II
Rachel came into his room at four o'clock. She carried a great bunch of violets and a paper parcel.
She smiled across the room at him; a cap of white fur on her head, and the hand with the violets held also a large white muff.
"Roddy—I'm coming to have tea with you—alone. You'll be out to everyone, won't you? But first, see what I've brought you."
She was dreadfully excited, he thought, as though she knew already the kind of thing that awaited her. Her smile was nervous, and that trembling of her upper lip, as though she would, perhaps, cry and perhaps would laugh but really was not sure, always told him when she was afraid.
"See what I've brought you!" She put the violets down upon the table beside him—"Now! Look!" She undid the paper and held up to his gaze a deep, gleaming silver lustre bowl, a beautiful bowl because of its instant friendliness and richness and completeness—"I found it!" she said, "staring at me out of a shop window, demanding to be bought. I thought you'd like it."
She put it on his table, found water and filled it, then arranged the violets in it.
"Oh! my dear! it's beautiful!" he said, and then, with his eyes fixed upon her face, watched her arrange the flowers. But he brought out at last, "I'm afraid I can't promise to be alone for tea."
"Oh!" she stepped back from the flowers and looked at him. They faced one another, the silver bowl between them. She stood, as she always did, when she had something difficult to face, her long hands straight at her side, her hands slowly closing and unclosing, her eyes fixed upon some far distance.
"Roddy, please!" she said, "I do want to be alone with you this afternoon. I have a special, very special reason. I want to talk."
"You see——" he said.
"No," she cried impatiently. "We must have this afternoon to ourselves. Tell Peters that you're too ill, too tired, anything. I'm sure, after all that storm last night, it would be perfectly natural if you were. Now, please, Roddy."
"I'm awfully sorry, Rachel dear. If I'd only known. If you'd only told me last night."
"I didn't know myself last night. How could I? But now—it's most awfully important, Roddy. I've—I've something to tell you."
His heart beat thickly, his eyes shone.
"Well, they won't stay long, I dare say."
"Who are they?"
"Oh! nobody—special. Friends——"
"Then if they aren't special put them off. Roddy dear, I beg you——"
"No, Rachel, I can't——"
"Well—you might——" For a moment it seemed that she would be angry. Then suddenly she smiled, shrugged her shoulders—at last, moved across and touched the violets; then, with a little gesture, bent down and kissed him.
"Well, my dear, of course you will have your way. But am I to be allowed to come or are these mysterious friends of yours too private—too secret?"
"Not a bit of it. I want you to come."
"I'll go and take my things off. I hope they'll come soon; I'm dying for tea, I've had such a tiring day, and last night——"
"How was last night? You haven't had time to tell me."
She was by the door, but she turned and faced him. "Oh! I was so silly. The weather upset me and I went and fainted at Lady Carloes'."
"Fainted!" His voice was instantly sharp with anxiety.
"Yes—in the middle of dinner. Such a scene and Uncle Richard thought I let down the family dreadfully."
"I hope you went straight to bed—Ah! that was why you saw Christopher this morning!"
"Yes, that was why! No, I didn't come straight back last night—I went round to Lizzie's—I was frightened and felt that I couldn't come back all alone."
They were both of them instantly aware that someone else lived at 24 Saxton Square beside Miss Rand. There was a sharp little pause, during which they both of them heard their hearts say: "Oh! I hope you aren't going to let that little thing matter!"
Then Roddy said—"Well, dear. I'm jolly glad you did go to Lizzie. I hate your fainting like that. What did Christopher say this morning?"
"Oh! nothing—I'll tell you later."
She was gone.
When she returned Peters was bringing in the tea and they could exchange no word. The spring was beginning, already the evenings were longer and a pale glow, orange-coloured, lingered in the sky and lit the green of the park with dim radiance. Within the room the fire crackled, the silver shone, the lustre bowl was glowing—
Rachel went across to the table, then staring out at the evening light said, "Roddy, who are your visitors?"
Peters answered her question by opening the door and announcing—
"Mr. Breton, my lady."