"Perhaps you are wise," he said coolly. "All the same, when the time comes there is an explanation.""It is the present which has become such a problem," she went on. "I was driven to leave home and I don't think I can go back again. Father is simply furious with me, and every one about the place seems to have an idea that I am somehow to blame for what happened the other night.""That seems to me a little unjust," he protested.
"It isn't unjust at all," she replied brusquely. "I've told them all lies and I've got to pay for them. I came to you--well, there really wasn't anything else left for me to do, was there? I hope you don't think that I am horribly forward. I am quite willing to admit that I like you, that I liked you from the first moment we met at Lady Anselman's luncheon. At the same time, if that awful night hadn't changed everything, I should have behaved just like any other stupidly and properly brought-up young woman--waited and hoped and made an idiot of myself whenever you were around, and in the end, I suppose, been disappointed. You see, fate has rather changed that. I had to invent our engagement to save you--and here I am," she added, with a little nervous laugh, turning her head as the door opened.
Jarvis entered with the sandwiches and arranged them on a small table by her side. Granet poured out the wine for her, mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda and took a sandwich also from the plate.
"Now tell me," he began, as soon as Jarvis had disappeared, "what is there at the back of your mind about my presence there at Market Burnham that night?"She laid down her sandwich. For the first time her voice trembled. Granet realised that beneath all this quietness of demeanour a volcano was threatening.
"I have told you that I do not want to think of that night," she said firmly.
"I simply do not understand."
"You have something in your mind?" he persisted. "You don't believe, really, that that man Collins, who was found shot--"She glanced at the door.
"I couldn't sleep that night," she interrupted. "I heard your car arrive, Isaw you both together, you and the man who was shot. I saw--more than that.
I hadn't meant to tell you this but perhaps it is best. I ask you for no explanation. You see, I am something of an individualist. I just want one thing, and about the rest I simply don't care. To me, to myself, to my own future, to my own happiness the rest is very slight, and I never pretend to be anything else but a very selfish person. Only you know now that I have lied, badly.""I understand," he said. "Finish your sandwiches and I will take you to your aunt's. To-morrow I will write to your father."She drew a little sigh.
"I will do whatever you say," she agreed, "only--please look at me."He stooped down a little. She seized his wrists, her voice was suddenly hoarse.
"You weren't pretending altogether?" she pleaded. "Don't make me feel a perfect beast. You did care a little? You weren't just talking nonsense?"She would have drawn him further down but he kept away.
"Listen," he said, "when I tell you that I am going to write to your father to-morrow, you know what that means. For the rest, I must think. Perhaps this is the only way out. Of course, I like you but the truth is best, isn't it? I hadn't any idea of this. As a matter of fact, I am rather in love with someone else."She caught at her breath for a moment, half closed her eyes as thought to shut out something disagreeable.
"I don't care," she muttered. "You see how low I have fallen--I'll bear even that. Come," she added, springing up, "my aunt goes to bed before eleven.
You can drive me down there, if you like. Are you going to kiss me?"He bent over her a little gravely and his lips touched her forehead. She caught his face suddenly between her hands and kissed him on the lips. Then she turned towards the door.
"Of course, I am horribly ashamed," she exclaimed, "but then--well, I'm myself. Come along, please."He followed her down into the taxi and they drove off towards Kensington.
"How long have you known the other girl?" she asked abruptly.
"Very little longer than I have known you," he answered.
She took off her glove. He felt her hand steal into his.
"You'll try and like me a little, please?" she begged. "There hasn't been any one who cared for so many years--not all my life. When I came out--ever since I came out--I have behaved just like other properly, well-brought-up girls.
I've just sat and waited. I've rather avoided men than otherwise. I've sat and waited. Girls haven't liked me much. They say I'm odd. I'm twenty-eight now, you know. I haven't enjoyed the last six years. Father's wrapped up in his work. He thinks he has done his duty if he sends me to London sometimes to stay with my aunt. She is very much like him, only she is wrapped up in missions instead of science. Neither of them seems to have time to be human.""It must have been rotten for you," Granet said kindly.
Her hand clutched his, she came a little nearer.
"Year after year of it," she murmured. "If I had been good-looking, I should have run away and gone on the stage. If I had been clever, I should have left home and done something. But I am like millions of others--I am neither. Ihad to sit and wait. When I met you, I suddenly began to realise what it would be like to care for some one. I knew it wasn't any use. And then this miracle happened. I couldn't help it," she went on doggedly. "I never thought of it at first. It came to me like a great flash that the only way to save you--""To save me from what?" he asked.
"From being shot as a spy," she answered quickly. "There! I'm not a fool, you know. You may think I'm a fool about you but I am not about things in general. Good-bye! This is my aunt's. Don't come in. Ring me up to-morrow morning. I'll meet you anywhere. Good-bye, please! I want to run away."He watched her go, a little dazed. A trim parlourmaid came out and, after a few words of explanation, superintended the disposal of her luggage in the hall. Then the taxicab man returned.
"Back to Sackville Street," Granet muttered.
