The humble apology was to Miss Pepper, who, with a most unamiable countenance, was standing just outside the gate. Miss Geare hastily said farewell, and Harold could hear her companion scolding her vigorously as they went down the road. But, as he thought of the faded, antique love story which had ended so tragically, he could not but feel sorry for poor little eccentric Miss Geare—it was so evident that the best part of her had been buried in her lover's grave. Her eyes must have been rather like May's, he thought, before sorrow had given them that vacant expression; and then he wondered, for the hundredth time, what Mrs. Burnside was doing in London, and whether she thought of him as often as he did of her.
CHAPTER IX.
Vanitas Vanitatum.
Arrived in London, all May's worst anticipations were realised; for Mr. Lang accompanied them everywhere, and she had not a minute to call her own. He assumed an air of proprietorship which made her blood boil. "You ought to do this, Mrs. Burnside—you should see that," he repeated from morning till night; and, as Miss Waller invariably pronounced all his suggestions charming, it was useless for May to rebel.
So London proved the same weary old story over again—a life of outward glitter and show, of softly rolling carriages, of sumptuous dinners, and reserved seats; and within, dust and ashes, and Dead Sea fruit! May talked and smiled, but it was mechanically; her heart was far away.
She asserted herself sufficiently, however, to declare her intention of calling upon the Inglis girls in their flat in West Kensington. She had written to Lulu, who sent her a pressing invitation to come on Saturday afternoon, when they were at leisure.
Miss Waller instantly denounced the scheme as a wild-goose chase, asserting that May was certain to lose her way. They were still discussing it when Mr. Lang came in from Palace Gardens, as he usually did first thing in the morning, ostensibly to ask what they wished to do, but really to order them about at his sovereign will and pleasure. "Well, ladies, what's the programme for to-day?" he began.
May turned round from the window of the handsome drawing-room for which her aunt was paying a small fortune, thinking, as the morning sunlight fell upon his podgy figure, that Mr. Lang grew uglier and more common-looking every day. "I have promised to go and see my friends the Inglises this afternoon," she announced firmly.
