“Yes I do. Now understand, I won’t have either of you meddling in my affairs. What’s he been saying?”
“That you gamble.”
“That I gamble,” mimicking my voice. “And if I do?”
“He says you have lost a great deal of money; that you go to Balthasar’s to play chemin de fer, and are heavily in debt. Oh, Ronnie dear, don’t be so hard and reserved, so unlike yourself with me,” I pleaded. “I have money at the bank—do let me help you! I shall sell Tommy Atkins and economise in every possible way. Do take me into your confidence—for, after all, there are only the two of us.”
“Well, since you put it like that, as the professor used to say, I don’t mind telling you that I do owe some thousands of rupees. Balthasar has got me out of a pretty big hole, and I shall be able to settle up everything before long and be clear.”
“Oh Ronnie—how splendid!” I exclaimed, now inexpressibly relieved.
“Yes—if Collarette wins the Calcutta Cup; and if not I shall pull through somehow. I cannot think how my affairs are known; the morghi khana is a hotbed of gossip—those women have tongues of fire. The colonel was quite shirty with me yesterday about my mess bill, and Mrs. Soames, who always takes her cue from him, was as cool as ice when I met her at the boat club. But don’t be uneasy, old girl,” he concluded, as he assisted me to dismount. “I shall go slow for a bit and it will all be as right as rain.”
But I was not so sure. I was sensible of gathering clouds, and that very day I drew my balance from the bank, cleared off the hateful bazaar bills and wrote home for more money. Letters from Brian were such a comfort now; they gave me great happiness and support. He had written from Bombay, Aden and Port Said. These epistles were not long but they were most satisfactory, and written in the clear deliberate hand that accorded with himself.
For a week or two, so far as bills and money troubles were concerned, there was a great calm. I had not sold Tommy Atkins, and I rode, played tennis, and went about as usual. I noticed, however, that Mrs. Soames was by no means so intimate or confidential as formerly. On the contrary, she had adopted an attitude of freezing reticence. I think she was painfully exercised in her mind. On the one hand she saw her protégée the future Countess of Runnymede (a match that when made public would glorify her as a chaperon), and on the other was Ronnie, her former chief favourite, in deep disgrace with her autocratic husband. Although nothing serious had been said or done there was a coolness; we were no longer invited to supper on Sundays, and at an afternoon club dance Mrs. Soames refused to honour Ronnie with her usual waltz!
During these socially grey days I received the following letter from Mrs. Hayes-Billington. It was written in a feeble and almost illegible hand: