Flames Part 40

"Chaff a lady who wears more feathers than ever 'growed on one ostrich,'

and who was the _intime_ of the mysterious Marr? Julian, Julian!"

Then, seeing that Julian still looked rather uncomfortable, Valentine added, dropping his mock heroic manner:

"Don't be afraid. We will give the lady one good hour."

"Ah!" Julian cried, struck by the expression, "that's what the doctor wished to give to every poor wretch in London."

"We don't ask the doctor to our tea," Valentine replied, with a sudden coldness.

The invitation was conveyed to the lady of the feathers, and in due course an answer was received, a mosaic of misspelling and obvious gratification.

"My dear," ran the missive, "I will com. I shall be pleased to see you agane, but I thorght I shoold not. Men say--oh yes, I shall com back--but not many does, and I thorght praps you was like the all the rest. Your friend is very good to a.s.sk me, and I am,

"Yr loving, "Cuckoo."

Valentine read the letter without comment and ordered an elaborate tea.

Julian read it, and wondered whether he was a fool because he felt touched by the misspelt words, as he had sometimes felt touched when he saw some very poor woman attired in her ridiculous "best" clothes.

The tea-time had been fixed for five o'clock, and Julian intended, of course, to be in Victoria Street with Valentine to receive the expected guest, but Cuckoo Bright threw his polite plans out of gear, and Valentine was alone when, at half-past four, the electric bell rang, and, a moment later, Wade solemnly showed into the drawing-room a striking vision, such as had never "burst into that silent sea" of artistic repose and refinement before.

The lady undoubtedly wore what seemed to be her one hat, and the effect of it, at all times remarkable, was amazingly heightened by its proximity to the quiet and beautiful surroundings of the room. As a rule, it merely cried out. Now it seemed absolutely to yell bank-holiday vulgarity and impropriety at the silent pictures. But her gown decidedly exceeded it in uproar, being of the very loudest scarlet hue, with large black lozenges scattered liberally over it. From her rather narrow shoulders depended a black cape, whose silk foundation was suffocated with bugles. A shrill scent of cherry-blossom ran with her like a crowd, and in her hand she carried an umbrella and a plush bag with a steel snap. Her face, in the midst of this whirlpool of finery, peeped out anxiously, covered as it was with a smear of paint and powder, and when she saw Valentine standing alone to receive her, her nervous eyes ranged uncomfortably about in obvious quest of an acquaintance and protector.

"I am sorry that Mr. Addison has not come yet," Valentine said, holding out his hand. "I expect him every minute. Won't you come and sit down?"

An ironical courtesy vibrated in his voice. The lady grew more obviously nervous. She looked at Valentine through the veil which was drawn tightly across her face. His appearance seemed to carry awe into her heart, for she stood staring and attempted no reply, allowing him to take her hand without either protest or response.

"Won't you sit down?" he repeated, smiling at her with humourous contemplation of her awkward distress.

The lady abruptly sat down on a sofa.

"Allow me to put a cus.h.i.+on at your back," Valentine said. And he pa.s.sed behind her to do so. But she quickly s.h.i.+fted round, almost as if in fear, and faced him as he stood with his hand on the back of the sofa.

"No," she said, in a hurry; "I don't know as I want one, thanks."

She half got up.

"Have I come right?" she asked uneasily. "Is this the house?"

"Certainly. It's so good of you to come."

The words did not seem to carry any comfort to the lady. She pa.s.sed the tip of her tongue along her painted lips and looked towards the door.

"Pray, don't be alarmed," Valentine said, sitting down on a chair immediately opposite to her.

"I ain't. But--but you're not the friend, are you?"

"I am; and the _ami des femmes_ too, I a.s.sure you. Be calm."

He bent forward, looking closely into her face. The lady leaned quickly back and uttered a little gasp.

"What is the matter?" Valentine asked.

"Nothin', nothin'," the lady answered, returning his glance as if fascinated into something that approached horror. "When's he comin'?

When's he comin'?"

"Directly. But I trust you will not regret spending a few minutes alone in my company. What can I do to make you happy?"

"I'm all right, thank you," she said, almost roughly. "Don't bother about me."

"Who could help bothering about a pretty woman?" Valentine answered suavely, and approaching his chair a little more closely to her. "Do you know that my friend Addison can talk of n.o.body but you?"

"Oh!"

"n.o.body. He raves about you."

"You're laughing," the lady said, still uncomfortably.

"Not at all. I never laugh."

As he made this last remark, Valentine slowly frowned. The effect of this change of expression upon the lady was most extraordinary. She leaned far back upon the sofa as if in retreat from the face that stared upon her, mechanically thrusting out her hands in a faltering gesture of self-defence. Then, planting her feet on the ground and using them as a lever, she succeeded in moving the sofa backwards upon its castors, which ran easily over the thick carpet. Valentine, on his part, did not stir, but with immovable face regarded her apparent terror as a man regards some spectacle neither new nor strange to him, silently awaiting its eventual closing tableau. What this would have been cannot be known, for at this moment the bell rang and the butler was heard moving in the hall.

The frown faded from Valentine's face, and the lady sprang up from the sofa with a violent, almost a pa.s.sionate, eagerness. Julian entered hastily.

"Why was you late?" Cuckoo Bright cried out, hastening up to him and speaking almost angrily. "Why was you late? I didn't think--I didn't--oh!"

Her voice sounded like the voice of one on the verge of tears. Julian looked astonished.

"I am very sorry," he began. "But I didn't know you would be here so soon."

He glanced from the lady to Valentine inquiringly, as much as to say:

"How have you been getting on?"

Valentine's expression was gay and rea.s.suring.

"I have been entertaining your friend, Julian," he said. "But she has been almost inconsolable in your absence. She was standing up because I was just about to show her the pictures. But now you are here, we will have tea first instead. Ah, here is tea. Miss Bright, do come and sit by the fire, and put your feet on this stool. We will wait upon you."

Since the entrance of Julian, his manner had entirely changed. All the irony, all the mock politeness, had died out of it. He was now a kind and delicately courteous host, desirous of putting his guests upon good terms and gilding the pa.s.sing hour with a definite happiness. Cuckoo Bright seemed struck completely dumb by the transformation. She took the chair he indicated, mechanically put her feet up on the stool he pushed forward, and with a rather trembling hand accepted a cup of tea.

"Do you take sugar?" Valentine said, bending over her with the sugar-basin.

"No, no," she said.

"Oh, but I thought you loved sweet things," Julian interposed. "Surely--"

"I won't have none to-day," she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, adding with an endeavour after gentility; "thank you, all the same," to Valentine.

He offered her some delicious cakes, but she was apparently petrified by the grandeur of her surroundings, or by some hidden sensation of shyness or of shame, and was refusing to eat anything, when Julian came to the rescue.