Miss Fawcett, awaking betimes on Monday morning, flirted for a while with the idea of staying in bed to breakfast. Her better self won, however, and she got up in time to breakfast at half past right, thus deliberately courting a tete-d-tete with the General, ever an early riser.
This act of heroism was induced by the events of the week-end. Someone, Miss Fawcett thought gloomily, must try to smooth the General down before he actually flung his son out of the house.
Her prognostications on Saturday had not been false. Miss de Silva had indeed been the life and soul of the party, even going so far as to offer to perform a dance for the edification of the assembled company. Only the General's rigid notions of Christian conduct had prevented him disowning his son the first thing on Sunday morning.
But in spite of the fact that Sir Arthur's principles forbade him to quarrel on the Sabbath, Sunday had not been a happy day. Yet every effort was made to please the General. With the exception of Lola, who, it appeared, never rose before eleven, the whole party went dutifully to church, and Francis, who had blandly announced that Geoffrey's lamentable lack of tact was interfering with his own schemes, made elaborate arrangements for the rest of the day. He banished Geoffrey and Lola on an expedition to Clayton-on-Sea, provided his uncle with every opportunity of flirting with Camilla Halliday, and ended the day by inviting his uncle (by this time almost mellow) to recount some of his Indian experiences. By the time Lola and Geoffrey returned from Clayton-on-Sea the air was thick with shikaris, chuckkas, Pathans, Sikhs, sahibs, bazaars, mahouts, and jinrickshas, and the General midway through an anecdote about a fellah who was a Gunner, a minor Rajah, and a Kabul pony.
But from the moment of Miss de Silva's appearance the General's amiability waned. It was plain that Geoffrey had made an attempt to impress upon Lola the necessity of placating his father, for she broke into the anecdote just as the sail was shampooing the Kabul pony's legs before the first chukka, and announced her firm intention of talking to Geoffrey's papa. The General was a ruthless conversationalist, but he was no match for Miss de Silva, whose twenty-three years in the world had provided her with a larger stock of egotistic reminiscences than he had acquired in all his sixty summers. Russian grand dukes, Polish counts, Spanish anarchists, and Mexican bandits took the place of the Pathans, and the Sikhs, and the Gurkhas, and the scene shifted with bewildering rapidity from Rio de Janeiro to New York, Paris, London, and Monte Carlo, the saga being strung together by the principal motif of Miss de Silva's amazing successes in these different cities.
By supper-time the General was in a state of bottled emotion that seemed to put him in danger of explosion at any moment. The sight of his son watching Miss de Silva with an expression of rapt, uncritical adniration was the last straw. The sanctity of the day prevented an immediate outburst, but, as the house party, in various stages of nervous exhaustion, went limply in to supper, he informed Geoffrey that he had just one or two things to say to him, and would see him in his study at half past nine next morning without fail.
Therefore Miss Fawcett arose betimes.
On her way to the bath she passed Fay's room, and the sound of a military voice upraised in furious monologue induced her, as soon as she had dressed, to visit her sister before she went down to breakfast. She found Fay weeping hysterically over the brushes on her dressing table and put her back to bed and dosed her with aspirin. As far as she could gather from a choked and incoherent explanation, Fay had tried to persuade the General not to take his son's engagement too seriously. Whereupon it seemed (but the story was lost in a maze of sobs, I-saids and he-saids) that Sir Arthur had not only called his wife a soft-headed, meddlesome fool, but had laid the blame of every mishap occurring within the last five years at her door, and declared his intention of cutting Geoffrey off with a shilling immediately after breakfast.
Miss Fawcett recommended her sister to pull herself together, promised to order a tray to be sent up to her mom, and went off downstairs to have it out with the General.
She found him eating a solitary breakfast, and wasted no time in skirmishing preliminaries. "Look here, Arthur," she said forcibly, "you've been upsetting Fay. That's a cad's trick, and you know it."
The General bent upon her the famous glare that had caused so many adjutants to shiver in their shoes, and said menacingly: "Will-you-have-the-goodness-to-mind-your-own-business?"
"No," said Dinah, "I will not. You've been throwing your weight about ever since I entered this house, and now it's my turn. If you want to bully anybody, try bullying me! It wasn't Fay's fault that Geoffrey got himself engaged to Lola, and it isn't fair to take it out of her just because you're feeling sore. I quite see that it's very annoying for you to have to put up with Lola, but good Lord, Arthur, you don't suppose it'll last, do you?"
"That's enough!" thundered the General. "By God, haven't I enough whining and puling to put up with from your damned fool of a sister without having your impertinence added to it?"
"No, you haven't," replied Miss Fawcett. She sat down at the table and resolutely forced herself to speak without rancour. "Do try and be sensible, Arthur. You'll look utterly silly if you throw Geoffrey out; you will really. And you know what he is. He's quite likely to go and do something idiotic if he gets into one of his worked-up moods."
Sir Arthur banged his fist on the table with such violence that all the crockery shuddered. "He can go to the devil his own way!" he barked. "A fine son he is! What did he do at Eton? Slacked! No good at games, no good at his work! Delicate! Faugh! What did he do at Oxford? Got himself into a mess with a girl in a tobacconist's shop, that's what he did at Oxford, and a damned fool I was to buy her off. What's he doing now? Wasting his time with a set of long-haired nincompoops and disgracing my name! That's all he's doing, and it's going to stop. Do you hear me? It's going to stop!"
"They can probably hear you all over the house," said Dinah calmly. "Cutting Geoffrey off with a shilling won't stop him disgracing your name; it's much more likely to make him do something worse. But I'm not particularly interested in his affairs, or, in fact, in anyone's except Fay's. You may not realise it, but you're fast driving her into a nervous breakdown."
"Nerves!" ejaculated Sir Arthur with a scornful crack of Lutghter. "That's all you modern women think about — nerves! My God, I've no patience with it!"
"All right," said Dinah, a gleam in her eye. "Put it like this, since you will have it! If you go on making Fay's life a hell for her you'll find yourself with another wife who's deserted you!"
The General's face grew purple; his eyes protruded; words jostled one another in his throat.
"In the meantime," said Dinah, picking up her knife and fork, "I'm sending for the doctor to come and prescribe a tonic for her."
Anything the General might have been moved to say in answer to this was put a stop to by the entrance of Francis and Stephen Guest. They were followed in a few minutes by the Hallidays, who also betrayed signs of muffled tempers. Basil Halliday was looking strained, and kept glancing towards his wife with a mixture of anger end entreaty in his sunken eyes; Camilla was faintly flushed, and talked and laughed in a determined manner that seemed to Dinah to be largely defiant.
It had been decided that, since the only through train to town in the morning left Ralton Station, six miles away, at ten minutes to ten the Hallidays were to put off their departure until after lunch. Camilla reminded Sir Arthur that he had promised to take her over to the keeper's cottage to see a litter of springer pups. She said that she was dying to see them, and pouted prettily when he told her that he must first drive in to Ralton on business.
The pout and the look that went with it had the effect of making Sir Arthur unbend a little. He surveyed the charmer with the eye of an epicure, but it would have taken more than Camilla's wiles to interfere with the routine which governed his life. Assuring her that he would take her to see the puppies before she left, he explained that, the day being the first of the month, he had to go through his accounts, and draw a cheque to pay all the wages and the household bills before he could do anything else.
"Method, my dear Camilla! I pride myself upon being methodical. The Army teaches one to lay down certain rules and to stick to them. I pay all the staff, including the outdoor servants, regularly as clockwork, directly after lunch on the first day of the month. My wife has to have her household books ready for inspection by nine o'clock in the morning. Then I find my total, go to the bank, draw what money I want, and by tea-time the whole business is finished. No hanging about, no paying wages every other day of the month. No. I fix a regular pay-day and stick to it, and in that way, Camilla, I know to a farthing what is being spent in the house. It's the only way."
It seemed to Camilla an appalling way, but she said brightly: "I call that such a good idea! I know I'm dreadfully unbusiness-like myself. I wish you could teach me some of your method, Sir Arthur."
He rose, smiling indulgently down at her. "Oh, we don't expect the fair sex to be business-like! Never met a woman yet who had any notion of method, and, by Gad, I hope I never do! Now what is the time? Nine o'clock! Very well, then. I shall leave for Ralton at ten, and I shall I be back here at eleven, and you and I will go off to see the pups. How will that be?"
"It's too sweet of you!" said Camilla. "I shall be all ready to the tick, just to show you how methodical I can be!"
