Winding Paths Part 25

"Hullo!" was her greeting. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting. I've had a busy afternoon helping my chief to give you and The Right Honourable Hayes Matheson a good slanging."

"Oh, you have, have you?"

The grey eyes were growing more and more approving, as he noted each detail most likely to appeal to a man who had made a study of women for many years. The shapely little ears with the glossy hair curling round them, the full, rounded throat, the determined little chin, the frank, fearless eyes.

He still hardly knew whether she was pretty or not, but he discerned wery quickly that she was amply blessed with that rare gift of personality and humour that is so much more durable than a pretty face.

Hal, for her part, was no less interested in him, but she found little else than that she had already seen: humorous, quizzical grey eyes, a face a good deal lined, and a mouth and chin suggesting a nature fond of enjoyment and self-indulgence, which it had never seen any cause to deny itself. She saw that he was very grey about the temples, and a trifle inclined to stoutness, but tall enough and broad enough to carry it off.

A fine figure of a man, though one, she felt instinctively, belonging to a very different world to hers. Because she felt his careful scrutiny, and because she wanted to a.s.sert her indifference to it, she remarked suddenly, after a moment:

"Well, how do you like me by daylight?"

"How do you like me?" he retorted, and laughed.

She shook her head, and her eyes grew mischievous.

"Old," she said; "quite old and grey."

"Old be d.a.m.ned! Forty-eight is the prime of life."

She was taking her seat, and gave a low chuckle of enjoyment at having drawn him.

"Ah, you may laugh now," he said, "but I'll soon show you forty-eight is far more attractive than twenty-eight. Where shall we go?"

"I don't mind in the least, but I should prefer to steer for tea and buns."

"Tea and buns!... how like a woman!... How can you expect to get the vote on tea and buns?"

They were spinning along the Broughton Road now, heading for Putney and Richmond, and Hal felt her spirits rising momentarily with the joy of the motion and comfort and fresh air.

"We don't expect to get in on tea and buns; we expect to get it on whisky and beer. That is to say, we expect the course of events to prove that tea and buns conduce to a frame of mind better able to cope with the questions of the day than the whisky and beer drained in such quant.i.ties by men."

"And when you've got it you'll all vote for the man who happens to be good-looking, and who can pay you the prettiest compliments."

"A few will vote that way, no doubt, but not the majority. Women are not so fond of pretty men as they were"; and her lips curled significantly.

"Pretty men!..." he echoed, with enjoyment.

"Little woman, you have a neat way of putting things."

He was silent a few minutes, then added:

"I suppose, down at that office they are all in love with you?"

"I don't know. I haven't asked them," with twinkling eyes. "I'm a bit in love with the chief myself."

"Oh, your are, are you? And what aged man might he be?"

"Oh, he's quite old," she laughed; "somewhere about forty-eight."

"And is he in love with you?"

"It just depends. Sometimes he's rather fond of me on a Sat.u.r.day; but on Mondays he loathes me."

"I see. And are you as changeable?"

"No, I love him always; but on Mondays it's mostly from habit. On Sat.u.r.days it's from choice."

He looked down at her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to state some commonplace about being jealous. Then suddenly he looked back to his steering wheel, and the commonplace sentence died unspoken. Quite unaccountably he felt less inclined to flirt and more inclined to be really friendly, and for some distance they skimmed along in silence.

They had tea at the Star and Garter, both chatting volubly on the most interesting topics of the day. Hal's newspaper work had made her cognisant of many subjects very few girls of her age would even have heard of, and her original criticisms delighted him. It was a gay little tea-table, and the time slipped by with extraordinary rapidity.

Hal noticed it first.

"Do you know it is half-past six?" she said, "and I'm dining out to-night. We must fly."

"Is it really past six?..." in astonishment. "How the time has flown!

You know, you are such an entertaining little woman, you make me forget everything but yourself." He looked at her hard, and the force of habit caused him to add: "I doubt if any other woman I know to-day could have given me so much pleasure."

"Well, you needn't thank me," with her low, fresh laugh, "because I came entirely to give myself pleasure."

"Then I hope you have succeeded. I see it is quite hopeless to expect any sort of a complimentary speech from you."

"Quite; though I don't mind admitting I have been very enjoyably entertained as well."

"That is something, anyhow. And now I suppose you are going straight off home to dress, and dine with some one else, and forget about me?"

"I don't suppose I shall forget you. It happens to be a journalist dinner, and probably we shall tear you to pieces between us before we have finished."

"Well, I'd rather you did that than forget me."

She felt him looking hard into her face, with something a little sinister in his expression, and she got up and turned away.

"Why do you turn away when I am interested? Don't you think you might be a little pleased that I don't want you to forget me?"

He asked the question with a humorous twinkle, though she felt that he meant it seriously as well. This last, however, she was clever enough to ignore, and merely threw him a mischievous glance over her shoulder as she answered:

"Well, I have to consider Brother Dudley's att.i.tude, you see; and I've a notion he would be best pleased for both the incident and motorist of Sunday evening to be forgotten."

He got up slowly, looking amused.

"I suppose he would be horrified at this outing?"

"I strongly suspect he would."

"What if he hears you were out motoring at Richmond with me?"

"Oh, well, I shall tell him you are old enough to be my father, and not to be absurd."