It was undoubtedly the great moment of Louise’s life. She knew it. Eric had made it possible for her to be magnanimous. But the gods were not kind. What she was going to say to him they alone knew, for at that instant the maid came to the door, to say that Countess Chiozzi was on the telephone and would like to speak to Mr. Gregory. For Louise the interruption was maddening. Eric was about to send word that he would ring her up in the morning, and so return as quickly as possible to the business in hand, when Louise said in a stifled voice:
“I want it clearly understood that that woman is not to come into this house.”
It was hopeless, then. Eric turned to the maid.
“I’ll speak to her,” he said, and left the room. They would have to separate. There was nothing else for it.
Louise sat with bent head, smoothing out a handkerchief on her knee. She had not meant to say that. The words had come through sheer force of habit. She knew her moment was gone now, and she believed that it would never come again. If Eric had really loved her, he would have seen that she longed to be different, and that under her coldness and bitterness there was only unhappiness and longing! He ought to have seen! She folded the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes again. She was more miserable than ever.
[CHAPTER XII]
Major Stroud had also been invited to tea at Madame Claire’s, but was to be out of town, and as Noel had to see a man about a job, the party had dwindled to three, and Chip found his way to the hotel alone. He was prompt to the minute and feeling extremely nervous. He had so looked forward to seeing Judy again that he felt sure everything—except Judy herself—would be disappointing. Madame Claire would find him uninteresting, and Judy would be kind but bored. He would very likely upset his tea. He had been a fool to accept. He had far better have stayed away and allowed himself to return to the comfortable oblivion from which the accident had dislodged him. Better be a kindly memory than a dull actuality.
But there was something reassuring about the way the homely Dawson opened the door to him and took his hat and coat. She received him like an old friend and smiled as though she shared some secret with him. The sight of Judy and his hostess bending over plans for a Pisé de Terre cottage to be built for Judy on Madame Claire’s little place in Sussex, also gave him courage. He loved plans, and was soon making suggestions and alterations in a way that, Judy said, was as domineering as an architect’s.
“It’s entirely furnished and decorated inside,” she said. “I’ve thought about it so much that I wouldn’t be surprised to find it had materialized. You must look next time you go down, Madame Claire. It might look rather odd without its outsides of course.”