“On most important business, at any rate. And now I’ll say good-bye for the present, for I have a great deal to do before I start.”
“And I’ve been jawing away about my family affairs and taking up your precious time! I’m awfully sorry. I say, I wish you could manage to come out with us in the Victoria. Could you?”
“I’ll do my best.” And he hurried off to wire to Fenchurch Street to secure a berth.
CHAPTER XLI.
“LAURENCE!”
The Victoria was a crowded ship. There was a large contingent of Australian passengers, also many Anglo-Indians who changed at Aden, and a number of society swallows who were bound for Italy and Egypt. Madeline and Mrs. Leach shared a four-berthed cabin, and enjoyed the luxury of two spare berths, which served as holdalls for their belongings. Mrs. Leach had innumerable parcels, bags, boxes, books, a jewel-case, a tea-basket. She busied herself ere starting, in fixing up her affairs, and annexed fully three-quarters of the available space. Madeline was tired, and put on a tea-gown and lay in her berth languidly watching her partner making her toilette, arranging her hair, her dress, her rings, ere sallying forth to dinner and conquest. She looked remarkably handsome, prosperous, and triumphant as she turned to the wretched girl in the berth, and surveyed her exhaustively. She had adopted a curious way of staring at her the last few days—a gaze of polite, half-veiled insolence—that was distinctly irritating.
“Well, dear Madeline”—the steamer had left the docks, and was steadily throbbing down the Thames—“so we are off, you see, and I am of the party—no thanks to you. Oh, I know all about it, dearest, and I know what you would little guess.”
“What?”
“Ah, no matter,” with a meaning smile.
“No, I suppose it is no matter,” wearily. Nothing mattered, she was so tired—oh, so tired. She wished she was dead, and she slowly closed her eyes on her companion.
Mrs. Leach gazed at her in amazement. What she knew did matter very much. It was all very fine for Madeline to close her eyes, and waive away a subject. She would discover that she, Flora Leach, had her in her power—she held her in the hollow of her hand. Luck—she called it—had dealt her an ace of trumps! People were settling into their places as Mrs. Leach entered, and there was the usual confusion in the saloon—incidental to starting. Mr. West had secured a capital seat, and he and Mrs. Leach dined happily together—and were generally taken for man and wife. The dinner and wine was good, the motion almost nil, a mere slight shaking, and the widow enjoyed herself vastly. Madeline was rather tired, she said; Josephine was looking after her. A little soup was all she would take. Should she tell him now? No, the situation was too public, he would probably shout and make a scene. She would wait for a day or two, until they had their two deck chairs comfortably drawn up side by side, under the lee of a cabin, and when the dusk had come and the stars were out, she would whisper into his ear his daughter’s secret.