Francis got up. "I shall have left before you get back from Ralton, Uncle," he said. "Are you busy just now? I should like to have a word with you before I go, if I may."
Sir Arthur looked at him rather grimly. "H'm! If you think it worth while I can spare you five minutes; not a moment more."
They left the room together. Stephen Guest bent towards Dinah. "Is Fay staying in bed to breakfast?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes," replied Dinah matter-of-factly. "She's not feeling frightfully fit. She doesn't sleep well, you know."
Basil Halliday raised his eyes from his plate. "I'm sorry. I know what it is to suffer from insomnia. It would be much better if we left by the nine-fifty, Camilla. We can easily catch it. Lady Billington-Smith won't want us hanging about all the morning."
"Oh, we can't possibly!" said Camilla quickly. "Of course, I'm dreadfully sorry about Fay, but do beg her, Miss Fawcett, not to bother about us in the least."
"Camilla, I would prefer to catch the nine-fifty," said Halliday, the fingers of his right hand working a little.
Camilla paid no attention to this, and, observing a pulse throbbing in Halliday's temple, Dinah interposed: "There's no need for anyone to hurry away on Fay's account. She'll be down presently. Stephen, are you catching the morning train?"
"No," he said, after a moment's deliberation. "I think I'll wait over till the afternoon."
Dinah got up. "Well, I'll go and see if Fay wants anything done for her," she said, and went out.
Stephen followed her, and stopped her as she was about to go up the stairs." Just a moment, Dinah."
She glanced sharply round at him, and saw that his face was more than ordinarily grim. "Well?"
He came to the foot of the staircase, and laid his hand on the rail. "Fay's upset?" he demanded abruptly.
"She's all right. For goodness' sake don't you start being dramatic! Why on earth don't you go by the train you said you were going by?"
"I'm seeing Fay before I go."
Dinah sighed. "I suppose you heard Arthur making himself felt before breakfast."
"Yes, I did hear him," replied Guest in a level voice. "And I don't leave till I've seen Fay."
"All right, you needn't be so emphatic about it. But it's no use thinking you'll get her to run away with you, Stephen, because she won't. I know Fay, and she's just the sort of person who'd rather be a martyr than start a scandal."
He looked at her for a moment. "Maybe you're right," he said, and turned away, pausing by the hall table to pick up a newspaper.
Dinah found her sister fairly calm, but very pale and heavy-eyed. She was speaking to Mrs. Moxon, the cook, when Dinah came in, and started nervously at the sound of the opening door. Since the between-maid had been sweeping the landing when it happened, the entire indoor staff knew by this time that the General and her ladyship had been having words again. There was an air of dark sympathy about Mrs. Moxon. She said: "You leave it to me, m'lady," and "I was going to speak to you about that Janet. But there, it'll do some other time."
She departed presently, full of good intentions about the remains of the joint, and spread the news below stairs that her ladyship was looking like death so that it made her heart fair bleed to see her. She further expressed a desire to give His-High-and-Mightiness a piece of her mind. "Let him come poking his bad-tempered nose into my kitchen, that's all, Mr Finch!" she said delphically.
Upstairs Fay smiled wanly at her sister, and said: "Sorry to make such a fool of myself. I don't think I can be very well. I probably need a change or a tonic, or something."
"Yes, that's what I told Arthur. I propose to ring up your doctor, if you'll tell me what his name is."
"I have Dr Raymond, but I don't know that -"
"Then we'll send for him," said Dinah. "It'll put the wind up Arthur. By the way, Arthur's quite determined to cast Geoffrey off. He's the sort of man who'd cut off his nose to spite his face and then argue that it looked better that way."
Fay raised herself on her elbow. "Dinah, I'm terribly worried about Geoffrey. It's all very well for you — you're not his stepmother; but I feel it's my duty to try and stand between him and Arthur. And if Arthur turns him out it'll look as though I'd been working against him."
"Don't confuse the issues," said Dinah. "Let Arthur turn him out. He'll take him back again fast enough."
"That's just what he won't do!" Fay said urgently. "You think Arthur's just a joke. He isn't. He's dreadful. Right down inside him he's hard; hard as nails, Dinah! He likes to hurt people, and bully them, and make their lives a misery for them. And if once he says he won't have Geoffrey in his house again it'll be final. I tell you I know what I'm talking about! Haven't you heard Arthur say that when he says a thing he means it, once and for all? That's true. He does mean it. He thinks that's being strong and iron-willed. He'd do anything sooner than go back on what he's once said."
