That little dialogue passed between us every time the emeralds had to be returned.
We started on our short walk, Miss Berry and I, proceeding towards the main avenue which runs through the centre of the Square east and west. It was a beautiful moonlight night. Talking of moonlight nights, I may as well make my confession at once. The fact is that Miss Berry had indeed a certain influence over me. In her presence I was always conscious of feeling a pleasurable elation—an excitement, a perturbation, which another man might have guessed to be the beginning of love.
I, however, knew that it was not love. It was merely a fancy. It only affected me when I was in her company. When she was absent I could regard her in my mind’s eye as she actually was—namely, a somewhat designing young woman, with dark eyes and too much will of her own. Nevertheless, she had, as I say, a certain influence over me, and I have already remarked that it was a moonlight night.
Need I say more? In spite of what I had implied to Lord Trent I did enjoy the walk with Susan Berry. Susan Berry took care that I should. She laid herself out to fascinate me; turning her brunette face up to mine with an air of deference, and flashing upon me the glance of those dark lustrous eyes.
She started by sympathising with me in the matter of the butler. This was, I now recognise, very clever of her, for the butler has always been a sore point with me. I began to think (be good enough to remember the moonlight and the trees) that life with Susan Berry might have its advantages.
Then she turned to the topic of her invalid sister, Jane Mary, who was lame and lived in lodgings near Sloane Street, and kept herself, with a little aid from Susan, by manufacturing artificial flowers. For a month past Miss Berry had referred regularly to this sister, who appeared to be the apple of her eye. I had no objection to the topic, though it did not specially interest me; but on the previous evening Miss Berry had told me, with a peculiar emphasis, that her poor dear sister often expressed a longing to see the famous Cockfosters emeralds, and that she resided quite close too. I did not like that.
To-night Miss Berry made a proposition which alarmed me. “Mr. Saunders,” she said insinuatingly, “you are so good-natured that I have almost a mind to ask you a favour. Would you object to walking round with me to my sister’s—it is only a few minutes away—so that I could just give her a peep at these emeralds. She is dying to see them, and I’m sure the Marchioness wouldn’t object. We should not be a quarter of an hour away.”
My discretion was aroused. I ought to have given a decided negative at once; but somehow I couldn’t, while Susan was looking at me.
“But surely your sister will be in bed,” I suggested.
“Oh, no!” with a sigh. “She has to work very late—very late indeed. And besides, if she is, I could take them up to her room. It would do her good to see them, and she has few pleasures.”