The “Voice of the Charmer” had but another week to run, for the theatre was wanted for the Christmas pantomime. Celia had promised to return to the cast for the final performances; and accompanied by the two gentlemen, caught the afternoon train to London.
Haviland and Calhoun were glad to see her back, for the play without her in it had been like Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark, even though Miss Graham had done her best to imitate the original Mallida’s interpretation of the part.
Celia was not sorry when the last night arrived, although she was bound to admit that all her co-workers had been exceedingly kind to her, from the manager down to the call-boy. But when Mr. Calhoun asked her if she would continue in the part if they resumed the run of the play in the new year, she quietly but firmly declined; and neither he nor Haviland could persuade her to alter her mind.
After Christmas, which she spent very enjoyably at Woodruffe, Herbert and Marjorie wrote for her to come and join them in Bournemouth, both assuring her that she need have no scruples about trespassing on the seclusion of their honeymoon, for there were two or three people they knew staying at the same hotel. The Wiltons, however, would not hear of her taking her departure until after their annual Christmas party, which was, to them, the great event of the winter season.
“Your brother ought to be able to spare you a little longer, now that he has a wife to keep him company,” said Enid, with authority; and to this all the other members of the family agreed.
But at length, after her sister-in-law had despatched three or four more letters of invitation, Celia bade farewell to them all and went. She found both her brother and his wife greatly improved in health; and the cordial welcome they gave her quite dispelled the fear she had had that her visit might be an intrusion. Their fellow-visitors at the hotel organized various forms of social enjoyment; and as the weather was genial—although it was January—they went about a good deal.
“There is somebody you know staying at Cliff Terrace,” Marjorie informed her whilst she unpacked. “He came to Bournemouth because he knew we were here. We scarcely expected you until Monday, and I told him so; but I should not be surprised if he came round to-morrow.”
“Who is it?” asked the girl with curiosity, but Lady Marjorie only smiled at her in a tantalizing manner, and refused to say.
The next day was Sunday. Celia expected the mysterious somebody all day, but he did not arrive. She wondered if it were Lord Bexley, and hoped he had not been trying to get his sister to intercede in his favour. She scarcely thought he would do such a thing, for he had appeared to take her decision as final, when she had rejected his proposal at the Havilands.
In the evening she expressed her intention of going to church; and as Marjorie was not allowed to inhale the night air, she went alone, her brother promising to meet her at the conclusion of the service. He did not scruple to allow her to go unaccompanied, for ever since she had passed out of the hands of her governess, she had been used to go about by herself.