“No; I’m going to see Basil this afternoon, after taking Doris to Wimbledon to see Langfier fly, and I shall stay to dinner. Will you come up this evening?”
“No; I’m going out. Perhaps tomorrow—” she hesitated, as if swallowing a lump in her throat. “You might give my love to Doris, and say I’ll come soon.” She saw Dudley glance at her inquiringly, and recklessly dashed into another subject, talking at random until she left.
In the afternoon she hurried straight off to Lorraine’s flat, arriving a few minutes after Lorraine had come in from a walk in the Park. She was standing by the window, drawing off some long gloves, and even Hal was struck by a sort of newness about her—a bloom and a quiet radiance that was like a renewal of youth.
She was beautifully dressed as ever, but with a far simpler note than usual—something which suggested she wished to look charming, without attracting attention; something which suppressed the actress in favour of the woman.
It was as if, surrounded with success and attention night after night, and for several years, she had wearied of the rôle, and put it aside voluntarily whenever opportunity offered. She had been wont to be very fashionable and striking in her dress and general appearance, but now Hal noticed vaguely a simpler note all through.
Her face and expression seemed to have changed also. A certain hardness and callousness had gone. Her smile was more genuine, and her eyes kinder. In some mysterious way, it was as though Lorraine had won from the past some gleaming of the woman she might have been under happier circumstances, and without certain harsh experiences.
And it was all owing to her feeling for Alymer Hermon and his youthful pride in her.
They met continually now. Her flat was open to him whenever he liked. He came to her when he had anything interesting to relate—when he was depressed and when he was hopeful. With the inconsequent acceptance of youth, he took from her what an older man would have regarded a little shyly, and perhaps feared to take.
She was his pal, his excellent friend, who gave him such sympathy and interest and encouragement as she could find nowhere else. Because he was young, he drank deep and asked no questions.
He did not imagine for a moment that she was in love with him. True, other women were; but then they told him so, and alarmed him with their attentions. Lorraine was more inclined to laugh at him and make fun of him, in a jolly, pally sort of way, which made him feel perfectly at home with her, and successfully banish any questions.