“It’s those old coffee éclairs you’re keen on,” he persisted, striving for more balm to ease his wounded pride. “And not me?”
She screwed up her nose at him — very artless and sweet.
“Will Arthur really buy Hetty nice coffee éclair? Hetty adores coffee éclairs.”
A warning cough made them both swing round. Laura stood in the hall beside them, pulling on her gloves with too obvious preoccupation. Immediately the kittenish expression faded from Hetty’s face. Quite sharply she declared:
“What a start to give anyone, Laura! You ought to let people hear you coming.”
“I did cough,” Laura said dryly. “And I was just going to sneeze.”
“Clever!” said Hetty, darting a sharp glance at her sister.
Laura continued to pull on her gloves, gazing from one to the other quizzically. She was beautifully but quietly dressed in a dark navy costume. Arthur had not seen much of Laura since her marriage to Stanley Millington. For some obscure reason he was never quite comfortable with Laura. Hetty he understood, she was sweet, oh, transparently guileless! But Laura left him always at a loss. Her restraint in particular, that curious emotional flatness, the sense of some carefully hidden quality, a watchfulness almost, behind her pale, humorous face, disturbed him strangely.
“Come along, then,” Hetty exclaimed pettishly; Laura’s placidity, her well-turned-out air seemed to annoy her further. “Don’t let’s stand here all day. Arthur’s taking me to Dilley’s.”
A slight smile came to Laura’s lips; she did not speak. As they went through the door into the street Arthur turned the conversation hastily.
“How is Stanley?” he asked.
“He’s very well,” Laura answered pleasantly. “I think he’s golfing this afternoon.”
They continued to talk of trivialities until they reached the corner of Grainger Street, where Laura said good-bye good-naturedly and left them to keep an appointment with Bonar, her tailor.
“She’s mad about clothes,” Hetty explained with a sharp laugh the minute Laura had gone. She let her fingers come to rest lightly on Arthur’s arm as they walked towards Dilley’s. “If she wasn’t so extravagant she might be a little more decent to me.”
“How do you mean, Hetty?”
“Well, she only gives me five pounds a month for my dress allowance, and pocket money and everything.”
He gazed at her in astonishment.
“Does Laura really allow you that, Hetty? Why, that’s pretty generous of her.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Hetty looked piqued, almost sorry she had spoken. “She can jolly well afford it, anyhow. She made a good match, didn’t she?”
There was a pause.
“I can never quite fathom Laura,” Arthur said, puzzled.
“I’m not surprised.” Hetty gave her ingenuous laugh again. “I could tell you a few things about her, not that I would though, not for anything in the world.” She dismissed the subject with a virtuous little shiver.
“I’m glad I’m not like her, anyway. So don’t let’s talk of it.”
Here they entered Dilley’s and Hetty, responding to the warm note of gaiety which met them, switched her mood to one of composed vivacity. It was half-past four and the place was crowded: Dilley’s was considered smart for tea in Tynecastle. The Resort of the Elite! — this was the proud boast used in the advertisement columns of the Courier. An orchestra was playing behind some palms, a pleasant chatter of voices met them as they went into the Mikado room, done after Sullivan in the Japanese taste. They sat down at a bamboo table and Arthur ordered tea.
“Rather nice, here.” He leaned across towards Hetty, who was nodding brightly to her friends in the crowded room. There was, in fact, a regular clientèle for afternoon tea at Dilley’s, mainly the younger generation of Tynecastle, sons and daughters of the well-to-do doctors, lawyers and merchants of the city, a perfect aristocracy of provincial snobbism and style. Hetty was quite a figure in this smartish little clique. Hetty was really popular. Though old man Todd was only a mining engineer in a not very flourishing way of business Hetty went out a great deal. She was young, sure of herself and in the swim. She was known to have a head on her shoulders. The wise ones who had prophesied a good match for pretty little Hetty, always smiled knowingly when she was seen about with Arthur Barras.
She sipped her tea nonchalantly.
“Alan’s over there.” Gaily, with a wave of recognition, she indicated her brother. “With Dick Purves and some of the Nomad Rugger crowd. We ought to go across.”
Arthur looked over dutifully to where her brother Alan, who ought to have been at the office, lounged with half a dozen young fellows at a table in the centre of the room, the smoke from their cigarettes rising with heroic languor.
“Don’t let’s bother about them, Hetty,” he murmured. “It’s nicer by ourselves.”
Hetty, sitting up with a sparkle in her eye, aware of admiring glances directed towards her, toyed absently with her cake fork.
“That Purves boy,” she remarked. “He’s too absurdly good-looking.”
“He’s just an ass.” Arthur glared across at a vapidly handsome youth with crinkly hair parted in the middle.
“Oh no, Arthur, he’s quite a nice boy, really. He dances beautifully.”
“He’s a conceited fop.” Jealously taking Hetty’s hand under the table he whispered: “You like me better than him, don’t you, Hetty?”
“Of course, you silly boy.” Hetty laughed lightly and let her eyes come back to Arthur. “He’s only a stupid little bank clerk. He’ll never be anything worth while.”
“I will, Hetty,” Arthur declared fervently.
“Well, naturally, Arthur.”
“Wait till I go in with father… just wait… you’ll see.” He paused, excited suddenly by the prospect of the future, eager to impress her with his own ardour. “We landed a new contract to-day, Hetty. With P. W. & Co. A whacking good one. You just wait and see.”
She widened her eyes at him ingenuously.
“Going to make lots and lots more money?”
He nodded seriously.
“But it isn’t just that, Hetty. It’s… oh, everything. Being in with father, pulling my weight at the Neptune, the way all we Barrases have done, thinking of settling down too, having someone to work for. Honestly, Hetty, it thrills me when I think about it.”
Quite carried away, he gazed at her, his face alight with eagerness.
“It is rather nice, isn’t it, Arthur?” she agreed, studying him with a sympathetic smile. She really was quite drawn to him at this moment. He looked his best with a faint colour in his cheeks and this ardour in his eyes. Of course, he was not really good-looking, she had regretfully to admit it, his fair eyelashes, pale complexion and thin jaw gave him too sensitive an air. He couldn’t for an instant be compared to Dick Purves, who was the most handsome boy. But he was, on the whole, rather a dear, with the Neptune pit and pots of money simply waiting on him. She let him hold her hand under the table again.
“I’m enjoying myself tremendously, this afternoon,” he said impulsively. “I don’t know why.”
“Don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I do.”
They both laughed. Her laugh, whereby she showed her small even teeth, enthralled him.
“Are you enjoying it too, Hetty?”
“Yes, of course.”
The feel of her fragile hand beneath the table set his heart thumping with its silent promise. A kind of intoxication mounted to his head, a glorious sense of hope — in himself, in Hetty, in the future. He reached the crisis of his boldness. Nerving himself, he said with a rush: