"Colonel Butler!," I cried. (One never troubled to think whether he should rightly be given his military rank). "Shut that door! Run upstairs to the drawing-room! Hide there till I fetch you, but on no account turn on the light! My niece is coming now; if you want to avoid her..."
He acted with great decision and literally dashed upstairs. I heard the door gently closing as Will fitted his key into the lock... My dear, I am too old for excitements of this kind; my heart was beating; I had no idea what to say if they asked me why a taxi was standing there unattended. Oh, and I felt sure Phyllida would say she had left her work or her book in the drawing-room...
It was agony! I could not persuade them to go to bed. First of all they wanted to know why I was still up, then they must needs tell me about their party, then Phyllida wanted a cigarette, then Will wanted to give her some soda-water. One false start after another... When at last I thought I had set them moving, Phyllida sat down again and said:
"Will dear, see if there are any letters for me, there's an angel."
Do you know, I was so much obsessed by the thought of that man in the drawing-room that I was blind to everything else. As my boy went into the hall, I felt that I had seen a change without noticing it, if you understand me. Will was transformed, elated ... and there was a new gentleness about Phyllida. When he brought the letters to her, I could see that he pressed her hand; and she sighed wistfully and then smiled. Now I could understand why they complained that the dance was so crowded, no room to sit, impossible even to talk...
"Read those upstairs, dear Phyllida," I begged.
And I took her arm and led her up, past that terrifying drawing-room, into safety. Will ... When I returned, he wanted to talk; but I implored him to go up and let me come to him in a moment. He was curious, mystified ... but at least he could not doubt my earnestness. Then at last I released my prisoner and hurried him through the hall and into the street. When I had shut the door I leaned against it, panting. I couldn't walk, I could hardly stand...
"And now, Will?," I said, when I was able to drag myself upstairs.
"There's nothing much to tell—as yet," he answered. "You've probably seen that she's been getting steadily more miserable the last few days. I asked her to-night what it was all about, though I knew that she was eating her heart out for this Butler fellow. She would only say that she was unhappy and lonely; and I told her that was all rot, because any number of men would be in love with her if she gave them half a chance. Then she said it was no good, because she couldn't give them any love in return, her heart was dead... The usual rot a girl talks. I told her that, so far as I was concerned, I'd gladly risk all that; and she said she didn't care who she married or what became of her and she wished she'd never been born... That," said Will, "was nearer by a long chalk than I've ever been before; and you may take it as absolutely certain that, if she doesn't hear anything of Butler pretty soon... She dried up and began to talk of something else when I tried to pin her to a day, but she was quite decent to me as we drove home."
I could say nothing until I had been given time to digest his news. Whoever Will marries must have some money; he has earned nothing since he resigned his post at Morecambe... Perhaps dear Phyllida thinks a little too much about herself to be the perfect wife for Will, but it is not cynical to say that, if you look for perfection in woman or man, you will never marry. One has to consider the balance of advantage... I did most earnestly want to see Will established in life and settled down before those dreadful blackmailing Phentons could make another descent on us. And it would do Phyllida so much good to marry...