“Fancy your acting in a tableau!” exclaimed Katharine.
“I never did before—but it was all improvised. Griggs looked awfully dangerous with a black beard and a dagger. Of course I couldn’t see myself, but they said I was dark and thin and would do; so I did it, just to make the thing go. It was rather fun—but I kept watching the door to see if you weren’t coming. Well—the end of it was that we stayed very late. You know what a fellow Vanbrugh is—he’s a criminal lawyer, of all things—and he knows all kinds of people. There was an actor and any number of musical people, and that Russian pianist—what’s his name?—Bezpodobny, or something like that. And we had supper, and then we got to smoking—two or three of the women stayed. You know Dolly Vanbrugh likes smoke, and so does Hester. I smoked some horrible Caporal cigarettes, and they gave me a headache. But I didn’t drink anything—”
“I know, dear,” said Katharine, softly.
No one knew better than she what he had done for her sake, and how faithfully he was keeping his word.
“Well—I got a headache, much worse than if I’d had a lot of champagne and things. I shall have to live on milk and water and barley sugar if I get much worse. I’m so nervous since—since I gave up all those things. But it will go off—I’ve asked Routh, and he says it’s natural—”
“You didn’t tell me,” said Katharine, anxiously. “Why didn’t you?”
“Oh—why should I? He came to the house—he adores my mother, you know, dear old man—so I just asked him. Well—this morning I felt rather fuzzy in the head—woolly, don’t you know. And of course I got up early, as usual, though it was awfully late when I got to bed. And then I saw no red ribbon in your window—and that put me into a bad temper, so that altogether I wasn’t in the humour to be bothered much when I got to the bank. It happened that there wasn’t much for me to do at first, and so I did it, and got it out of the way, and I sat doing nothing—just like this—look here!”
He rose, and went and sat down at the chair before the great writing-table, on the side away from Katharine. He planted his elbows on the big sheet of blotting paper, and bending down his head, clasped his hands over his forehead in the attitude of a man whose head hurts him.
“Do you see?” he asked, looking up at Katharine. “My head really ached, and I’d nothing to do for a quarter of an hour, so it was quite natural.”
“Of course! Why not? Do you have to sit up straight at the bank, like school-children?”