Chapter I

Gerald had been lunching at the Hyde Park Hotel and was on his way to pay a call in Curzon Street. Hence his progress through the sun-baked and dusty park at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon in August. Christopher, who had been his fellow guest, caught him up just as he had reached the shelter of the trees. The two young men were apparently still on the same friendly terms. No one but themselves realised the slight cloud which had never wholly passed away from between them since the night in Gerald’s sitting room at the Hôtel de Paris, eighteen months ago.

“Couldn’t get near you at lunch,” Christopher remarked. “What a squash!”

“Hideous!” Gerald agreed.

“Every one all right at Hinterleys?” Christopher enquired.

“Haven’t heard for over a week. Aren’t they rather expecting you down there?”

“I’m going to-morrow. Can’t take you, I suppose?”

Gerald shook his head.

“I can’t stand Hinterleys when there’s nothing to do,” he confided. “I shall be there on the 31st. all right.”

“You’re not going to stay in town till then?”

“I’m off to Bourne End this afternoon,” was the unenthusiastic reply. “I shall probably stay there a day or two. I ought to have gone up to Scotland this week, but I have put it off until the end of September. The Governor forgives a good deal, but he wouldn’t forgive me if I weren’t at Hinterleys for the 1st.”

Christopher took his friend’s arm lightly. He had made several attempts to break through the slight restraint that existed between them, and Gerald’s appearance these days rather troubled him. He was thinner, his eyes were restless, his manner a little nervous. He was still fit enough, for he had had a great season at polo, and had played cricket half a dozen times for his county with almost startling success. Yet he had not the appearance of being the spoilt child of fortune that he certainly was.

“I wonder you don’t get fed up with that Bourne End crowd,” Christopher remarked.

“I very nearly am,” Gerald confessed. “They were much more amusing in the old days, before they took up marriage as a hobby. Now the most flagrant little hussy begins to talk about her people in the country and St. George’s, Hanover Square, if you hold her fingers. It’s all the fault of these callow youths--Christopher--Great Heavens!”

They had passed the Achilles Statue and were making towards Stanhope Gate. The crowd here seemed more spiritless than ever. There was a sprinkling of ladies’ maids, sitting demurely alone, waiting patiently for the coming of romance; a few young men of doubtful types, a certain number of loafers pure and simple, and a few reasonable people, driven out by the craving for air which had some of the qualities of freshness. In chairs a little way back and apart from the others, two women, dressed in plain black, were seated. One was elderly, the other young. Both were weary, both sat there with the air of wishing to avoid observation. To Christopher they were entirely unfamiliar. His whole attention was absorbed by Gerald’s strange demeanour. Gerald’s long fingers had gripped his arm almost painfully. For the first time for many months, there was real feeling in his face.

“It’s Pauline!” he exclaimed. “Wait for me, Chris.”

Without hesitation, Gerald turned and threaded his way among the chairs. The two women watched his approach, the older one with stolid indifference, Pauline apparently with some faint resentment. Gerald, however, in these last few seconds had become a very determined person. He stood before them with his hat in his hand. His bow was lower than is customary amongst English people. His manner could scarcely have been more respectful if he had been paying his homage at Buckingham Palace.

“May I be permitted to recall myself to the recollection of Madame de Ponière?” he begged.

The woman looked at him with unrecognising eyes. The last eighteen months had dealt hardly with her. The flesh had sagged a little from her cheek bones, her mouth had become bitter, her throat was thin, her eyes cold and glassy.

“You do not succeed in doing so, monsieur,” she said coldly.

Pauline intervened. There was some faint note of courtesy in her manner, nothing whatever of kindliness.

“This young gentleman,” she explained to her aunt,--“Lord Dombey, I believe his name is--was kind enough to be of assistance to us at Monte Carlo, on the night when Zubin met with his unfortunate accident.”

Madame de Ponière inclined her head.

“I trust that we tendered our thanks on that occasion,” she observed icily.

Gerald held his ground. Pauline was paler than ever, and thin, but perhaps he fancied that there was a shade of encouragement in those soft, weary eyes.

“Madame,” he said, “there was some slight previous acquaintance between your niece and myself, some trifling service I had been able to render which gave me the right to perform this further one. It gives me great pleasure to see you again in my own country.”

The older woman laughed hardly.

“It is difficult to believe,” she scoffed, “that the sight of us could give pleasure to any one; apart from which fact,” she added rapidly, “it is not our wish to make or renew acquaintances whilst we are here.”

“Madame,” Gerald replied, “that was your attitude in Monte Carlo, an attitude which I may say occasioned me the deepest regret. I venture to hope that I may be able to induce you to modify it.”

“And why should I?” she asked, almost insolently.

“Because I have the sincerest and most profound admiration for mademoiselle,” Gerald declared stoutly, “and because, in my own country, there is the possibility that I may be of service to you.”

Madame de Ponière opened a plain pair of lorgnettes and looked for a moment at Gerald.

“For an Englishman,” she remarked coolly, “you seem to have some manners. Who is this, Pauline?”

There was the faintest possible indication of a smile on Pauline’s lips.

“His name is Lord Dombey,” she answered demurely. “He is the son of the Earl of Hinterleys.”

“Dear me!” Madame de Ponière murmured.

“The Earl of Hinterleys,” Pauline continued, “is one of the lesser English noblemen.”

