The Streets of Ascalon Part 25

"Probably he didn't have a chance to be otherwise. He's a rotter, child.

Ask anybody. I know perfectly well what he's been up to. I'm sorry you went on the _Yulan_. He had no business to ask you--or any other nice girl--or anybody at all until that Reno scandal is officially made respectable. If it were not for his money--" She stopped a moment, adding cynically--"and if it were not for mine--certain people wouldn't be tolerated anywhere, I suppose.... How did you like Sir Charles?"

"Oh, he is charming!" she said warmly.

"You like him?"

"I almost adore him."

"Why not adore him entirely?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Never mind geography, child; tell me about the men!'"]

Strelsa laughed frankly: "He hasn't asked me to, for one reason.

Besides----"

"No doubt he'll do it."

The girl shook her head, still smiling:

"You don't understand at all. There isn't the slightest sentiment between us. He's only thoroughly nice and agreeable, and he and I are most companionable. I hope n.o.body will be silly enough to hint anything of that sort to him. It would embarra.s.s him dreadfully."

Mrs. Sprowl's smile was blandly tolerant:

"The man's in love with you. Didn't you know it?"

"But you are mistaken, dear Mrs. Sprowl. If it were true I would know it, I think."

"Nonsense! He told me so."

"Oh," said Strelsa in amazed consternation. She added: "If it _is_ so I'd rather not speak of it, please."

Mrs. Sprowl eyed her with s.h.i.+fty but keen intelligence. "Little idiot,"

she thought; but her smile remained bland and calmly patronising.

For a second or two longer she studied the girl cautiously, trying to make up her mind whether there was really any character in Strelsa's soft beauty--anything firmer than material fastidiousness; anything more real than a natural and dainty reticence. Mrs. Sprowl could ride rough-shod over such details. But she was too wise to ride if there was any chance of a check from higher sources.

"If you married him it would be very gratifying to me," she said pleasantly. "Come; let's discuss the matter like sensible women. Shall we?"

Many people would not have disregarded such a wish. Strelsa flushed and lifted her purple-gray eyes to meet the little green ones scanning her slyly.

"I am sorry," she said, "but I couldn't discuss such a thing, you see.

Don't you see I can't, dear Mrs. Sprowl?"

"Pooh! Rubbis.h.!.+ Anybody can discuss anything," rejoined the old lady with impersonal and boisterous informality. "I'm fond of you. Everybody knows it. I'm fond of Sir Charles. He's a fine figure of a man. You match him in everything, except wealth. It's an ideal marriage----"

"Please don't!--I simply cannot----"

"Ideal," repeated Mrs. Sprowl loudly--"an ideal marriage----"

"But when there is no love----"

"Plenty! Loads of it! He's mad about you--crazy!----"

"I--meant--on my part----"

"Good G.o.d!" shouted the old lady, beating the air with pudgy hands--"isn't it luck enough to have love on one side? What does the present generation want! I tell you it's ideal, perfect. He's a good man as men go, and a devilish handsome----"

"I know--but----"

"And he's got money!" shouted the old lady--"plenty of it I tell you! And he has the entree everywhere on the Continent--in England--everywhere!--which Dankmere has not!--if you're considering that little whelp!"

Stunned, shrinking from the dreadful asthmatic noises in Mrs. Sprowl's voice, Strelsa sat dumb, wincing under the blows of sound, not knowing how to escape.

"I'm fond of you!" shrieked the old lady--"I can be of use to you and I want to be. That's why I asked you to tea! I want to make you happy--and Sir Charles, too! What the devil do you suppose there is in it for me except to oblige hi--you both?"

"Th-thank you, but----"

"I'll bet a s.h.i.+lling that Molly Wycherly let you go about with any little spindle-shanked pill who came hanging around!--And I told her what were my wishes----"

"Please--oh, _please_, Mrs. Sprowl----"

"Yes, I did! It's a good match! I want you to consider it!--I insist that----"

"Mrs. Sprowl!" exclaimed Strelsa, pink with confusion and resentment, "I am obliged to you for the interest you display, but it is a matter----"

"What!"

"I am really--grateful--but----"

"Answer me, child. Has that cursed nephew of mine made any impression on you? Answer me!"

"Not the kind you evidently mean!" said Strelsa, helplessly.

"Is there anybody else?"

The outrageous question silenced the girl for a moment. Angry, she still tried to be gentle; tried to remember the age, and the excellent intentions of this excited old lady; and she answered in a low voice:

"I care for no man in particular, unless it be Sir Charles--and----"

"And who?"

"Mr. Quarren, I think," she said.

Mrs. Sprowl's jowl grew purple with fury:

"You--has that boy had the impudence--d.a.m.n him----"

Strelsa sprang to her feet.