And now this evening, as she sat in the drawing-room playing the piano to her employer, in had walked the latter’s son, a tall, nervous young man, perpetually clearing his throat and fiddling with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, with the announcement that he had brought his friend, Mr. Rayner, to spend a few days in the old home.
Eve could still see the look on Peter’s face as, having shaken hands with his hostess, he turned to her. It was the look of the cowboy who, his weary ride over, sees through the dusk the friendly gleam of the saloon windows, and with a happy sigh reaches for his revolver. There could be no two meanings to that look. It said, as clearly as if he had shouted it, that this was no accidental meeting; that he had tracked her down and proposed to resume matters at the point where they had left off.
Eve was indignant. It was abominable that he should pursue her in this way. She sat thinking how abominable it was for five minutes; and then it suddenly struck her that she was hungrier than ever. She had forgotten her material troubles for the moment. It seemed to her now that she was quite faint with hunger.
A cuckoo clock outside the door struck one. And, as it did so, it came to Eve that on the sideboard in the dining-room there were biscuits.
A moment later she was creeping softly down the stairs.
It was dark and ghostly on the stairs. The house was full of noises. She was glad when she reached the dining-room. It would be pleasant to switch on the light. She pushed open the door, and uttered a cry. The light was already switched on, and at the table, his back to her, was a man.
There was no time for flight. He must have heard the door open. In another moment he would turn and spring.
She spoke tremulously.
“Don’t—don’t move. I’m pointing a pistol at you.”
The man did not move.
“Foolish child!” he said, indulgently. “Suppose it went off!”
She uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“You! What are you doing here, Mr. Rayner?”
She moved into the room, and her relief changed swiftly into indignation. On the table were half a chicken, a loaf, some cold potatoes, and a bottle of beer.
“I’m eating, thank goodness!” said Peter, helping himself to a cold potato. “I had begun to think I never should again.”
“Eating!”
“Eating. I know a man of sensibility and refinement ought to shrink from raiding his hostess’s larder in the small hours, but hunger’s death to the finer feelings. It’s the solar plexus punch which puts one’s better self down and out for the count of ten. I am a large and healthy young man, and, believe me, I need this little snack. I need it badly. May I cut you a slice of chicken?”
She could hardly bear to look at it, but pride gave her strength.
“No,” she snapped.
“You’re sure? Poor little thing; I know you’re half starved.”
Eve stamped.
“How dare you speak to me like that, Mr. Rayner?”
He drank bottled beer thoughtfully.
“What made you come down? I suppose you heard a noise and thought it was burglars?” he said.
“Yes,” said Eve, thankfully accepting the idea. At all costs she must conceal the biscuit motive.
“That was very plucky of you. Won’t you sit down?”
“No, I’m going back to bed.”
“Not just yet. I’ve several things to talk to you about. Sit down. That’s right. Now cover up your poor little pink ankles, or you’ll be catching–-“
She started up.
“Mr. Rayner!”
“Sit down.”
She looked at him defiantly, then, wondering at herself for doing it, sat down.
“Now,” said Peter, “what do you mean by it? What do you mean by dashing off from my sister’s house without leaving a word for me as to where you were going? You knew I loved you.”
“Good night, Mr. Rayner.”
“Sit down. You’ve given me a great deal of trouble. Do you know it cost me a sovereign in tips to find out your address? I couldn’t get it out of my sister, and I had to apply to the butler. I’ve a good mind to knock it off your first week’s pin-money.”
“I shall not stay here listening–-“
“You knew perfectly well I wanted to marry you. But you fly off without a word and bury yourself in this benighted place with a gorgon who nags and bullies you–-“
“A nice way to speak of your hostess,” said Eve, scornfully.
“A very soothing way. I don’t think I ever took such a dislike to a woman at first sight before. And when she started to bullyrag you, it was all I could do—But it won’t last long now. You must come away at once. We’ll be married after Christmas, and in the meantime you can go and live with my sister–-“
Eve listened speechlessly. She had so much to say that the difficulty of selection rendered her dumb.
“When can you start? I mean, do you have to give a month’s notice or anything?”
Eve got up with a short laugh.
“Good night, Mr. Rayner,” she said. “You have been very amusing, but I am getting tired.”
“I’m glad it’s all settled,” said Peter. “Good night.”
Eve stopped. She could not go tamely away without saying a single one of the things that crowded in her mind.
“Do you imagine,” she said, “that I intend to marry you? Do you suppose, for one moment–-“
“Rather!” said Peter. “You shall have a splendid time from now on, to make up for all you’ve gone through. I’m going to be awfully good to you, Eve. You sha’n’t ever have any more worries, poor old thing.” He looked at her affectionately. “I wonder why it is that large men always fall in love with little women. There are you, a fragile, fairy-like, ethereal wisp of a little creature; and here am I–-“
“A great, big, greedy pig!” burst out Eve, “who thinks about nothing but eating and drinking.”
“I wasn’t going to have put it quite like that,” said Peter, thoughtfully.
“I hate a greedy man,” said Eve, between her teeth.
“I have a healthy appetite,” protested Peter. “Nothing more. It runs in the family. At the time of the Civil War the Rayner of the period, who was King Charles’s right-hand man, would frequently eat despatches to prevent them falling into the hands of the enemy. He was noted for it.”
Eve reached the door and turned.
“I despise you,” she said.
“Good night,” said Peter, tenderly. “Tomorrow morning we’ll go for a walk.”
His prediction proved absolutely correct. He was smoking a cigarette after breakfast when Eve came to him. Her face was pink and mutinous, but there was a gleam in her eye.
“Are you ready to come out, Mr. Rayner?” she said. “Mrs. Rastall-Retford says I’m to take you to see the view from the golf links.”
“You’ll like that,” said Peter.
“I shall not like it,” snapped Eve. “But Mrs. Rastall-Retford is paying me a salary to do what she tells me, and I have to earn it.”
Conversation during the walk consisted mainly of a monologue on the part of Peter. It was a crisp and exhilarating morning, and he appeared to be feeling a universal benevolence towards all created things. He even softened slightly on the subject of Mrs. Rastall-Retford, and advanced the theory that her peculiar manner might be due to her having been ill-treated as a child.
Eve listened in silence. It was not till they were nearing home on their return journey that she spoke.
“Mr. Rayner,” she said.
“Yes?” said Peter.
“I was talking to Mrs. Rastall-Retford after breakfast,” said Eve, “and I told her something about you.”
“My conscience is clear.”
“Oh, nothing bad. Some people would say it was very much to your credit.” She looked away across the fields. “I told her you were a vegetarian,” she added, carelessly.