don't mind, but that's nothing to do with you and me. I do."
"Why do you mind?" He felt rather small before the directness of her eyes, and tried to bluster himself on to his former level. "It's very sil y of you, especial y nowadays. There's no harm in a kiss, is there?"
"None that I know of, but I think we were getting on very nicely without it. We won't risk spoiling things. Come along, I'm longing to be off"; and she moved towards the door.
"Are you angry with me?" he asked.
"Yes; very; but if you'll promise not to do it again I'll try to forget. If you transgress further, we shal just have to leave off being friends - that's all."
He took his seat in the motor beside her in silence, and Peter whizzed them away at a good speed.
Hal, enjoying the motion, kept her face averted, and drank in the lovely, fresh country air.
Presently a hand stole firmly over hers.
"You're not to be angry with me any more, little woman. I'm afraid I was rather a cad, but you've got such a fascinating mouth. I'm sorry."
She looked frankly into his eyes.
"Well, don't do it again, then."
He tried to look no less frankly back, but it was as if some forbidden thought flashed across his mind.
"I'll try not," he said, a trifle lamely, and looked away.
He still kept possession of her hand, however, until she resolutely drew it from him.
"Wil Brother Dudley be in?" he asked, when they drew up in Bloomsbury.
"No; he won't get bakc much before nine."
He took her latch-key from her, and opened the door, entering himself, instead of taking her proffered hand.
"Which way?" he asked, and she opened the door into their sitting-room.
"I'll show you Brother Dudley's photograph now you're here," she said in a frank voice - "and the very latest of Lorraine Vivian. I wish I had one of Apollo; but I've never asked for one, because I always make a point of pretending not to admire him."
"It's only pretence, then?" he asked, glancing at the others as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
"It can only be. One is bound to admire him at heart. Nature seldom made a fairer gentleman, and it would be mere perversity to deny it, except, as I do, for his good."
Then suddenly she saw he was scarcely listening to her, and looking at the photographs without seeing them, and instinctively she moved away, feeling a little at loss. The next moment he had caught her shoulders, and kissed her again.
"I said I'd try, and so I have, but it's no use. Little woman, don't be prudish; kiss me back again."
But she pushed him away, and in the firelight he saw she was very white and determined.
"I asked you not to. It is much worse taste stil now."
"No, it isn't - don't be sil y. Why shouldn't I kiss you? I... I...
have got awful y fond of you, and I know you like me somewhere down in your heart."
"I shal cease to do so from this moment."
"I dare you to. Hal, if you like me, why not take the sweets that offer? I'll be bound you've never been kissed in your life as I wil kiss you. Don't be prudish. Let me teach you."
She seemed to hesitate a second, in indecision as to what was her best course to withstand him, and, seizing the opportunity, he suddenly caught her in his arms and kissed her on the lips with swift, eager kisses. Then, not giving her time to speak her resentment, he snatched up his hat and moved to the door.
"Don't be angry," he said. "I did try, honour bright, but it's no use; good-bye. I must see you again soon"; and he went out, closing the door behind him.
For some minutes Hal stood quite stil , feeling a little dazed. She saw him cross the pavement, give some directions to Peter, and then drive away without a backward glance. She stood still a little longer, then slowly took off her hat, threw it on the sofa, ran her fingers through her hair and sat down.
After a little, the emptiness of the room seemed to oppress her, for though it was not cold, she jumped up and put a match to the fire.
Then the landlady came in with her supper.
"'Ad a nice day, miss?" she asked pleasantly.
"Very nice. How's Johnnie? Did you get to see him?" al uding to a small son boarded out at Highgate for his health.
"Yes; I went up to tea with 'im. 'E looks years better already."
"I'm very glad."
Hal sat down to her supper with a preoccupied air, and instead of having a little chat, she relapsed into silence, and the landlady departed. She felt vaguely that something had upset entirely the even tenor of her mind, and she wanted to think. Any other Sunday evening she would have told the landlady something about her motor-ride, for she and Dudley had now been in the same rooms for seven years, and it is quite a fal acy to condemn all London landladies as grasping, bad-tempered tyrants.
Hal was quite fond of Mrs. Carr, and had found her unwearingly thoughtful and attentive. But to-night she wanted to think, and was glad to be alone again, almost immediately returning to her arm chair over the fire.
She was conscious, in a vague, uncertain way, that though Sir Edwin had kissed her because he cared for her, he could not have acted so had he cared in an upright, honest-hearted manner. She attracted him, and he wanted al the pleasure he could get out of the attraction, but there, no doubt, it ended.
For the rest, he was Sir Edwin Crathie, Cabinet Minister, and member of a proud, patrician family. She was Hal Pritchard, secretary, typist, and occasional journalist at the office of a leading London paper.
She grew restless, and commenced roaming round the room. Her knowledge of life, as it is lived near its teeming, throbbing, working centre, warned her that the new turn of their friendship held danger. If she was wise, she would shun the danger, and go back to her old life before he had come into it. She would firmly and resolutely refuse to see him again.
