What had, indeed, that she could make clear to him? And yet more than ever she felt the need of having him securely on her side. Once his word was pledged, he was safe: otherwise there was no limit to his capacity for wilful harmfulness.
“Look here, Streff, you and I know that Ellie hasn’t been away for a cure; and that if poor Clarissa was sworn to secrecy it was not because it ‘worries father’ to think that mother needs to take care of her health.” She paused, hating herself for the ironic note she had tried to sound.
“Well—?” he questioned, from the depths of the chair into which he had sunk.
“Well, Nick doesn’t... doesn’t dream of it. If he knew that we owed our summer here to... to my knowing....”
Strefford sat silent: she felt his astonished stare through the darkness. “Jove!” he said at last, with a low whistle Susy bent over the balustrade, her heart thumping against the stone rail.
“What was left of soul, I wonder—?” the young composer’s voice shrilled through the open windows.
Strefford sank into another silence, from which he roused himself only as Susy turned back toward the lighted threshold.
“Well, my dear, we’ll see it through between us; you and I—and Clarissa,” he said with his rasping laugh, rising to follow her. He caught her hand and gave it a short pressure as they re-entered the drawing-room, where Ellie was saying plaintively to Fred Gillow: “I can never hear that thing sung without wanting to cry like a baby.”
IX.
Nelson Vanderlyn, still in his travelling clothes, paused on the threshold of his own dining-room and surveyed the scene with pardonable satisfaction.