Notwithstanding his anxiety, Gerald’s sense of humour was touched. If only his father could have been standing by his side to assist in the conversation with these two shabbily dressed ladies!

“Our titles are, at any rate, not unduly modern,” he pleaded deprecatingly. “Besides, is this of any real consequence?”

“What precisely do you want of us?” the older lady asked, after a slight hesitation.

“The privilege of renewing my acquaintance with you both,” Gerald replied.

“You have done so,” Madame de Ponière reminded him.

“With permission to pay my respects at your London residence,” he urged.

“We do not receive in London,” was the curt reply.

“I trust,” Gerald persisted, “that you will make an exception in my favour.”

Pauline suddenly intervened. There was a shade of hauteur in her manner, but some frankness.

“My dear aunt,” she said, “there are certain things which it is impossible to conceal. My aunt and I,” she went on, addressing Gerald, “are living in some impossible rooms in an impossible hotel in South Kensington. I see no reason, however, why we should not receive you there, if you are in earnest in your desire to call. We are without acquaintances in this city.”

Madame de Ponière closed her lorgnettes with a little snap.

“We are staying at Number 28, Erriston Gardens, South Kensington,” she said. “I believe they call the place the Erriston Gardens Hotel.”

“If you will permit me,” Gerald suggested, “I will bring my sister to call upon you when she is in town. In the meantime, may I venture upon a daring suggestion? You are without acquaintances in town; so, for these few days, am I. Will you do me the great honour of dining at Ranelagh to-night with me? We shall escape this insufferable heat and be able to listen to music out of doors.”

“I regret that it is impossible, sir,” Madame de Ponière replied.

Gerald was naturally quick-witted. There were many little things he had already noted.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, turning to Pauline, “I beg you to intercede with your aunt. I do not invite you to one of the established restaurants. The great charm of Ranelagh is its informality. The people who have been playing tennis and golf stay on to dine, with some trifling change in their attire. I myself should have to ask you to excuse my remaining in morning dress. It is a convention of the place.”

“Milord Dombey doubts our wardrobe,” Pauline remarked, with a faint smile. “No,” she went on hastily, “please do not think we are offended. I think your discretion is admirable. And, aunt, I beg of you, let us accept Lord Dombey’s invitation. Think how much we are suffering from the heat. Think of our stuffy room, our unspeakable dinner! In short, I insist.”

“If you will allow me, I will call for you at a quarter to eight,” Gerald proposed, turning to Madame de Ponière.

Madame de Ponière hesitated for another moment. Perhaps it was something in the almost boyish quality of Gerald’s eagerness which decided her. This Englishman was at any rate no _boulevardier_.

“We will await you at that hour,” she replied. “I trust,” she added, after a moment’s pause, “that you will not consider my hesitation in any way discourteous. There are reasons which make it difficult for my niece and myself to accept hospitality.”

Gerald bowed low, and, acting on a momentary impulse, raised Madame’s fingers to his lips. She yielded them naturally enough, but with a little glance around, almost of fear. Mademoiselle also extended her finger tips. He took his leave and was received by Christopher, who was waiting for him, with a gaze almost of astonishment. Gerald was holding himself differently, his eyes were filled with a lustre which they had lacked for months, he was smiling again in his old manner.

“My dear fellow,” Christopher exclaimed, “what on earth has happened?”

“That old devil has recognised my existence at last,” Gerald declared. “I had almost to force myself upon her. Chris, they’re dining with me to-night!”

“Before you say another word,” Christopher enjoined, “I want you to look at the man on that seat by the side of the tree. Look at him carefully, please.”

The two young men slackened their pace. The person whom Christopher had indicated was a man of medium height, dressed, notwithstanding the heat of the day, in sombre black clothes, and wearing a black bowler hat. He was dark, and he was, or affected to be, reading a book. His complexion was sallow and he wore a slight black moustache. His hair was unusually long and even covered a portion of his ears.

“Well, I see him,” Gerald admitted. “Not much to look at. Looks like one of the chaps who go in for this tub-thumping up at the far end.”

“He came from that way,” Christopher said, “but the reason I am pointing him out to you is because he appeared to recognise your two friends at the same instant that you did. He was walking down between that last row of chairs. Directly he saw them, however, he stood quite still for a moment. He seemed almost as knocked over as you were. Then he slunk back into that chair and he has been watching them ever since.”

Gerald attached no undue importance to the affair.

“I’ll tell them about it this evening, if I can remember,” he promised.--“Chris, did you ever know such luck! She is more wonderful than ever. No wonder I could never get the feeling of her out of my blood, the thought of her from my brain! Her eyes--Chris, did you ever see such eyes in your life!”

“Kind of hazel, aren’t they?” Christopher hazarded.

“You ass!” Gerald declared contemptuously. “They’re brown--the most glorious shade of brown I ever saw. I’m going to call for them in South Kensington at a quarter to eight, Chris. We’re going to dine at Ranelagh.”

“So you told me,” Christopher observed, smiling. “What about Bourne End?”

Gerald’s radiant happiness was not for a moment disturbed. He took Christopher’s arm.

“Bourne End,” he confided, “has, allegorically speaking, vanished into the blue horizon. Chris, I know now what has been the matter with me all these months. I knew it directly I saw her sitting there, tired and miserable, under the trees. I came up against the real thing and never knew it. I am in love with Pauline!”