CHAPTER XVII
DUTY INTERFERES AGAIN
Hunterleys sat that night alone in a seat at the Opera for a time andlost himself in a maze of recollections. He seemed to find himselfgrowing younger as he listened to the music. The days of a more vividand ardent sentimentality seemed to reassert themselves. He thought ofthe hours when he had sat side by side with his wife, the only woman towhom he had ever given a thought; of the thrill which even the touch ofher fingers had given him, of the drive home together, the littleconfidences and endearments, the glamour which seemed to have beenthrown over life before those unhappy misunderstandings. He rememberedso well the beginning of them all--the terrible pressure of work whichwas thrown upon his shoulders, his engrossed days, his disturbed nights;her patience at first, her subsequent petulance, her final anger. He wasengaged often in departmental work which he could not even explain. Shehad taken up with unhappy facility the role of a neglected wife. Shedeclared that he had ceased to care for the lighter ways. There hadcertainly been a time when her complaints had been apparently justified,when the Opera had been banned, theatres were impossible, when she couldnot even rely upon his escort to a dinner or to a reception. He hadargued with her very patiently at first but very unsuccessfully. It wasthen that her friendship with Linda Draconmeyer had been so vigorouslyrenewed, a friendship which seemed from the first to have threatened hishappiness. Had it been his fault? he wondered. Had he really been toomuch engrossed in his work? His country had made large demands upon himin those days. Had he ever explained the matter fully and carefullyenough to her? Perhaps not. At any rate, he was the sufferer. Herealised more than ever, as the throbbing of the music stole into hisblood, the loneliness of his life. And yet it seemed so hopeless.Supposing he threw up his work and let things take their course? Thebare thought chilled him. He recognised it as unworthy. The great songof mortification from the broken hero rang in his ears. Must every womanbring to every man the curse of Delilah!...
He passed out of the building into the cool, starlit night. People werestrolling about in evening clothes, hatless, the women in white operacloaks and filmy gowns, their silk-stockinged feet very much inevidence, resembling almost some strange kind of tropical birds withtheir little shrill laughter and graceful movements, as they made theirway towards the Club or round to the Rooms, or to one of the restaurantsfor supper. Whilst Hunterleys hesitated, there was a touch upon his arm.He glanced around.
"Hullo, David!" he exclaimed. "Were you waiting for me?"
The young man fell into step by his side.
"I have been to the hotel," he said, in a low tone. "They thought youmight be here. Can you come up later--say at one o'clock?"
"Certainly," Hunterleys answered. "Where's Sidney?"
"He's working now. He'll be home by half-past twelve unless anythinggoes wrong. He thinks he'll have something to tell you."
"I'll come," Hunterleys agreed. "How's Felicia?"
"All right, but working herself to death," the young man replied. "Sheis getting anxious, too. Give her a word of encouragement if you see herto-night. She was hoping you might have been up to see her."
"I won't forget," Hunterleys promised.
The young man drifted silently away, and Hunterleys, after a moment'shesitation and a glance at his watch, turned towards the Club. Heclimbed the broad staircase, surrendered his hat and turned in at theroulette room. The magic of the music was still in his veins, and helooked around him almost eagerly. There was no sign of Violet. Hestrolled into the baccarat room but she was not there. Perhaps she, too,had been at the Opera. In the bar he found Richard Lane, sitting moodilyalone. The young man greeted him warmly.
"Come and have a drink, Sir Henry," he begged. "I've got the hump."
Hunterleys sat down by his side.
"Whiskey and apollinaris," he ordered. "What's the matter with you,Richard?"
"She isn't here," the young man declared. "I've been to the Rooms andshe isn't there either."
"What about the Opera?" Hunterleys asked.
"I started at the Opera," Lane confessed, "took a box so as to be ableto see the whole house. I sat through the first act but there wasn't asign of her. Then I took a spin out and had another look at the villa.It was all lit up as though there were a party. I very nearly marchedin."
"Just as well you didn't, I think," Hunterleys remarked, smiling. "I seeyou're feeling just the same about it."
The young man did not even vouchsafe an answer.
"Then you're not going to take advantage of your little warning andclear out?" Hunterleys continued.
"Don't you think I'm big enough to take care of myself?" Lane asked,with a little laugh. "Besides, there's an American Consul here, andplenty of English witnesses who saw the whole thing. Can't think whythey're trying on such a silly game."
"Mr. Grex may have influence," Hunterleys suggested.
"Who the mischief is my prospective father-in-law?" Richard demanded,almost testily. "There's an atmosphere about that house and the servantsI can't understand a bit."
