It was there Hal found her. By the merest chance she had run up to the flat at her midday hour, to ask a question about Sir Edwin Crathie. and a rumour concerning him that she felt an imperative need to have answered. When she saw Lorraine in tears the question was instantly banished for the moment.
Had Lorraine been in her normal condition, she could hardly have failed to notice that the "Hal" who came up in haste to ask this urgent question was not the "Hal" of a few months, a few weeks ago. She would probably
have observed that the vague, indefinable change Alymer had seen in her had grown more marked anti more defined.
She seemed to have sprung suddenly into womanhood.
It was no light-hearted, careless, rather boisterous girl who appeared unexpectedly at the flat, to give her one or two eager hugs, tell her the latest news of her doings in gay, gossipy fashion, and eat an unconscionable amount of chocolates, usual y kept for her special delectation.
The old, bright look was there on the surface, the ready, laughing speech, but there was also, with it, something that approached a dignified phase, and suggested a new reserve. She was also distinctly better-looking likewise, in some vague, incomprehensible way.
But Lorraine had not time to take any note of the change, for al her faculties were bent upon shielding herself.
Of course it was useless to hide that she had been crying, but at least Hal must not know that the crying had been soul-racking sobs.
With a look of consternation and dismay she, Hal, was across the room in a bound, kneeling beside the big chair.
"My dear old girl, what in the world is the matter ?"
Lorraine contrived to smile with some appearance of reality, as she dried her eyes, and said:
"I don't quite know. It's idiotic of me, isn't it? If you hadn't come and stopped me, I should never have been able to appear to-night for swol en eyes."
But Hal was not so easily put off. She grasped both Lorraine's hands in hers and said resolutely:
"Why are you crying, Lorry?"
Feeling it hopeless to avoid some sort of a reason, she replied:
"I had a letter this morning that upset me rather. It is sil y of me to take any notice, and I shouldn't if I were wel . I've been wretchedly nervy lately, and it makes me silly about things."
"What was the letter about?"
"Oh, only some one who is jealous, I suppose; trying to get a little satisfaction out of saying a few things that may hurt me. It is so sil y of me to mind."
Hal's mind immediately flew to Mrs. Vivian, and instead of inquiring any further she just said:
"Poor old Lorry," and kissed her affectionately.
Then with a little laugh:
"I suppose you weren't going to have any lunch at all, but I'm frightful y hungry. I hope to goodness there is something in the house."
"Run and tel Jean to see cook about it, there's a dear. I must bathe my eyes and try to look presentable."
While they lunched Hal chatted of many things, but she noted that Lorraine was looking thin, and seemed to have something on her mind, while she made no attempt to eat what was placed on her plate.
When she was pulling her gloves on later she asked:
"Why don't von take a week's holiday and go into the country, Lorry?...
It is no use going on until you are il , as you did before."
"I think I must ask about it. I feel as if one week would do me a world of good. How is Sir Edwin? Have you seen him lately?"
"We played golf on Saturday."
A white look came suddenly into Hal's face, and she riveted her attention on an apparently tiresome fastener as she asked, with the greatest show of unconcern she could muster, the question that brought her there.
"Have you heard a rumour that he is going to marry Miss Bootes?" naming one of the richest heiresses cf the day.
"No; I hadn't heard it."
Lorraine gave a quick glance at her face, but saw only the look of concentration on the fractious fastener.
"Well," Hal said in level tones, " I suppose she is worth about half a mil ion, and I don't think he is rich."
"Probably he has only been seen speaking to her, or taking her to supper at a big reception . That would be quite enough to make some people link them at once, and fix the date of the wedding."
"There's a bun-fight at the Bruces' to-night," Hal ran on, "with Llaney to play the violin, and Lascel es to sing - quite an elaborate affair : so it is sure to be very boring ; but I suppose Alymer wil be there, looking adorably beautiful, and all the women gazing at him. It wil be entertaining to chaff him, anyhow."
"Well, don't tel him you found nie weeping," with a little laugh. " He might not realise it was only nerves."
"I'll tell him he's to take you away for a week's holiday," Hal replied lightly. " Goodness knows, you've done enough for him."
She went back to the office and settled down to her work with resolute determination, but any one who knew her well would have seen that some cloud seemed to have descended upon her, and that al the time she stuck to her work she was wrestling to appear normal, in the face of some enshrouding worry.
Through al the letter she was writing, and over the proofs she read to aid the chief, there seemed to be one sentence dancing in letters of glee, like a war-dance executed by little black devils on the foolscap of her mind.
It was last night she had heard it, that ominous piece of news that took her violently by surprise, in spite of her practical common sense.
Some one had said it quite casual y in the motor bus - one man to another, as an item of news of the day.
"They say Sir Edwin Crathie is to marry Miss Bootes the heiress:
"What! The Right Honourable Sir Edwin Crathie?"
" So they say. He's very heavily in debt, I believe - over some bad speculations - and an heiress is about the only thing to float him.
Besides, the party wants rich men, and it would be a good move on his part."
That was all, and then the two silk-hatted, frock-coated men had got out. Eminently wel -to-do men - probably both stockbrokers, but men who looked as if they would know.
Hal had gone on home in a sudden torment of feeling. Of course he was free to marry the heiress if be wished, but why, if so, had he dared once again to drop the mask of companiable friendliness with her and grow lover-like?
The change had been coming slowly of late, wrought with infinite caution and care. He had not meant to frighten her again, and find himself in disgrace, so he had taken each step very leisurely, and made sure of his ground before trusting himself upon it. The next time he kissed her, he had determined she should like it too wel to resent his action.
