“I’m not hankering for society just now,” said Mrs. Chater. “I want that chloroform. Just you hustle off and fetch it, like a good boy. Here’s the ticket.”
The young officer’s footsteps retreated rapidly, and the voices of the couple advancing along the path grew louder. Bailey, cursing the chance that had placed him in his ridiculous and uncomfortable position, heard them approach and pass on up the steps; and then all was silent, save for an Occasional moan from Mrs. Chater and the measured creaking of the seat as she rocked uneasily to and fro. But the young man was uncommonly prompt in the discharge of his mission, and in a very few minutes Bailey heard him approaching at a run along the path above and then bounding down the steps.
“Now I call that real good of you,” said the widow gratefully. “You must have run like the wind. Cut the string of the packet and then leave me to wrestle with this tooth.”
“But I can’t leave you here all——”
“Yes, you can,” interrupted Mrs. Chater. “There won’t be any one about—the next dance is a waltz. Besides, you must go and find your partner.”
“Well, if you’d really rather be alone,” the subaltern began; but Mrs. Chater interrupted him.
“Of course I would, when I’m fixing up my teeth. Now go along, and a thousand thanks for your kindness.”
With mumbled protestations the young officer slowly retired, and Bailey heard his reluctant feet ascending the steps. Then a deep silence fell on the place in which the rustle of paper and the squeak of a withdrawn cork seemed loud and palpable. Bailey had turned with his face towards the tree, against which he leaned with his lips parted scarcely daring to breathe. He cursed himself again and again for having thus entrapped himself for no tangible reason, and longed to get away. But there was no escape now without betraying himself. He must wait for the woman to go.
Suddenly, beyond the edge of the tree, a hand appeared holding an open packet of cotton-wool. It laid the wool down on the seat, and, pinching off a fragment, rolled it into a tiny ball. The fingers of the hand were encircled by rings, its wrist enclosed by a broad bracelet; and from rings and bracelet the light of the solitary fairy-lamp, that hung from a branch of the tree, was reflected in prismatic sparks. The hand was withdrawn and Bailey stared dreamily at the square pad of cotton-wool. Then the hand came again into view. This time it held a small phial which it laid softly on the seat, setting the cork beside it. And again the light flashed in many-coloured scintillations from the encrusting gems.
Bailey’s knees began to tremble, and a chilly moisture broke out upon his forehead.