"Steady!" recommended Dinah. "You keep cool. Shall I tip the wink to the Halliday wench to pour oil. I rather loathe the idea, but she does seem to go down very smoothly with him."
A look of distaste crossed Fay's face. " I think I'd rather you, didn't," she said. "I mean — no, I can't confide in a person like that. I'd better get up. Stephcn hasn't gone, has he?"
"No," said Dinah shortly. "I wish he had."
As she descended the stairs again five minutes later she was met by Finch, with the information that Mrs. Twining was on the telephone, and would like to speak either to her ladyship or to Miss Fawcett .
The only extension of the telephone which the General had allowed was to his own study, so anyone else wishing to use the instrument had to do so in the hall, quite the most public place that could possibly have been chosen.
Dinah picked up the receiver. "Hullo? Dinah Fawcett speaking."
"Good morning, my dear," said Mrs. Twining's voice tranquilly. "I am merely curious, you know. How have you weathered the week-end?"
"Well, it's all pretty grim," said Dinah.
"I was afraid perhaps it might be. Arthur had such an irreligious face in church. Has he disowned poor Geoffrey yet?"
"I think he's doing it now," replied Dinah, with a glance down the long hall to the study door, from behind which came the sound of a loud voice booming and roaring.
There was a slight pause. "I see," said Mrs. Twining thoughtfully. "Do you know, I think I will come and have a little chat with Arthur."
"Do you think you can do anything with him?" asked Dinah hopefully. "Fay quite definitely can't."
"I have no idea," said Mrs. Twining. "I think I have a little — a very little — influence over him. Tell Fay that I will look in at lunch-time. Good-bye, my dear."
Dinah put the receiver down as Finch came into the hall through the door that led to the servants' wing. "Mrs. Twining will be here for lunch," she said. "I think perhaps I'd better do the flowers for Lady Billington-Smith. What is the time, Finch?"
The butler stepped back to get a view of the grandfather clock. "It is just on the quarter, miss. To be exact, I should say it is sixteen minutes to ten, since I believe we are a little fast."
"We should be," murmured Dinah. "Has Captain Billington-Smith gone, do you know?"
"No, miss. Captain Billington-Smith was with Sir Arthur until twenty minutes past nine, and has, I believe, gone up to his room."
"Oh, well, I suppose I'd better wait to see him off," reflected Dinah, and wandered into the morning-room, a somewhat gloomy apartment behind the study with windows that faced, inappropriately, west.
She sat down to glance through a picture paper, and had just passed from "Dramatic Outburst in Court' by way of "Boy Hero Saves Kitten's Life' to "Four Killed in Air Liner Disaster' when a door was slammed violently, and hasty footsteps passed the morning-room and went up the stairs two at a time.
Geoffrey, thought Miss Fawcett. What does a helpful spinster do now? Nothing. (Answer adjudged incorrect.)
The grandfather clock began to whir alarmingly, and presently struck ten in the brittle manner peculiar to all genuine models. Simultaneously, the General's voice was to be heard, demanding in stentorian tones why the devil that fellow Peacock hadn't brought the car round yet. "When I say ten o'clock I mean ten o'clock, and the sooner you all realise that the better it will be for you!" he rasped.
Dinah did not catch the butler's quiet answer, but in about half a minute Peacock apparently arrived with the General's car, for the echoes of a harangue on punctuality delivered on the doorstep reached her ears. Miss Fawcett reflected that to live continually with that over-loud, nagging voice might conceivably wear down nerves less delicate than her sister's.
It ceased at last, and gave place to a prodigious series of explosions from the car, and a jarring of gears too hastily changed. Miss Fawcett emerged from the morning-room in time to hear Peacock, still standing in the porch, say sullenly to Finch: "Good place or not, I'm giving in my notice when he pays me, and that's that."
