‘Certainly, if it is quite understood that there will be no delay beyond that. There are circumstances—private matters—I don’t feel quite able to explain. But I must be sure that you will have left us by Wednesday afternoon.’
‘You may be sure of it. I will write a line and post it to-night, for it to go as soon as possible.’
Therewith Louise stood up and, smiling, withdrew. Emmeline was both relieved and surprised; she had not thought it possible for the girl to conduct herself at such a juncture with such perfect propriety. An outbreak of ill-temper, perhaps of insolence, had seemed more than likely; at best she looked for tears and entreaties. Well, it was over, and by Wednesday the house would be restored to its ancient calm. Ancient, indeed! One could not believe that so short a time had passed since Miss Derrick first entered the portals. Only one more day.
‘Oh, blindness to the future, kindly given, That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven.’ At school, Emmeline had learnt and recited these lines; but it was long since they had recurred to her memory.
In ten minutes Louise had written her letter. She went out, returned, and looked in at the drawing-room, with a pleasant smile. ‘Good-night, Mrs. Mumford.’ ‘Good-night, Miss Derrick.’ For the grace of the thing, Emmeline would have liked to say ‘Louise,’ but could not bring her lips to utter the name.
About a year ago there had been a little misunderstanding between Mr. and Mrs. Mumford, which lasted for some twenty-four hours, during which they had nothing to say to each other. To-night they found themselves in a similar situation, and remembered that last difference, and wondered, both of them, at the harmony of their married life. It was in truth wonderful enough; twelve months without a shadow of ill-feeling between them. The reflection compelled Mumford to speak when his head was on the pillow.
‘Emmy, we’re making fools of ourselves. Just tell me what you have done.’
‘I can’t see how I am guilty of foolishness,’ was the clear-cut reply.
‘Then why are you angry with me?’
‘I don’t like deceit.’
‘Hanged if I don’t dislike it just as much. When is that girl going?’
Emmeline made known the understanding at which she had arrived, and her husband breathed an exclamation of profound thankfulness. But peace was not perfectly restored.
In another room, Louise lay communing with her thoughts, which were not at all disagreeable. She had written to Cobb, telling him what had happened, and asking him to let her know by Wednesday morning what she was to do. She could not go home; he must not bid her do so; but she would take a lodging wherever he liked. The position seemed romantic and enjoyable. Not till after her actual marriage should the people at home know what had become of her. She was marrying with utter disregard of all her dearest ambitions all the same, she had rather be the wife of Cobb than of anyone else. Her stepfather might recover his old kindness and generosity as soon as he knew she no longer stood in Cissy’s way, and that she had never seriously thought of marrying Mr. Bowling. Had she not thought of it? The question did not enter her own mind, and she would have been quite incapable of passing a satisfactory cross-examination on the subject.
Mrs. Mumford, foreseeing the difficulty of spending the next day at home, told her husband in the morning that she would have early luncheon and go to see Mrs. Grove.
‘And I should like you to fetch me from there, after business, please.’
‘I will,’ answered Clarence readily. He mentally added a hope that his wife did not mean to supervise him henceforth and for ever. If so, their troubles were only beginning.
At breakfast, Louise continued to be discretion itself. She talked of her departure on the morrow as though it had long been a settled thing, and was quite unconnected with disagreeable circumstances. Only midway in the morning did Mrs. Mumford, who had been busy with her child, speak of the early luncheon and her journey to town. She hoped Miss Derrick would not mind being left alone.
‘Oh, don’t speak of it,’ answered Louise. ‘I’ve lots to do. You’ll give my kind regards to Mrs. Grove?’
So they ate together at midday, rather silently, but with faces composed. And Emmeline, after a last look into the nursery, hastened away to catch her train. She had no misgivings; during her absence, all would be well as ever.
Louise passed the time without difficulty, and at seven o’clock made an excellent dinner. This evening no reply could be expected from Cobb, as he was not likely to have received her letter of last night till his return home from business. Still, there might be something from someone; she always looked eagerly for the postman.
The weather was gloomy. Not long after eight the housemaid brought in a lighted lamp, and set it, as usual, upon the little black four-legged table in the drawing-room. And in the same moment the knocker of the front door sounded a vigorous rat-tat-tat, a visitor’s summons.
CHAPTER VIII
‘It may be someone calling upon me,’ said Louise to the servant. ‘Let me know the name before you show anyone in.’
‘Of course, miss,’ replied the domestic, with pert familiarity, and took her time in arranging the shade of the lamp. When she returned from the door it was to announce, smilingly, that Mr. Cobb wished to see Miss Derrick.
‘Please to show him in.’
Louise stood in an attitude of joyous excitement, her eyes sparkling. But at the first glance she perceived that her lover’s mood was by no means correspondingly gay. Cobb stalked forward and kept a stern gaze upon her, but said nothing.
‘Well? You got my letter, I suppose?’
‘What letter?’
He had not been home since breakfast-time, so Louise’s appeal to him for advice lay waiting his arrival. Impatiently, she described the course of events. As soon as she had finished, Cobb threw his hat aside and addressed her harshly.
‘I want to know what you mean by writing to your sister that you are going to marry Bowling. I saw your mother this morning, and that’s what she told me. It must have been only a day or two ago that you said that. Just explain, if you please. I’m about sick of this kind of thing, and I’ll have the truth out of you.’
His anger had never taken such a form as this; for the first time Louise did in truth feel afraid of him. She shrank away, her heart throbbed, and her tongue refused its office.
‘Say what you mean by it!’ Cobb repeated, in a voice that was all the more alarming because he kept it low.
‘Did you write that to your sister?’
‘Yes—but I never meant it—it was just to make her angry—’
‘You expect me to believe that? And, if it’s true, doesn’t it make you out a nice sort of girl? But I don’t believe it You’ve been thinking of him in that way all along; and you’ve been writing to him, or meeting him, since you came here. What sort of behaviour do you call this?’
Louise was recovering self-possession; the irritability of her own temper began to support her courage.
‘What if I have? I’d never given you any promise till last night, had I? I was free to marry anyone I liked, wasn’t I? What do you mean by coming here and going on like this? I’ve told you the truth about that letter, and I’ve always told you the truth about everything. If you don’t like it, say so and go.’
Cobb was impressed by the energy of her defence. He looked her straight in the eyes, and paused a moment; then spoke less violently.
‘You haven’t told me the whole truth. I want to know when you saw Bowling last.’
‘I haven’t seen him since I left home.’
‘When did you write to him last?’
‘The same day I wrote to Cissy. And I shall answer no more questions.’
‘Of course not. But that’s quite enough. You’ve been playing a double game; if you haven’t told lies, you’ve acted them. What sort of a wife would you make? How could I ever believe a word you said? I shall have no more to do with you.’