“Have you given him a talking-to?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I haven’t seen him since the night of the Christmas party. Then he looked like a beau cavalier and was certainly devoted to Polly.” She almost blushed as she remembered his explosive declaration to herself.
“I rather thought you’d made an impression on him,” said Elsie. “And that wouldn’t have done either. I suppose I don’t want him to marry at all. He’s the sort of man who is better off alone. Perhaps I’m all wrong. I’d be a fool if I thought I knew my own brother . . . I wish you’d ask them to dine and then tell me what you think of it.”
“I’ve asked him several times but he always gave some excuse. When Eustace has finished his book we’re going to have a celebration and I’ll tell Polly to bring him.”
“Well—if I were a different person, and you were a different person, I’d ask you to use your own wiles and break it up. But as it is——”
“I should think not!” Gita sprang to her feet. “Let’s go for a walk.”
CHAPTER II
Eustace, unshorn and unshaven, banged out the last word of his novel, tore the page from the typewriter and flung it to the floor. Then he hit his machine a blow with his fist, rattled the case over it, and swinging about in his chair, scowled at the scattered manuscript. He gave full rein to his temperament when writing a book in the seclusion of his chambers and bore little resemblance to the Eustace Bylant known to his world.
He had begun his novel in Atlantic City, but interruptions had been frequent and interests conflicting; he had confined himself to a rough draft, working only at night and not vitally interested. But he had plunged into it as a beneficent refuge the day after he found himself shut up in this narrow house with Gita; and as art had been his queen-mistress for so many years, she showed but a few days of coyness before remounting her throne. His theme had not only absorbed but exhausted him. A cold shower and he was ready to meet Gita at the table or sit with her in that austere living-room of hers during the evening with nerves that longed only for rest. They rarely met before dinner, for he rose at nine and worked until four, and on what he called his off-days he went to a gymnasium, played golf, or took a long walk in the country. This last week the pace had been terrific and he had barely left his rooms.