Mr. Wainbridge left the room. The house was very quiet. He looked for Paul, but he could not find him. Paul had gone away in the canoe.
Mr. Wainbridge, therefore, was obliged to control the irresistible desire to confide in Paul, and in him only. Paul took such an interest in Launa, so did Lord Fairmouth, but Mr. Wainbridge did not fear him.
It was after dinner, during which meal Mrs. Cooper again discussed hay fever, and the depression consequent thereupon. Mr. Wainbridge was very silent. Lord Fairmouth recommended eucalyptus, and Launa looked pale, even anxious. Paul and the canoe had not returned, and it was growing dark, with a strong wind from the north-east. After dinner she was very restless and wandered about, then she began to play the piano.
Lord Fairmouth went away to write, and Mrs. Cooper retired to bed. She had old-fashioned ideas as to lovers, and regarded them as something almost indecent, requiring constant and frequent privacy.
Launa played on. The wind was shrieking, and then roaring through the tree tops. At last it gave a sudden scream and a yell. She jumped up, and her hands fell on the keys with a crash. A door banged, and a gust of wind clamoured against the window and howled outside.
“Where is Paul?”
She had been playing a Chopin study—number XI.
“Chopin is sometimes hysterical,” said Mr. Wainbridge.
“Here I am, Launa,” and Paul came in. “You were frightened. The wind is making a tremendous noise. When I opened the front door it was howling and shrieking, and nearly blew the lamps out.”
He took both her hands, and held them firmly. Her colour had come back, and she breathed quickly. There was a pause. Mr. Wainbridge strolled across the room.