"I think my friend wants me," said the lady, rather nervously. She swept away hurriedly. Brand watched her exit with a smile. Provincial women have only one charm; it is easy to be rid of them when once they bore you. You have only to hint at abnormality, or give the merest suggestion of what, in their own vernacular, would be called "improper," to send them scuttling away like frightened sheep.
He rose leisurely and looked at the clock in the hall. Two—no, Mrs. Farquharson was eight minutes late. Careless, that. For the future he must make her realize that he expected her to be punctual. The position had shifted; it was he who now directed, and she who had to obey.
He crossed to the far corner of the lounge, seating himself under the alcove immediately facing the door. Presently the green car arrived, and he saw Dora emerge from it hurriedly, and run up the broad steps, with some amusement. Her obvious inner tremors were a tribute to his power. She spoke to the hall porter anxiously, and was ushered in full of apologies and mental disturbance.
"I thought I should never get off," she said. "It takes such an awful time to get down here, and the chauffeur took a wrong turning at Croydon. I daren't risk coming to such a place again. What should I do if Richard were to question the man as to where I've been? He knows I never do anything without a motive."
"I should have thought you were accustomed to inventing excuses by now," said Brand deliberately. "You've had a good deal of experience, one way and another. You have brought the papers, I suppose? Here, look at the Sketch. Hold it in your left hand, so. Put your bag underneath on your lap; take out the papers, and pass them to me presently. Not just yet, those people over there are looking. Thanks. You're sure they are what I want?"
"Of course they are what you want," said Dora. "Understand, this is the very last thing I'm going to do for you. I've paid you back a thousandfold for the little you did. For that matter, you did me the worst turn you ever did to any one in all your life. My marriage has brought me nothing but misery and discomfort."
"Oh, so you think you have paid your debt, do you?" said Brand. "Tea for two, waiter, please. Hot cakes I think you like, Mrs. Farquharson; or, as it's summer, would you prefer sandwiches? Yes, cucumber sandwiches, I think, please—anything cool. You were saying—by the way, how much you amuse me, Mrs. Farquharson!"
"Amuse you!" repeated Dora. She pulled her veil down again, shrinking back into the corner as two strangers from the sea front, who had come in for tea, passed by and glanced at the pair curiously.
"Cream? Sugar?" asked Brand. "What, no sugar? I should take it if I were you."
He handed her her teacup with some deliberation. "There's one quality that you lack, Mrs. Farquharson—you have all other charms, of course. You don't balance things quite aptly. Now, as a matter of fact, you owe me a debt that can never be properly repaid. I've done the utmost that a man can do for any woman—I've even jeopardized my wife's honour that you might gain what you desired." He shrugged his shoulders. "The fact that what you then gained is now of no value to you doesn't matter at all. The point is that you haven't paid your debt off yet—that there's still more to be done before you and I can properly call quits."