A Great Success Part 11

"That's Rachel's delusion. She knows very well that she hasn't been able to manage him so far; but she's always full of fresh schemes for managing him. She thinks, if she could once marry him to the right wife, she and the wife between them could get the whip hand of him."

"Does she care for him?" said Meadows, bluntly.

Miss Field considered the question, and for the first time Meadows perceived a grain of seriousness in her expression. But she emerged from her meditations, smiling as usual.

"She'd be hard hit if anything very bad happened!"

"What could happen?"

"Well, of course they never know whether he won't marry to please himself--produce somebody impossible!"

"And Lady Dunstable would suffer?"

Miss Field chuckled.

"I really believe you think her a kind of griffin--a stony creature with a hole where her heart ought to be. Most of her friends do. Rachel, of course, goes through life a.s.suming that none of the disagreeable things that happen to other people will ever happen to her. But if they ever did happen--"

"The very stones would cry out? But hasn't she lost all influence with the youth?"

"She won't believe it. She's always scheming for him. And when he's not here she feels so affectionate and so good! And directly he comes--"

"I see! A tragedy--and a common one! Well, in half an hour I shall be ready for his lords.h.i.+p. Will you arrange it? I must write a letter first."

Miss Field nodded and departed. Meadows honestly meant to follow her into the house and write some pressing business letters. But the suns.h.i.+ne was so delightful, the sight of the empty bench and the abandoned novel on the other side of the lawn so beguiling, that after all he turned his lazy steps thither-ward, half ashamed, half amused to think how well Lady Dunstable had read his character.

The guests had all disappeared. Meadows had the garden to himself, and all its summer prospect of moor and stream. It was close on noon--a hot and heavenly day! And again he thought of Doris cooped up in London.

Perhaps, after all, he would get out of that cruise!

Ah! there was the morning train--the midnight express from King's Cross just arriving in the busy little town lying in the valley at his feet.

He watched it gliding along the valley, and heard the noise of the brakes. Were any new guests expected by it? he wondered. Hardly! The Lodge seemed quite full.

Twenty minutes later he threw away the novel impatiently. Midway, the story had gone to pieces. He rose from his feet, intending this time to tackle his neglected duties in earnest. As he did so, he heard a motor climbing the steep drive, and in front of it a lady, walking.

He stood arrested--in a stupor of astonishment.

Doris!--by all the G.o.ds!--_Doris_!

It was indeed Doris. She came wearily, looking from side to side, like one uncertain of her way. Then she too perceived Meadows, and stopped.

Meadows was conscious of two mixed feelings--first, a very lively pleasure at the sight of her, and then annoyance. What on earth had she come for? To recover him?--to protest against his not writing?--to make a scene, in short? His guilty imagination in a flash showed her to him throwing herself into his arms--weeping--on this wide lawn--for all the world to see.

But she did nothing of the kind. She directed the motor, which was really a taxi from the station, to stop without approaching the front door, and then she herself walked quickly towards her husband.

"Arthur!--you got my letter? I could only write yesterday."

She had reached him, and they had joined hands mechanically.

"Letter?--I got no letter! If you posted one, it has probably arrived by your train. What on earth, Doris, is the meaning of this? Is there anything wrong?"

His expression was half angry, half concerned, for he saw plainly that she was tired and jaded. Of course! Long journeys always knocked her up.

She meanwhile stood looking at him as though trying to read the impression produced on him by her escapade. Something evidently in his manner hurt her, for she withdrew her hand, and her face stiffened.

"There is nothing wrong with me, thank you! Of course I did not come without good reason."

"But, my dear, are you come to stay?" cried Meadows, looking helplessly at the taxi. "And you never wrote to Lady Dunstable?"

For he could only imagine that Doris had reconsidered her refusal of the invitation which had originally included them both, and--either tired of being left alone, or angry with him for not writing--had devised this _coup de main_, this violent shake to the kaleidoscope. But what an extraordinary step! It could only cover them both with ridicule. His cheeks were already burning.

Doris surveyed him very quietly.

"No--I didn't write to Lady Dunstable--I wrote to _you_--and sent her a message. I suppose--I shall have to stay the night."

"But what on earth are we to say to her?" cried Meadows in desperation.

"They're out walking now--but she'll be back directly. There isn't a corner in the house! I've got a little bachelor room in the attics.

Really, Doris, if you were going to do this, you should have given both her and me notice! There is a crowd of people here!"

Frown and voice were Jovian indeed. Doris, however, showed no tremors.

"Lady Dunstable will find somewhere to put me up," she said, half scornfully. "Is there a telegram for me?"

"A telegram? Why should there be a telegram? What is the meaning of all this? For heaven's sake, explain!"

Doris, however, did not attempt to explain. Her mood had been very soft on the journey. But Arthur's reception of her had suddenly stirred the root of bitterness again; and it was shooting fast and high. Whatever she had done or left undone, he ought _not_ to have been able to conceal that he was glad to see her--he ought _not_ to have been able to think of Lady Dunstable first! She began to take a pleasure in mystifying him.

"I expected a telegram. I daresay it will come soon. You see I've asked someone else to come this afternoon--and she'll have to be put up too."

"Asked someone else!--to Lady Dunstable's house!" Meadows stood bewildered. "Really, Doris, have you taken leave of your senses?"

She stood with s.h.i.+ning eyes, apparently enjoying his astonishment. Then she suddenly bethought herself.

"I must go and pay the taxi." Turning round, she coolly surveyed the "fortified post." "It looks big enough to take me in. Arthur!--I think you may pay the man. Just take out my bag, and tell the footman to put it in your room. That will do for the present. I shall sit down here and wait for Lady Dunstable. I'm pretty tired."

The thought of what the magnificent gentleman presiding over Lady Dunstable's hall would say to the unexpected irruption of Mrs. Meadows, and Mrs. Meadows's bag, upon the "fortified post" he controlled, was simply beyond expressing. Meadows tried to face his wife with dignity.

"I think we'd better keep the taxi, Doris. Then you and I can go back to the hotel together. We can't force ourselves upon Lady Dunstable like this, my dear. I'd better go and tell someone to pack my things. But we must, of course, wait and see Lady Dunstable--though how you will explain your coming, and get yourself--and me--out of this absurd predicament, I cannot even pretend to imagine!"

Doris sat down--wearily.

"Don't keep the taxi, Arthur. I a.s.sure you Lady Dunstable will be very glad to keep both me--and my bag. Or if she won't--Lord Dunstable will."

Meadows came nearer--bent down to study her tired face.

"There's some mystery, of course, Doris, in all this! Aren't you going to tell me what it means?"

His wife's pale cheeks flushed.

"I would have told you--if you'd been the least bit glad to see me!