And the safe moment, as he deemed it, had come the previous Saturday after a delightful afternoon at golf. They had motored down to the Sundridge Park Links, and stayed afterwards to dine at the club-house, then back to Bloomsbury, and into the pretty sitting-room, where Dudley was not likely to appear until late, because he had gone to a theatre with Doris.
And then forthe second time he had kissed her.
But this was quite a different kiss. It was a climax to one of the best days he had ever had - a day in which, besides playing golf, they had talked of State secrets and State affairs. He had paid her the compliment of talking to her as if she were a man, and Hal, being exceptional y wel informed on most questions of the day, was able to hold her own with him, and to make the conversation of genuine interest.
And his quick, observant brain greatly admired her power of argument, and her woman's directness of method, confirming the view that while a an usual y indulges in a good deal of preamble, with many doubts and side-lights, a woman trusts to her instinct and arrives at the same conclusion in half the time. Of late, too, he had talked to her of interesting modern problems; and what had been frivolous in their earlier friendshipm had solidified into a real companionship.
And now as he stood on the hearth with his back to the fire, looking with rather critical eyes round the pretty room that Hal had contrived to rob of nearly al its lodging-house aspect, she stood quite naturally and unconcernedly beside him drawing off her gloves.
"It was a good game," she was saying, "if you had not messed up that sixth hole. It's a brute, isn't it. I was lucky to escape that marshy bit."
"You are getting too good for me. Your drives out-classed mine nearly every time."
"But I can't approach. I never, never, shal be able to hit a bal just far enough. If I loft on to the green at all it is always the far side, with a rol ."
"You'll soon master that. A little more practice, and you'll be in form for matches. I think we'll have to go away somewhere and have a fortnight's golfing! Why not to some little French place? You would finish up a first-class player."
Hal laughed lightly.
"Just imagine Brother Dudley's face when I told him I was going to France for a fortnight with you!"
"You wouldn't have to tell him anything about me," watching her with a sudden keenness in his eyes. "I should have to be personated by Miss Vivian or some one."
"Oh, I dare say Lorry would come for the matter of that. We might teach her to play too."
"Well, I hardly meant she should actual y be there," he went on in a meaning voice. "She'd be rather in the way, wouldn't she? I don't know that I could do with any one else but you."
He stepped closer to her, and slipped his arm round her shoulders. "A third person wil always be in the way when I am with you, Hal."
She changed colour, and breathed fitful y, moving as if to disengage herself from his arm.
"No, don't go. This is very harmless, and I've been exceedingly good for a long time, now, haven't I?"
"Al the greater pity to spoil your record," putting up her hand to remove his.
But he only clasped her fingers tightly, and drew her closer, til he could feel her heart palpitating a little wildly; and that gave him courage.
"It has been far harder than you have the remotest idea of. I deserve one kiss, if only by way of encouragement."
His face was close to hers now, and with a little murmuring sound of gladness he kissed her cheek.
"Little woman," he murmured, "I've grown desperately fond of you. I hardly know how to do without you. Be a sensible little girl, won't you?"
She disengaged herself resolutely then, but she was not angry, and her eyes were shining.
"You are transgressing flagrantly - as I should express it in a newspaper report. Col ect your forces, and retire gracefully, O
transgressor."
"I suppose I really must go now. It's been such a splendid day, hasn't it?"
He seemed to speak with a shadow of regret; and there was a shadow of regret in his eyes also as he riveted them on her face. Then he turned suddenly and picked up his cap.
"Well - the best of friends must part - and the best of days come to an end. Good-bye, little girl."
With his cap in his hand, he suddenly put both his arms round her and kissed her with the old passionate eagerness - then he loosed her and turned to the door.
"I'm in love with you, Hal - head over ears in love; but it's a devilish hard world, and Heaven only knows what's to come of it."
With which enigmatical sentence he let himself out and departed.
When he had gone Hal stood quite stil where he had left her, and looked into vacancy. About her lips there was the ghost of a smile.
In her ears was only the recol ection of the words, "I'm head over ears in love with you."
So, it was coming at last - the great, glad day of love and fulfilment.
If he had set out to trifle with her at first, at least he was serious enough now. She, too, had only trifled in the beginning, seizing a little fun and adventure in her workaday world. There had been no reason to suppose it need hurt any one. Now, she, too, was serious.
Perhaps the things detrimental to him that she had heard previously had some truth in them then, but he was changed now. Love had changed him.
He was like another man. She had seen and felt it in a thousand ways that could not be translated into speech or writing. It was just that he was different, and in every particular it was to his advantage.
She was different too. She did not resent the kiss, because she knew that he honestly cared for her. Ans she knew, too, that she honestly cared for him. The end of the enigmatical sentence rankled a little, but she did not led herself dwell upon it.
She chose instead to remember how he had kissed her; and that he had confessed he was head over ears in love with her. Which only showed that Hal - for all her worldly wisdom and practical common sense -
could be as blind and as romantic ans any one when her heart was touched, and her pulses romping feverishly at a memory that thril ed all her being.
Three days later she had heard the conversation.
Of course it was absurd - manifestly so - and yet an yet -
After a miserable twenty-four hours of fighting against her own uneasiness, she paid the flying visit to Lorraine, to see if she could glean any light on the gossip from her, only to return to the office baffled and tormented.
It was the enigmatical sentence that pressed forward now, instead of the thril ing confession that he loved her. Was it possible he was indeed so base as to love her and tel her in the very same week that he had asked another woman to be his wife?
And if so, what had prompted him? What was in his mind? Why had he not left things as they were, and refrained both from the kiss and the confession?
And then above her tortured feelings rose the triumphant thought, goading and pleasing at the same time: "Whether it is true or not, he loves _me_ - not her, the heiress, but me - Hal Pritchard - the peniless City worker."