For Stephen had been "caught out"! The sight of McTaggart, dusty, blood-stained, the cut on his forehead hastily plastered by the local chemist, escorting Jill, herself still white, bruised and shaken, her dress in ribbons, without a hat, standing in the narrow doorway, had shattered that young man's calm assurance.
Utterly ignoring him and his hasty, incoherent excuses, McTaggart had induced Jill to take some food, collected her luggage and hurried her out and up to the station, without a word to the inwardly scared object of his deep contempt.
One good thing had resulted from Jill's painful adventure in Wales; a distinct rupture between her mother and the weak and unscrupulous young man.
In a long letter to McTaggart, Jill had conveyed the glad news.
"Isn't it splendid?"—she wrote gayly. "Roddy's off his head with joy! He's painted a picture of Saint Stephen being stoned by the Suffragettes; with mauve socks and a mauve tie—it really is exactly like him!—and a big bottle of champagne with 'Mumm's the word!' on a banner.
"I do hope your head's all right?—that cut, I mean? I'm very fit and I can't think why I caved in. You were a brick to fly to the rescue! We're off on Thursday for a month at Worthing. Can't you come and say good-bye? I want to thank you properly—and Roddy too—so do turn up.
"It's lovely to feel free of Stephen and have Mother to ourselves. She's coming to the Zoo to-day and she's promised Roddy some painting lessons—think of that! He's so happy. Stephen used to laugh at him and call him the 'Infant Raphael' ... I'd like to see Stephen do some of Roddy's clever sketches!..."
So the simple letter ran. Full of slang, but, to the lover, a priceless pearl of composition. He read her nature between the lines: that strong loving heart of hers, scorning all hypocrisy, protective toward the weak, breathing a sweet unselfishness.
Nevertheless he stayed away, faithful to his secret vow. He sent the girl a book she craved and a big box of sweets for Roddy. Then, as an afterthought, he added a neat little painter's outfit. He smiled at his own craftiness, knowing the road to Jill's heart. And a plan rose in his mind—if all went as he hoped—to arrange that this much beloved brother should study abroad at his expense and enter the Art schools at Rome.
Now, in the dim light of the Park, he was lost in a day-dream of the future. His cigarette, smouldering unheeded, scorched his fingers and, with a start, he came back to his surroundings.