“Oh, I know who you mean. Yes; she is an oddity. Well, how was every one. How was Doris?”
“I hardly know. She was not there when I arrived, and she did not come in until a few minutes before Ethel.”
“I wonder where she was?” thoughtfully. “I asked her to come for tea and a walk in the Park today, and she said she could not leave Basil.”
Hal looked keenly into his face, and immediately he smiled and said:
“I suppose the tenant opposite was free unexpectedly, and Doris was able to get out after all. Poor little girl. I’m glad. But I wonder she didn’t telephone me.”
Hal turned away, feeling a little sick at heart.
Were they all then in the maelstrom of this gloomy sense of an engulfing cloud? What could be the meaning of Doris’s behaviour? Did Dudley suspect anything? Certainly he had been a good deal preoccupied of late, and spoken very little of the future.
She looked out of her window across the blue of London lights, and her thoughts roved a little pitifully across the wide reaches of her own small world. From Sir Edwin, with his high post in the nation’s councils, and Lorraine with her brilliant atmosphere of success and triumph, to the dingy block of flats in Holloway, where, in spite of almost tragic circumstances, to quote Basil, they had “lots of fun” among themselves.
She believed he meant it, too. It was no empty phrase. Rather something in touch with Life’s great scheme of compensations, which she manipulates in her own great way, beyond the comprehension of puny humans.
Certainly neither Sir Edwin nor Lorraine could boast of “lots of fun.” Rather, instead, much care and worry and brain-weary grappling with problems of modern succesful conditions.