But Mannering knew what had happened, and he could scarcely believe that luck was breaking his way so much. Fauntley kept the key of the strong-room in that bureau. Of course, in many ways it was safe; few people would look for it there, unless they knew it could be found.
Mannering knew; and he was telling himself that the bureau-drawer could be prised open in a few seconds.
He glanced again at the guard, a short, stocky fellow who would be difficult to get past; difficult, but not impossible by any means. . . .
“What are you going to do after that?” asked Lorna.
Mannering, leaning against the marble mantelpiece of the lounge, surveyed his companion silently for several seconds. Lord and Lady Fauntley, abruptly conscious of the duties of parenthood, had disappeared on some mysterious errand, and Mannering had been with their daughter for several minutes. Neither had spoken until that question.
Mannering shrugged his shoulders at last.
“Do I satisfy?” Lorna asked suddenly.
“Y’know, you shouldn’t have said that,” said Mannering. “You’re not made for peddling the obvious.”
“Isn’t this isolation of the young with the eligible just as obvious?” demanded Lorna, her eyes smouldering. “Or do you still preserve your innocence in a world of matchmaking parents?”
“Sometimes it’s folly to be wise,” said Mannering, and took a deep breath. “I like your mother.”
“Poor Dad!”
“Rich, I thought the better word. In more ways than one.”
A tinge of colour flooded the girl’s cheeks. In the soft light of the lounge she had a loveliness that a harsher light might have mocked.
“And are you considering your verdict?” she asked with an effort. “While mother’s saying, “I wonder if” and Dad’s grunting, “Not a chance, m’dear; the little fool’s got no sense.”
“It’s a regular performance, then?”
“Almost a vicious habit. But lately it’s been . . . I’ve been away more often. You may have heard” — her eyes danced — “that I paint.”
He smiled and nodded.
“I’ve heard it rumoured.”
“Of course. So many of your friends belong to the studio set, don’t they?”
Mannering laughed, and took his cigarette-case from his waistcoat-pocket. Lorna shook her head as he proffered it.
“You keep saying what you’re not feeling,” Mannering said, as he selected a cigarette and poised it in the air. “It seems out of character to me. There are pretty cats and pretty women, each admirable of their species, but when a woman turns cat she seems all claws — from the man’s point of view.”
“Some men’s. Anyhow” — she flushed — “I’m sorry. What were you thinking of in there?”
“You want the truth?”
“It’s not entirely out of fashion — even in our age.”
“I was wondering what your eyes would look like if a lamp was held in front of them, as it was held over the diamonds.”
“Ye-es. You’re capable of thinking like that. What else ?”
“I was wondering what the chances were of breaking into the strong-room,” said Mannering, laughing. He hardly knew what dare-devil spirit prompted the statement; it came almost unbidden.
She stared at him for a moment, and he was puzzled by the expression in her eyes.
Finally her lips curved.
“Ye-es,” she said again; “I believe you’re capable of that too.”
“Of thinking of it?”
“Even doing it.”
Mannering lit his cigarette, glad of the chance to keep his eyes averted. God! She was near the mark! And he was a fool to have mentioned the idea.
“H’m. Well, it’s a good job I can resist that temptation,” he said. “I’m not thinking of trying it yet. And now, with the night still young, what next ?”
“I liked that “yet”,” she said.
“Forget it.”
“I doubt if I ever shall, so be careful. As for the rest of the evening, I’d rather like to dance in a crowd, where there’s no room to move or breathe, the noise negroid, and the band to match. But I think it would be fairer to go back to my studio.”
“You sleep there?”
“The question and answer could be misconstrued,” Lorna said, “but I’ll risk it. Yes, sometimes.”
“Why would it be fair?”
“Fairer, I said. Because I dislike rousing false hopes in fond parents.”
Mannering laughed, and smoke streamed from his lips.
“Frankness can be almost a vice,” he said. “But I rarely wonder what others will think. If I’m amused, I’m satisfied.”
“You think I’ve possibilities, then?”
“I’d like to prove it.”
Lorna laughed, but the mockery was back in her eyes.
“Do you ever think of anything but amusement ?”
“Why, yes. I think so. I study Ruff’s Guide.”
“That’s an evasion.”
“Naturally,” acknowledged Mannering, chuckling. “Is there time these days to cope with anything but amusement ? It’s a life’s work to watch for every variety.”
“I believe, too, you even work overtime.”
“I wasn’t thinking of musical comediennes.” Mannering smiled. “They’re the novice grades. There are endless other things — and I’ve found them all wanting.”
“It may have been you who were wanting.”
“More than likely, but my education’s not finished. Well, it’s something past ten. How does the Dernier suggest itself?”
“No other dates?”
“Two. One I’ve already missed; the other I’m willing to forget.”
“H’m.” Her eyes held his, with a glimmer of mingled amusement, mockery, and challenge. “Should I trust myself to such a memory ?”
Mannering laughed as he crushed his cigarette into a tray.
“The safest way never to lose a thing is never to have it,” he said.
“I’m ready to try anything once,” said Lorna. “While I powder my nose, spread the good news among the parents, and try not to see the light in their eyes.”
She turned away easily, and walked towards the stairs. Mannering stood watching her, and his lips moved.
“A cat,” he said, “but a wild-cat. Lord, what a life! One Lucy and one Hugo produced her. Her!”
And she liked that “yet”.
At half-past one they left the Dernier Club, and Mannering handed Lorna into a taxi.
“Chelsea,” he asked, “or Langford Terrace?”
“Langford Terrace,” said Lorna. “Even for the West home’s best — and probably safest.”
Mannering instructed the driver and climbed into the cab.
“That remark,” he said, as they moved from the kerb, “was the fourth you’ve made to-night that wasn’t worthy of you.”
“Both your standards and your arithmetic sound horribly precise,” Lorna said.
“And need revising for the brave new world?” chuckled Mannering. “Well, was the Dernier nearer your standard ?”
“Divine — if only there’d been a decent floor, plenty of room, and a breath of air,” she answered.
“You’ve forgotten the negro band that should have been white,” said Mannering. “Are you trying to convince me you are typical of the variable feminine ?”
“I may be, but I wasn’t trying to convince you of anything. I think I’d like to paint you. Head and shoulders.”
“Thanks, but I prefer photographs.”
“They can only reflect what you look like, not what you are.”
“What am I?”
“I haven’t discovered — yet.”