“ ‘What unpleasant thing, sir?’ — Aubrey presented liqueur.
“ ‘Not seen it in the papers? Little girl of seven lost from the village — vanished — I knew her quite well; little thing named Ada Price — black-haired — Welsh — nice little thing — child of one of my underkeepers — the whole countryside searched, everybody very excited, and the burden of it all on me — Oh, I say, I feel bad, Aubrey.’
“Even as he sipped the liqueur Sir Phipps became pale, and presently Aubrey had to accompany him below to his car, the baronet was so tottery. However, Sir Phipps did not look mortally ill, and it was profoundly shocking when at nine o’clock that night Aubrey got a telegram: ‘Papa died in the car on the way home from you. I wish to see you. Laura O’Donague.’
“So he was gone, the gay, the bountiful old fellow, with his gray imperial and regal brow. Aubrey’s heart smote him at the thought of the daughter who, he knew well, would be very deeply bereaved, and he hurried to her in Brook Street.
“He found her in the baronet’s bedroom, however, quite her average self, chatty, agile, showing no sign that anything out of the common had happened. Only once, when she thought that he was not looking, he saw her shake her head at her father’s portrait, and smile sorrowfully at it, with the reproach of love. From the chauffeur she already knew all the old man’s movements that afternoon: how he had passed from Regent’s Park to Aubrey’s.
“ ‘He was hardly ten minutes with me,’ Aubrey told her. ‘First he spoke of his doings since his arrival from Italy, then of an unpleasant thing happening down at Clanning, and then, saying he felt bad, asked for a liqueur.’
“ ‘He isn’t lying there poisoned, is he?’ asked Laura quite calmly over the baronet on his bed.
“ ‘Oh, I say, don’t—’ Aubrey breathed, shrinking.
“ ‘Aubrey, this world isn’t done all in water colors,’ she said to him.
“Aubrey’s eyes dropped. Laura had called him ‘Aubrey’! And even in the presence of that sternness on the bed, some nerve of him that ran down from his crown to his feet thrilled throughout, his brow rushing into brown with a blush.
“That wild word ‘poison,’ however, was only that one time uttered, since there was nothing to suggest such a thing to any mind, and as Sir Phipps’s physician had long been aware that the baronet was suffering from ‘tobacco heart,’ liable to sudden dilatation, the death certificate and verdict were in accordance.
“All during that funeral week Aubrey was so much with Laura, driving with her, acting the lackey, that actually on three days of it he did not see Hylda at all.
“On returning from the grave-side, ‘Now for some Hylda!’ he sighed to himself with a certain hunger, like one yearning for fresh air and rest; but the first thing the next morning for him was yet a telegram from Laura in the words:
“More death — I should like to see you.’
“When he went to her it was to learn that an old person, known as Davenport, a butler, for over thirty years in the service of Sir Phipps, had suddenly ceased to live on returning from the funeral — a new woe which had the effect of throwing Laura O’Donague into an extraordinary passion of anguish. At her father’s death her self-control had been so complete as to appear even cold to everyone; hut less careful, maybe, in this lesser case, at this second stroke she broke out into torrents of tears, terrible tantrums, hysterias, that astounded her household. Aubrey, however, found her in a condition of mere depression and ill-temper, like a child sullen after punishment. She would hardly speak to him, and when he touched her hand, saying, ‘Laura, I am sorry,’ she replied: ‘Oh, my back is broad. Why did you come?’
“ ‘Did you not send for me? What about this poor Davenport,’ said Aubrey: ‘at what hour—?’
“ ‘Oh, pray don’t mention to me the name of Davenport,’ said she; ‘I am soaked with death.’
“Aubrey wondered why he had been sent for, since she snapped at everything which he could find to say; and before long left her alone to her sorrows.
“It was still too soon for him to go to the tea shop to Hylda, so he went home once more, and it was as he now opened his flat-door that he saw on the floor the note which was to play nine-pins with his whole life.
“It came from some attorneys, and it was a breathless Aubrey Smith whose eyes perused these lines:
“ ‘... have the pleasure to inform you... by the last will of the late Sir Phipps O’Dowdy O’Donague... you become the life-legatee of the sum of £175 per annum... shall be pleased to see you at your convenience... Ife & Siemens...’
“So good, so large, the old man! A good heart that wished one well! Aubrey’s eves sprang water, and then — he ran. Outside, he found walking too slow now, a ’bus too slow, he sprang into a cab — for the tea shop. But he was too soon, Hylda had not come, and now he paced impatiently about, counting the seconds, waiting for the appearance down Piccadilly of a neat figure with a winged toque on her head. Anyhow, all was well now, his way clear. Just that little sum each year, the difference it would make! In three days’ time he could be married... For four years now, since she was seventeen, Hylda and he had been ever on the jump of being married, but always the same tiny trouble — no money to buy things with. The old captain on his half-pay had none, Aubrey’s masterpieces had had no market. Now it was well.
“ ‘I haven’t really worked, you know, Hylda,’ he said to her in the tea shop that day: ‘I see it now. I seem to be the laziest beggar going, somehow. But won’t I work now!’
“ ‘Dear, you have worked hard,’ she answered, ‘and this is your well-earned reward.’
“ ‘But, Hylda, tell me frankly,’ Aubrey said, ‘is it not a fact that we can be married straight away?’
“ ‘Dear, there seems to be no reason why not,’ Hylda answered; ‘you know that I can usually win Papa.’
“ ‘Then, let’s take a half-holiday and go now straight down to Clapham...’
“ ‘Really so eager for me?’ she asked gravely.
“ ‘Eager is hardly the word: I’m afraid I am a little off my nut.’
“ ‘All right, let’s go, then...’
“It was soon settled: for though Captain Hood, who was of an unmodern school, would not hear of the Registry Office, but must have a church wedding, he agreed that the banns should be given in immediately.
“And now came busy days for Aubrey Smith. His den was too small to take Hylda into, so that had to be changed; and since they were an artist pair, no ordinary purchases would do for the furnishing of that home: stern were Aubrey’s exclusions of this and that, delicate his selections, not of the dearest, nor even of the best, but of the best for his idea and dream; and all this needed time. At night he would come home worn out, lacked the time to call on the attorneys, as he had been asked to, forgot Laura O’Donague’s existence, and of the small sum in his bank spent every penny on the strength of his fresh wealth.
“Once only — one forenoon — he saw Laura for a moment close to Hyde Park Corner, she all mourning black in her car; and she stopped to besiege Aubrey’s ear with her busy breath-whispering, asking, ‘Have you heard?’
“ ‘What?’ he asked.
“ ‘About the woman.’
“ ‘Which woman?’
“ ‘Why, La Rosa.’
“ ‘No, not heard.’
“ ‘Not one penny does she touch! Papa has left her thirty thousand pounds on a life-policy — that’s why she poisoned him...’
“ ‘Oh, Laura, really you are not to say such things even in fun.’
“ ‘Not one penny does she touch, though! I mean to fight it in every possible way — “undue influence” — When are you coming?’