'It's mine. I haven't robbed anybody. And nobody has any claim on me.'
'I didn't introduce this discussion.' Tommy was evidently pained. He held out his hand to take leave.
'It's an extraordinary thing, but there it is,' mused Airey. He took Tommy's hand and said, 'On my honour I'll ask her to dinner.'
'Where?' inquired Tommy, in a suspicious tone.
Airey hesitated.
'Magnifique?' said Tommy firmly and relentlessly.
'Yes, the – the Magnifique,' agreed Airey, after another pause.
'Delighted, old man!' He waited a moment longer, but Airey Newton did not fix a date.
Airey was left sorrowful, for he loved Tommy Trent. Though Tommy knew his secret, still he loved him – a fact that may go to the credit of both men. Many a man in Airey's place would have hated Tommy, even while he used and relied on him; for Tommy's knowledge put Airey to shame – a shame he could not stifle any more than he could master the thing that gave it birth.
Certainly Tommy deserved not to be hated, for he was very loyal. He showed that only two days later, and at a cost to himself. He was dining with Peggy Ryle – not she with him; for a cheque had arrived, and they celebrated its coming. Tommy, in noble spirits (the coming of a cheque was as great an event to him as to Peggy herself), told her how he had elicited the offer of a dinner from Airey Newton; he chuckled in pride over it.
How men misjudge things! Peggy sat up straight in her chair and flushed up to the outward curve of her hair.
'How dare you?' she cried. 'As if he hadn't done enough for me already! I must have eaten pounds of butter – of mere butter alone! You know he can't afford to give dinners.'
Besides anger, there was a hint of pride in her emphasis on 'dinners.'
'I believe he can,' said Tommy, with the air of offering a hardy conjecture.
'I know he can't, or of course he would. Do you intend to tell me that Airey – Airey of all men – is mean?'
'Oh, no, I – I don't say – '
'It's you that's mean! I never knew you do such a thing before. You've quite spoilt my pleasure this evening.' She looked at him sternly. 'I don't like you at all to-night. I'm very grievously disappointed in you.'
Temptation raged in Tommy Trent; he held it down manfully.
'Well, I don't suppose he'll give the dinner, anyhow,' he remarked morosely.
'No, because he can't; but you'll have made him feel miserable about it. What time is it? I think I shall go home.'
'Look here, Peggy; you aren't doing me justice.'
'Well, what have you got to say?'
Tommy, smoking for a moment or two, looked across at her and answered, 'Nothing.'
She rose and handed him her purse.
'Pay the bill, please, and mind you give the waiter half-a-crown. And ask him to call me a cab, please.'
'It's only half a mile, and it's quite fine.'
'A rubber-tired hansom, please, with a good horse.'
Tommy put her into the cab and looked as if he would like to get in too. The cabman, generalising from observed cases, held the reins out of the way, that Tommy's tall hat might mount in safety.
'Tell him where to go, please. Good-night,' said Peggy.
Tommy was left on the pavement. He walked slowly along to his club, too upset to think of having a cigar.
'Very well,' he remarked, as he reached his destination. 'I played fair, but old Airey shall give that dinner – I'm hanged if he sha'n't! – and do it as if he liked it too!'
A vicious chuckle surprised the hall-porter as Tommy passed within the precincts.
Peggy drove home, determined to speak plainly to Airey himself; that was the only way to put it right.
'He shall know that I do him justice, anyhow,' said she. Thanks to the cheque, she was feeling as the rich feel, or should feel, towards those who have helped them in early days of struggle; she experienced a generous glow and meditated delicate benevolence. At least the bread-and-butter must be recouped an hundredfold.
So great is the virtue of twenty pounds, if only they happen to be sent to the right address. Most money, however, seems to go astray.
CHAPTER IV
'FROM THE MIDST OF THE WHIRL'
'Really I must congratulate you on your latest, Sarah,' remarked Lady Blixworth, who was taking tea with Mrs. Bonfill. 'Trix Trevalla is carrying everything before her. The Glentorlys have had her to meet Lord Farringham, and he was delighted. The men adore her, and they do say women like her. All done in six weeks! You're a genius!'
Mrs. Bonfill made a deprecatory gesture of a Non nobis order. Her friend insisted amiably:
'Oh, yes, you are. You choose so well. You never make a mistake. Now do tell me what's going to happen. Does Mortimer Mervyn mean it? Of course she wouldn't hesitate.'
Mrs. Bonfill looked at her volatile friend with a good-humoured distrust.
'When you congratulate me, Viola,' she said, 'I generally expect to hear that something has gone wrong.'
'Oh, you believe what you're told about me,' the accused lady murmured plaintively.
'It's experience,' persisted Mrs. Bonfill. 'Have you anything that you think I sha'n't like to tell me about Trix Trevalla?'
'I don't suppose you'll dislike it, but I should. Need she drive in the park with Mrs. Fricker?' Her smile contradicted the regret of her tone, as she spread her hands out in affected surprise and appeal.
'Mrs. Fricker's a very decent sort of woman, Viola. You have a prejudice against her.'
'Yes, thank heaven! We all want money nowadays, but for my part I'd starve sooner than get it from the Frickers.'
'Oh, that's what you want me to believe?'
'Dearest Sarah, no! That's what I'm afraid her enemies and yours will say.'
'I see,' smiled Mrs. Bonfill indulgently. She always acknowledged that Viola was neat – as a siege-gun might admit it of the field artillery.
'Couldn't you give her a hint? The gossip about Beaufort Chance doesn't so much matter, but – ' Lady Blixworth looked as if she expected to be interrupted, even pausing an instant to allow the opportunity. Mrs. Bonfill obliged her.
'There's gossip about Beaufort, is there?'
'Oh, there is, of course – that can't be denied; but it really doesn't matter as long as Mortimer doesn't hear about it.'
'Was there never more than one aspirant at a time when you were young?'
'As long as you're content, I am,' Lady Blixworth declared in an injured manner. 'It's not my business what Mrs. Trevalla does.'
'Don't be huffy,' was Mrs. Bonfill's maternal advice. 'As far as I can see, everything is going splendidly.'
'It is to be Mortimer?'
'How can I tell, my dear? If Mortimer Mervyn should ask my advice, which really isn't likely, what could I say except that Trix is a charming woman, and that I know of nothing against it?'
'She must be very well off, by the way she does things.' There was an inflection of question in her voice, but no direct interrogatory.
'Doubtless,' said Mrs. Bonfill. Often the craftiest suggestions failed in face of her broad imperturbability.
Lady Blixworth smiled at her. Mrs. Bonfill shook her head in benign rebuke. The two understood one another, and on the whole liked one another very well.
'All right, Sarah,' said Lady Blixworth; 'but if you want my opinion, it is that she's out-running the constable, unless – '
'Well, go on.'
'You