“Phyl, darling-Phyl!”
Nothing for it but to go back to the others.
Miss Paradine’s smile was a faint one. Her manner showed distress.
“Phyl, they think we ought to break up the party. Frank thinks so. He wants to take Irene home. And perhaps-I did think we ought just to go on, but Irene is very upset, and Frank thinks… It’s very difficult to know what is best.”
Frank Ambrose stood beside her frowning.
“It’s no good, Aunt Grace. You can pretend up to a certain point, but there are limits, and I’ve reached mine. I’m going home, and I’m taking Irene. Brenda and Lydia can do just as they like.”
“Well, you don’t expect us to walk, do you?” said Brenda bluntly.
For once Lydia found herself in agreement. The sooner they all got home the better. Aunt Grace could put a perfectly good face on it with the staff. Nobody did that sort of thing better-“Mrs. Ambrose was anxious about the little girl-she didn’t seem quite the thing this afternoon-and as Mr. Paradine isn’t very well-” She could just hear her doing it, and Lane being respectfully sympathetic.
Goodbyes were said. The Ambrose party trooped away.
Miss Paradine spoke her piece to Lane. It would have amused Lydia very much, because it was almost word for word as she had imagined it-“Mrs. Ambrose is feeling anxious about her little girl,” and the rest.
Ten minutes iater Mark and Dicky said goodnight. The party was over.
Chapter 7
There remained in the big drawing-room Elliot, Phyllida, and Grace Paradine, with Albert Pearson as a buffer. It was impossible to say whether he realized the position and found it untenable, or whether he was merely being conscientious when he said that he had work to do and thought he had better be getting down to it. He did not appear nervous, but then Albert never did. Whether he had ever felt unequal to any occasion in the course of his twenty-nine years, was known only to himself. To the world he presented an obstinate efficiency which was sometimes irritating. Infallibility requires a great deal of charm to carry it off. Unfortunately Albert was deficient in charm. Yet on this occasion three people watched him go with regret.
There was one of those pauses. Phyllida stood by the fire looking down into it, half turned away from the room, her pose one of graceful detachment, her colour high. Grace Paradine had not resumed her seat. A couple of yards away Elliot, with the expression of a polite guest masking some embarrassment and some sarcasm. If she was waiting for him to speak first, she could wait.
They all waited, Phyllida withdrawn, Miss Paradine momentarily more indignant. He had the insolence to come here, to force himself upon them- upon Phyllida! She was going to find it hard to forgive James for abetting him-very hard indeed. The shock to Phyl was unforgiveable. And what was he waiting for now, when everyone else was gone? She made a quick movement and said,
“I think we had better say goodnight. Lane will show you out.”
At this moment, which should have increased it, any embarrassment that Elliot had been feeling went up in smoke. He was suddenly so angry that he didn’t give a damn. He found himself saying cheerfully,
“Oh, didn’t Mr. Paradine tell you? I’m afraid I must apologise, but I’m staying the night. We’re in the middle of some rather important business, and he insisted on it.”
Miss Paradine was speechless. The blood rushed to her face. Words rushed clamouring to her tongue, driven by the rage which filled her. But for the moment she held them back. Stronger than her resentment, stronger than anything else at all, was the consciousness that Phyllida was listening, and that she must not put herself in the wrong. No matter what the provocation, there must be nothing said or done to swing Phyllida’s sympathies over to Elliot’s side. She refrained those crowding words and, choosing among them, said,
“No, he did not tell me. I think that I should have been told.”
Elliot could admire what he disliked. He disliked Grace Paradine a good deal, but he had never despised her as an adversary. They had fought for Phyllida, and she had won. Anger over that barren victory swept any faint admiration away. He said,
“I quite agree. But you mustn’t hold me responsible. Mr. Paradine requires my presence rather urgently-I am certainly not here of my own choice. I have to see him now, so I will say goodnight.”
Grace Paradine inclined her head and stepped back a pace. Elliot looked towards Phyllida, and all at once she turned from the fire and came over to him.
“Goodnight, Elliot.”
He said, “Goodnight,” and having said it, waited-to see what she would do, or because he found it hard to look away.
She came right up to him, still with that gentle, dreamy air, and put up her cheek to be kissed. It was done so simply, so naturally, as to make his response an involuntary one. His lips just touched her, and withdrew as she withdrew. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Goodnight, Aunt Grace,” and so went down the room and out of the door.
He had no impulse to follow. Everything in him was shocked into stillness. They had been lovers, and they had parted. They had met as strangers and talked as mere acquaintances. To what remote distance from all their passion of love and anger had Phyllida withdrawn that she could come up to him and offer the kind of kiss you gave your grandfather? His mind was shocked quite numb. He stood where he was and watched Grace Paradine follow Phyllida.
Chapter 8
The numbness lasted through his interview with James Paradine. It was not a long one. He had, in fact, made an excuse of it. James was neither expecting him nor desirous of keeping him. He sat grim and sarcastic at his writing-table and said,
“Come to confess, have you? Go away! I’m busy, or I’d tell you just what a fool I think you are.”
“Thank you, sir- Lydia has just been telling me that.”
“She’s too free with her tongue. Wants a husband who’ll keep her in order. Richard won’t. But I’m talking about you. You’re a fool to come visiting me tonight. It’s compromising, that’s what it is- damned compromising.” He gave a short, hard laugh. “If anyone saw you, your character’s gone. They’ll be sure you came to confess.”
“To what?”
“Folly of some kind,” said James Paradine. “There are more fools than wise men, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the devil made the fools. Anyhow be off with you! You’ll get your plans in the morning.”
He went out, and was aware of Albert Pearson in the offing, looking earnest.
“If I might have a word with you, Wray-”
Nobody in the world with whom Elliot less desired to have a word than Albert, but impossible to refuse. He did say, “I thought you had work to do,” but it produced no effect. Albert merely remarked that he could do it later and followed Elliot to his room. It was on the farther side of the bedroom floor, and was the same which had always been assigned to him before he married Phyllida-a fair-sized room which would have looked larger if it had not contained so much furniture. Mahogany bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, dressing-table, and wash-stand encroached upon the floor space. There was a writing-table, an armchair, and two or three smaller chairs.
Albert came in, shut the door, and said,
“Do you mind if I stay here till after twelve?”
“What?”
Albert repeated the horrible remark.
“Do you mind if I stay here till after twelve? You see, he’s made it very awkward for me, living in the house. It’s all very well for the Ambrose lot-they can go home and be alibis for each other, and so can Richard and Mark. Cousin Grace and Phyllida can stick together if they want to. But what about me after what he said? ‘I’ll be in my study till twelve’- well, who’s going to say I didn’t go and have an interview with him and confess to what he was hinting about at dinner? I’m the one the family would rather see in a spot than any of themselves-wouldn’t they? If you can’t see them tumbling over one another to put it on me, I can. And I’m not having any. My character is my capital, and I’m not risking it. I’ll have a witness to prove that I didn’t go near him till the time was up.”