III
AFTER dinner I used the freedom of old acquaintance to ask Lady Lexington precisely what she meant by saying that it—the alliance between Miss Constantine and Valentine Hare—was “all but settled.” We chanced to be alone in the small drawing-room; through the curtained archway we could see the rest of the company formed into groups. Val was again by Miss Constantine’s side; Kirby was now standing facing them, and apparently doing most of the talking.
“He hasn’t asked her in so many words yet,” said Lady Lexington; “but he will soon, of course. It’s been practically settled ever since she came to stay here—after her father’s death, you know. And it’s an ideal arrangement.”
“Suppose she refuses him?”
“I sha’n’t suppose anything so ridiculous, George,” said my friend sharply. “I hope I have more sense! What girl would refuse Valentine?”
“It would be heterodox,” I admitted.
“It would be lunacy, stark lunacy. Even for her—I admit she has a right to look high—but even for her it will be a fine match. He’s got everything before him. And then look how handsome, how fascinating he is!” She laughed. “Old as I am, I wouldn’t trust myself with him, George!”
“I haven’t met Kirby here before,” I observed, perhaps rather abruptly.
“Mr Kirby? Oh, he’s quite a protégé of Frank’s. We met him in Switzerland last winter, and Frank and he did all sorts of unsafe things together—things you oughtn’t to do in winter.”
“He probably stops the avalanches with his head.”
“I really don’t know where he comes from or who he is, but he’s in the Colonial Office, and Frank says they think enormous things of him there. I like him, but, do you know, he’s rather hard to keep up a conversation with. He always seems to say the last thing about a subject first.”
“Very bad economy,” I agreed.
“Some people—well, I have heard people say it’s hardly polite—when they’re just thinking of something to say themselves, you know——”
“He probably can’t help it,” I pleaded.
“Katharine seems to like him, though, and I daresay she’ll get Val to give him a lift in the future.”
“You’re treating it as quite settled.”
“Well, it really is; I feel sure of that. It might happen any—— Why, look there, George! Suppose it happened to-night!”
Lady Lexington’s air of pleasurable flutter was occasioned by a movement in the next room. Miss Constantine was passing from the drawing-room into the library beyond, Val holding the door for her. Kirby had not moved, but now stood looking at her with a smile. Just as she passed through the door she turned, looked at him, and made the slightest little grimace. I read it as defiance—playful defiance. Whether I was right in that or not, it was, beyond all doubt, a confidential communication of some sort. If “it” were indeed going to be “settled,” the moment seemed an odd one for the exchange of that secret signal with Mr Kirby; for her grimace was in answer to his smile, his smile the challenge that elicited her grimace. Yes, they were in communication. What about? I got no further than an impression that it was about Valentine Hare. I remembered the glances at dinner, and mentally corrected the little misapprehension which I have already acknowledged. But had the signals been going on all the evening? About Valentine Hare?
“I shall wait for news with great interest,” I said to Lady Lexington.
She made no direct answer. Looking at her, I perceived that she was frowning; she appeared, indeed, decidedly put out.
“After all,” she said reflectively, “I’m not sure I do like Mr Kirby. He’s rather familiar. I wonder why Frank brings him here so much.”
From which I could not help concluding that she, too, had perceived the glances toward my end of the table, Kirby’s smile, and Katharine Constantine’s answering grimace. From that moment, I believe, a horrible doubt, an apprehension of almost incredible danger, began to stir in her mind. This, confided to Jane, had inspired my sister’s gloomily significant manner.