“It’s all very dreadful,” I said. “I feel completely stunned. Still, I don’t think I ought to leave Mrs. Hayes-Billington like that.”
“But you must, my dear,” urged Dolly imperatively. “It is too dreadful for a girl like you to be associated with such a person. What an impostor she is! Poor Mrs. Wray is in a state of collapse—fainting fits; the doctor has been to see her. The committee have taken Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s name off the list in the library and the club, and the sooner she takes herself out of Silliram the better! Come into the club with me,” continued Dolly; “I want to fetch my scarf, and I will walk back with you to ‘The Dovecot,’ and, if you like, help you to put your things together?”
I made no reply. I felt as if someone had banged me upon the head, and I followed Dolly into the club, feeling extraordinarily dazed and nervous. Fortunately it was not yet tea-time, and the place was nearly empty.
As we passed a great black-board, on which notices were fastened, my companion pointed with her tennis racket and I read, inscribed in very large letters:
“Owing to unforeseen circumstances, the performance of The Scrap of Paper will not now take place. L. J. Bowen, Sec. Dramatic Society.”
CHAPTER XII
THE NOTORIOUS MRS. DE LACY
With considerable difficulty and various feeble excuses I released myself from Dolly’s assiduities, promising to send her a chit as soon as I had collected my thoughts, and to let her know what I intended to do with respect to this social avalanche.
As I walked back alone to the bungalow I told myself that it was a strange coincidence that I had been within the last six months involved in the uprooting of two homes, “The Roost,” and now “The Dovecot.” Was there something malignant and destructive in my personality? That such a scandal should be placed to the credit of Mrs. Hayes-Billington seemed a crazy, incredible idea. She was domestic and prudent, apparently devoted to Bertie, careful of offending Mrs. Grundy, and totally unlike my lurid mental picture of a divorcée. Then I suddenly recalled Colonel Armadale on the Asphodel, and as I was endeavouring to piece past and present experiences into one whole, I became aware that a tonga and a pair of smoking ponies were standing in front of “The Dovecot,” and beheld Ronnie hurrying towards me with a white excited face, on which I could not help noticing a large splash of mud! Judging by his appearance he had travelled far and fast.
“Oh, Ronnie,” I exclaimed, “how glad I am to see you!” and I flung my arms round his neck and hugged him. “Why did you not let me know you were coming?”
“Walk down the road a bit—walls have ears! Such an awful business, Eva, and to think of Aunt Mina letting you in for it—to think of your being chaperoned by Mrs. de Lacy! Good Lord!”