Shortly before half past ten Francis came down the stairs in a leisurely fashion. It was never an easy matter to read the thought behind his eyes, and Dinah, frankly surveying him now, was unable to decide whether he had succeeded in his mission to Sir Arthur or not. A not very pleasant smile curled his thin lips, and when he caught sight of Dinah he remarked in his usual languidly cynical way: "Such a pathetic sight, my pet. Do go up and look. My poor little cousin waiting on the mat outside Lola's door! He looks just like the Weak Young Man Driven to Despair in a Raffles play. I am quite sorry to be leaving, for the party is beginning to be almost amusing. Do say good-bye to Fay for me, and thank her for a perfectly bloody week-end. Do I kiss you, or not?"
"Not," replied Miss Fawcett decidedly. "Good-bye. Try not to get had up for speeding. Arthur's very hot against that about now."
Upstairs, Geoffrey, regardless of appearances, had flung himself down on a chair against the wall on the landing, and was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands awaiting Miss de Silva's pleasure. Miss de Silva, like Sir Arthur, held to certain fixed rules, one of these being an immovable resolve not to be disturbed by anyone but the faithful Concetta until eleven o'clock in the morning. She had already intimated to Geoffrey, through Concetta, her mouthpiece, that it was impossible, quite impossible, to admit him into her room, so there was nothing for him to do but to wait, which he did, under the sympathetic eye of Dawson, engaged in turning out Captain Billington-Smith's late bedroom. Dawson was stirred to the depths of her romantic soul by Geoffrey's pose of utter dejection, but she did not really want his troubles to vanish. She had a passion for drama, and had already in her mind condemned Geoffrey to be shot through the head by his own hand. As she folded sheets and shook up pillows she was silently rehearsing the evidence she would give at the inquest. Miss Joan Dawson, "a slim, youthful figure in a brown dress and close-fitting hat' — her new black crinoline straw which Ted liked was nicer, really, but they always wore close-fitting hats — "gave her evidence in a low, clear voice…'
Peckham, the head housemaid, came up the back stairs with her starched skirts crackling to give due warning of her approach. There was no nonsense about Peckham; she never went to the pictures, or kept company with a boy, or weaved stories about her employers. She knew her place, knew it far too well to cast more than one detached, incurious glance at Geoffrey, still holding his head in his hands. Her brisk, severe voice cut through all lurid imaginings, like a sharp pair of scissors ripping up lengths of gossamer. "Now then, Dawson, are you going to be all day over one room? Pick up those sheets and take them along to the linen basket; I'll finish this off, thank you."
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 General: "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."
"But we shouldn't live in the country! We could live anywhere you liked!" Geoffrey said desperately.
"I like always to live in the best places," said Lola with simplicity. "And I must tell you, please, that you are hurting me."
His grasp on her wrists tightened. "Lola, you're saying it to tease me! You don't mean it! Oh, my God, you couldn't be so cruel, so utterly heartless!"
The beautiful brown eyes flashed. "It is not I who am cruel, let me tell you, but entirely you, my good Geoffrey, to wish me to marry you when you have not any longer any money!"
"But Lola, I'll make money! I know I can make enough for us to live on! It won't be a fortune, but we'll manage somehow."
"I find that you are being completely selfish. You do not think of me at all," said Lola austerely. "It is quite necessary that I should have a great deal of money, a fortune, as you say. And I wish that you will instantly let go of my arms, because though I do not make complaint you are hurting me excessively. And then you will go away so that I may dress myself, and after I have eaten my lunch, but not in the least before, you will drive me back to London."
He sprang up; his face was very white, his lips trembling incontrollably. "I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" he stammered, his voice breaking on a dry sob. "I can't give you up! I tell you I can't, I won't!"
"It is for us both a great tragedy," agreed Lola. "But your papa —"
The death-like pallor grew. "It's all his fault!" Geoffrey gasped. "Ever since I was born — and now this_! devil, devil, devil!" He dashed his hand across his eyes, and stumbled over to the door. "He's ruined my life, and my happiness, and taken you away from me God, I can't bear it!" He wrenched open the door and rushed out, almost colliding with Dawson, a breathless and entranced auditor on the landing.
"And out of my way!" he says, just like that, and he gave me a push that sent me up against the wall — Oo, Mrs. Moxon, you wouldn't believe what a push he gave me; it's a wonder I didn't fall over, it is really! And then he went off down the stairs, without one backward look, and out of the house, with no hat nor nothing, and leaving the front door open behind him, which Mr Finch'll bear me out is the solid truth!"