"You wouldn't," Hunterleys observed drily. "Well, in a day or two I'lltell you who Mr. Grex is. I'd rather not to-night."
"By the way," Lane continued, "your wife was asking if you were here, afew minutes ago."
Hunterleys rose quickly to his feet.
"Where is she?"
"She was at her usual place at the top roulette table, but she gave itup just as I passed, said she was going to walk about," the young manreplied. "I don't think she has left yet."
Hunterleys excused himself hastily. In the little space between therestaurant and the roulette rooms he came suddenly upon Violet. She wasleaning back in an obscure corner, with her hands clasped helplessly inher lap before her. She was sitting quite still and his heart sank whenhe saw her. The lines under her eyes were unmistakable now; her cheeks,too, seemed to have grown hollow. Her first look at him almost made himforget all their differences. There was something piteous in the trembleof her lips. He drew a chair to her side.
"Richard told me that you wished to speak to me," he began, as lightlyas he could.
"I asked if he had seen you, a few minutes ago," she admitted. "I amafraid that my interest was rather mercenary."
"You want to borrow some money?" he enquired, taking out hispocket-book.
She looked at it, and though her eyes at first were listless, they stillseemed fascinated.
"I don't think I can play any more to-night," she sighed.
"You have been losing?"
"Yes!"
"Come and have something," he invited. "You look tired."
She rose willingly enough. They passed out, side by side, into thelittle bar.
"Some champagne?" he suggested.
She shook her head quickly. The memory of the champagne at dinner-timecame back to her with a sudden sickening insistence. She thought of theloan, she thought of Draconmeyer with a new uneasiness. It was as thoughshe had admitted some new complication into her life.
"Could I have some tea?" she begged.
He ordered some and sat with her while she drank it.
"You know," he declared, "if I might be permitted to say so, I think youare taking the gaming here a little too seriously. If you have beenunlucky, it is very easy to arrange an advance for you. Would you likesome money? If so, I will see to it when I go to the bank to-morrow. Ican let you have a hundred pounds at once, if you like."
A hundred pounds! If only she dared tell him that she had lost athousand within the last two hours! Once more he was fingering hispocket-book.
"Come," he went on pleasantly, "you had better have a hundred from me,for luck."
He counted out the notes. Her fingers began to shake.
"I didn't mean to play any more to-night," she faltered, irresolutely.
"Nor should I," he agreed. "Take my advice, Violet, and go home now.This will do for you to-morrow."
She took the money and dropped it into her jewelled bag.
"Very well," s
he said, "I won't play any more, but I don't want to gohome yet. It is early, and I can never sleep here if I go to bed. Sitwith me for half-an-hour, and then perhaps you could give me somesupper?"
He shook his head.
"I am so sorry," he answered, "but at one o'clock I have anappointment."
"An appointment?"
"Such bad luck," he continued. "It would have given me very greatpleasure to have had supper with you, Violet."
"An appointment at one o'clock," she repeated slowly. "Isn't that just alittle--unusual?"
"Perhaps so," he assented. "I can assure you that I am very sorry."
She leaned suddenly towards him. The aloofness had gone from her manner.The barrier seemed for a moment to have fallen down. Once more she wasthe Violet he remembered. She smiled into his face, and smiled with hereyes as well as her lips, just the smile he had been thinking of an hourago in the Opera House.
"Don't go, please," she begged. "I am feeling lonely to-night and I amso tired of everybody and everything. Take me to supper at the Cafe deParis. Then, if you like, we might come back here for half-an-hour.Or--"
She hesitated.
"I am horribly sorry," he declared, in a tone which was full of realregret. "Indeed, Violet, I am. But I have an appointment which I mustkeep, and I can't tell exactly how long it may take me."
The very fact that the nature of that appointment concerned things whichfrom the first he had made up his mind must be kept entirely secret,stiffened his tone. Her manner changed instantly. She had drawn herselfa little away. She considered for a moment.
"Are you inclined to tell me with whom your appointment is, and for whatpurpose?" she asked coldly. "I don't want to be exacting, but after therequest I have made, and your refusal--"
"I cannot tell you," he interrupted. "I can only ask you to take my wordfor it that it is one which I must keep."
She rose suddenly to her feet.
"I forgot!" she exclaimed. "I haven't the slightest right to yourconfidence. Besides, when I come to think of it, I don't believe that Iam hungry at all. I shall try my luck with your money?"
"Violet!--"
She swept away with a little farewell nod, half insolent, half angry.Hunterleys watched her take her place at the table. For several momentshe stood by her side. She neither looked up nor addressed him. Then heturned and left the place.