Men of Affairs Part 33

"Oh!"

He stretched his legs and rattled the coins in his pockets.

"I've a h.e.l.l of a lot of money and d.a.m.n! I've never asked a woman this question up to yet."

"Have you not?"

"Mention that fact 'cos I know they fall for mola.s.ses."

"You're very wise about women, Mr. Hipps."

But the irony was wasted.

"I read a bit of heart stuff in the trains sometimes," he said.

Auriole began to draw on her gloves.

"Isn't this rather a queer place to settle one's future?" she said.

"Donno--is it? Struck me it 'ud keep you from side-stepping having me on the horizon."

"I see. And do you always mix love making with business?"

"Sure. Marriage is a business and bank books talk sweeter than the long haired boys."

She flashed a glance up at him and there was a definite appeal in her eyes.

"Are you in love with me?"

The question seemed slightly to take him off balance.

"d.a.m.n! I think you're fine," he said.

"That is--splendid," she replied and turned her head.

"Feeling good about it?"

"Who wouldn't be?"

"Thought you took it quiet."

"I'm sorry."

"Maybe you had some hopes along this street?"

"I guessed there was something doing," she answered in an echo of his tone.

"It's all fixed then."

"I suppose so."

"Say I don't want you to think I'm only doing this out of expediency."

"You're not?"

"Not altogether."

"Better and better," said Auriole.

"I must sc.r.a.pe half an hour for lunch one of these days and we'll talk over settlements."

"That will be--jolly."

"I'll get right upstairs now."

"Goodbye."

He made no effort to take her hand or to kiss her and she offered no encouragement. At the room door he turned.

"Paris for the honeymoon?" he asked.

"Wherever you like."

He looked at her critically and she met his eyes without flinching.

"And you feel kind of strong--soft spots eradicated?"

"Naturally."

"I'm a h.e.l.l of a tonic," said Ezra P. Hipps and closed the door behind him.

Auriole stood where he had left her. Presently she raised her hands and they were clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white as ivory.

"How utterly, utterly awful," she said to herself. "How unspeakable."

She picked up her bag and the other odds and ends a woman will carry and pa.s.sed out of the house with flaming cheeks.

The chauffeur of the little two seater car that stood by the gates asked where he should drive.

"I don't care," she replied. "Anywhere you like. Get on a hill--some place where I can breathe."

The little Wolseley Ten wound through the green lanes and presently mounted a pine fringed slope. Away to the west hung the smoke of London with the pleasant countryside in between.

Auriole touched the chauffeur on the arm and he stopped. Alighting from the car she scrambled over uneven ground and presently threw herself down under the shade of a tree. Somewhere overhead a lark was singing and the air vibrated to the drone of summer insects. The day was blue, peaceful, sweet. A thin breeze rustled the foliage, and golden sun spots dappled the brown carpet of pine needles upon which she lay. A single cloud travelled in the sky and its shadow fell across the house and grounds in which Richard Frencham Altar was imprisoned. Auriole clenched her hands tightly and bit her lip.

Somewhere behind those shuttered windows on the second floor the inquisition was going forward. Three men to one. The relentless interrogation. The same question repeated in a hundred ways and the same unshakable refusal to give an answer. It was fitting indeed that nature should cast a shadow over such doings.

"And I'm part of it," said Auriole.