Camilla Halliday came out of her bedroom at the back of the house, and opened her eyes rather at sight of Geoffrey. She was wearing a large hat, in readiness for her trip to the keeper's cottage. It had a becoming tilt to its brim, and she knew that it made her look young and appealing. She went towards the head of the staircase, but paused before going down, and said, with a kind of tolerant, half-scornful concern: "You look pretty, rotten. Are you ill, or something? Has anything gone wrong?"
Geoffrey raised his head, and gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, something! I've only had my whole life ruined!"
"Help!" said Camilla. "As bad as that? I suppose there's nothing I can do?"
"No one can do anything," said Geoffrey. "Not that I want anyone to try. I at least have my pen left to me, and after the things that have been said to me today I wouldn't enter this house again if Father begged me to on his bended knees. In fact, I won't answer for myself if l have to see him again."
"Oh, well!" said Camilla, shrugging her shoulders. "If there's nothing I can do I think I'll be going downstairs." It's just my rotten luck, she thought, that ghastly fool of a boy putting the old man's back up just when I want him in a good mood. 0 God, I suppose I shall have to let him gas about India again, and slobber all over me.
Then she heard the General's voice in the hall, and the weary, discontented look vanished as though by magic from her face, and she ran down the remaining stairs, calling to the Generaclass="underline" "Oh, Sir Arthur, you really are too terribly punctual for words! How can you manage it? I think you must be some kind of wizard. And I meant to be on the doorstep waiting for you, just to show you!"
Geoffrey heard his father say, with ponderous playfulness: "Ah, you won't steal a march on me in a hurry, fair lady! I told you I should be back on the stroke of eleven, and here I am, you see, all my business done, and entirely at your disposal just as soon as I've deposited this little packet in my safe."
The door of Miss de Silva's room opened, and Concetta appeared. "It is permitted that you see the Signora now," she said kindly.
There did not seem to be very much reason why Geoffrey should not have seen the Signora at any time during the past half-hour, for she could not have been in the throes of her toilet since she was still in bed when he at last entered the room.
She was wearing a very low-cut elaborate nightgown, and her black curls, though brushed till they shone, had not been crimped into any of the styles of coiffure that she affected.
Geoffrey stopped short just inside the room, gazing at her hungrily. "God, how lovely you are!" he said, a trifle thickly, and plunged forward to the bedside, grasping at her.
Lola submitted to his rather greedy embrace with a smile of satisfaction. She allowed him to kiss her, on her mouth, and her throat, and up her white arms, but she did not betray any sign of being much stirred by his ardour. She seemed to find it pleasant but incidental, and as soon as she was tired of it she pushed him away, though quite gently, and said: "It is enough. In a minute Concetta will come back to dress me and you must at once go away. And I must tell you that I have not slept at all, not one instant, because it is impossible that I should sleep when cocks are permitted to crow all night. It is a thing that I find very badly arranged, quite insupportable."
"Darling!" Geoffrey said, trying to seine her hands. "I ought never to have brought you! But you shan't spend another moment in this house. I'm going to take you away at once, my poor angel!"
"But what are you talking about? It's not at all sensible. Naturally I shall spend a great many moments in this house, for I am not dressed yet, and besides, I do not go away until I have eaten lunch," said Lola, always practical.
"I know a little place on the road to town where we can lunch," began Geoffrey.
"I, too," said Lola coldly. "I prefer that I should eat my lunch here."
"I won't eat another meal in this house! I couldn't!" said Geoffrey, with suppressed violence. "I may as well tell you, Lola, that I've had the hell of a row with Father. In fact, it's all over between us two, and I hope I never set eyes on him again!"
Miss de Silva regarded him with sudden suspicion. "What is this you are saying?" she demanded. "But tell me at once, if you please, for I do not at all understand you!"
"We've quarrelled — irrevocably!" announced Geoffrey, giving a somewhat inaccurate description of the one-sided scene enacted in the study at half past nine. "Of course it was bound to come. We're oil and water. I've always known it. Only I did think that Father -"
Miss de Silva sat up. "You are talking quite ridiculously, my dear Geoffrey. It is not oil and water, but, on the contrary, oil and vinegar. I am not so ignorant that I do not know that. But I do not see why you must quarrel with your papa for such a stupid reason, which I find is not a reason at all, in fact, but a great piece of folly."
"You don't understand, darling. I said we were oil and water — not vinegar. It's an expression — an idiom."
"It is entirely without sense," replied Lola scornfully.
"It means we don't mix. Well, anyway, it's just a saying. It doesn't really matter. The point is that Father's behaving like an absolute cad. Simply because you're a professional dancer he's trying to do everything he can to stop us being married. I simply hate telling you this, darling, because I'd die sooner than let you be hurt. But there it is. He's one of those hide-bound, utterly disgusting Victorians. One simply can't argue with him. He's always hated me. I expect it's because of my mother. She ran off with some other man when I was a kid. I don't really know much about it, but I believe there was a perfectly ghastly scandal at the time. Anyway, Father's been an absolute beast to me all my life — it's a pity he didn't have Francis for a son, though as a matter of fact he wouldn't think so jolly well of him if he knew some of the things I know about him — and this is just the last straw. Because nothing would induce me to give you up. He needn't think I care about his filthy money. Money simply means nothing to me, and in any case I happen to be able to write, and though he chooses to sneer at my work there are other people who know far more about it than he does who think I'm going to go a long way. I couldn't help smiling when he talked about me starving in the gutter for all he cared. Of course he'd never believe that anyone could make any money by writing, but he'll just see, that's all!"
Lola, who had listened to this rambling speech in complete and unusual silence, relaxed once more on to her bank of pillows, and said in a thoughtful voice: "It is true that your papa is a character extremely difficult, not at all sympathetic. It will be better perhaps if I do not marry you."
Geoffrey stared down at her, startled and incredulous. "Lola! You can't think that I'd give you up! Good God, I'm mad about you! I adore you!"
"It is very sad," agreed Lola. "I myself am quite in despair. But it is not sense to marry if you have no money. One must think of these things, though certainly it is very disagreeable."
He snatched at her wrists. "Lola, you can't mean that! Lola, don't you care for me? What does it matter about the money, if we love each other? I'll make money, I swear I will! You can't say you won't marry me!"
"Certainly I love you," replied Lola with composure. "I love with great passion always, but I am not at all a fool, and it is plain that if you have not a great deal of money it is impossible that we should marry. And I will tell you, my dear Geoffrey, what I have been thinking, that perhaps it is better that I do not engage myself to you, for I am quite young, not at all passee, and besides, I find that I do not wish to live in the country where there is no absinthe, no shower in my bathroom, and cocks that crow all night so that I cannot sleep."