To do so without regret was impossible. Now that the friendship seemed about to cease, she realised it had meant more than she knew. She held her face in her hands, and her cheeks tingled at the memory of the last eager kiss.
She was woman enough to know it was good to be kissed like that by a man who, even if his morals and principles left much to be desired, was still very much a man, and had won a distinction that made most women proud of far less attention than he had shown her.
Stil ? -
In a different sense she was struggling in a net of circumstances something like Lorraine's. Lorraine wanted to do the right thing, or, at any rate, the sporting thing.
So did Hal.
In a world full of temptations, and backsliding, and much suffering thereby, the sporting thing for the strong woman is to stand to her guns. If Hal dallied with Sir Edwin now, she felt she would be deserting her post. At the judgment-bar of her own heart, which, after all, matters far more than the judgment-bar of public opinion, she would be allowing herself to compromise for the sake of the fleeting, dangerous pleasure.
She stopped short by the window, and stared out into the gloomy, lamplit street. And it crossed her mind to remember the bitter price so many women had paid for that dal iance and compromise, so many now probably gazing out with dull eyes into gloomy streets, hopeless, reckless, and joyless.
Yes; dalliance and compromis were mistakes. The real pluck was the sporting spirit that stood to its guns, even if it cost a big and wearisome effort. She would not dally. She would answer to her own Best, and try to go on her steadfast way.
After all, she had Dudley and Lorraine. It was good to have a brother all to oneself, who was incontestably a dear, in spite of a little priggishness and narrowness. He would be home soon, and then they would have a last chat over the fire together; and that would help to renew her in her determination to cut the dangerous friendship adrift.
She leaned back in the chair a little wearily, and waited for the welcome sound of his key in the latch. She wished he would come quickly, because she did not quite like the way her mind kept reverting to those eager kisses. The memory had the danger of making most other thoughts seem thin and dul ; and she wondered how she was going to replace a friendship that had been so ful of interest and enjoyment.
If she had dared, she would like to have persuaded herself that he cared for her in the real way; and her cheeks glowed, and her heart thumped a little at the thought of al the real way meant. But her practical side told her only too decidedly that this was not the case.
Perhaps he was not the sort of man who could care in the real way at all. He was too selfish, and grasping, and ambitious by nature. That he was interesting and a delightful companion as well did not help matters. Men were very often all these things together, but the selfish, ambitious, unscrupulous side usual y outweighed al the rest in big questions that affected their whole lives.
Then she remembered that many of the girls she knew - quite nice, jol y girls - would have taken the fun that offered, and not bothered about anything beyond the present. Stil , that did not affect her own particular case.
One had to try and live up to one's own ideals, not other people's, and in her inmost heart she knew that she thought but poorly of the girls who run foolish risks for the sake of a little extra pleasure and gratification, just as she thought poorly of the man who amused himself, trifling with a girl's affections, to pass a little time.
Then came the welcome sound of Dudley's key, and she sat up and turned an eager face to the door to greet him.
He came in quietly, and returned the greeting with his usual calm, undemonstrative appreciation; only, he did not look at her, nor ask her any questions about her day.
The supper was still waiting for him, and he took a few mouthfuls, in a preoccupied manner, with his face turned away. Hal asked him about the day's outing, wondering not a little at his manner. He seemed anxious, and somewhat il at ease, and she observed that he did not eat anything to speak of.
At last he got up and came to her side near the fire.
"Aren't you going to sit down?" she asked. "I thought a little fire looked so cosy."
He did not seem to hear her, for instead of replying he coughed nervously, cleared his throat, and said:
"I've something to tel you, Hal - a piece of news."
She waited, watching him with a puzzled, curious air. Then, without any further preamble, he finished abruptly:
"I'm - I'm - engaged to be married."
Hal gave a gasp, and became suddenly taut with amazement and incredulity. "You're - engaged - to - be - married!"
"Yes; you're not very surprised, are you?"
A sudden, awful fear seemed to envelop and clutch at her.
""Who to?" she asked, a little hoarsely?
"To Doris Hayward."
For some reason he seemed unabel to look at her. Vaguely he knew he had dealt her a blow, and that it was of a nature he could not soften.
Hal stared hard at the fire, then suddenly started to her feet.
"You can't mean it," she exclaimed, forgetting to be circumspect. "You couldn't possibly think seriously of marrying Doris Hayward?"
Instantly he stiffened.
"I don't know why you speak of it in that way. Certainly I am serious.
It is hardly a question I should joke about."
There was a tense silence, then Hal turned to the sofa and picked up her hat as if she were a little dazed. She seemed suddenly to have nothing to say, and she knew herself to be no good at prevarication.
To congratulate him seemed an impossibility just yet.
"Of course I know you have never cared for Doris," he said; "but probably you did not know her wel enough. I hope you will soon see you have misjudged her."
"I hope so," she said lamely. "Good-night - I - I - hadn't thought about your getting married. I must get used to the idea. I - " she paused in sudden, swift distress. "Good-night; of course I hope you'll be happy, and all that," and she went hurriedly out, and up to her own room.