CHAPTER XV

“Life,” said Mr. Dempsi, stretching the toes of his small feet to the fire with a luxurious intake of breath, “is a beautiful thing. From the utter depths of loveless despair to the sublime accomplishment of heart’s desire--what a transition, my own!”

“Mr. Dempsi--” began Diana.

“Wopsy,” he murmured reproachfully.

“Well--Wopsy. I have allowed you to stay because I wanted a quiet talk with you. A quiet talk,” she stressed the qualification as he reached out for a hand that was not there.

“Silence is so wonderful.” He turned his languishing eyes upon her. “Silence and thought and The Woman.”

But Diana had her piece to say, carefully prepared and rehearsed in the solitude of her room.

“Five years ago you were good enough to ask me to marry you. I refused. People say that young girls are brainless--the fact that I declined the honour you offered is proof to the contrary. What I felt then, I feel now. My heart is in the grave!”

“_My_ grave.” His smile was melancholy but complacent.

“Don’t be silly. You are alive, I’m sorry--I mean I should be sorry if you weren’t. I had a lover--my heart went out to him, Wopsy,”--her voice trembled, she thought there were tears in his sympathetic eyes, “but he passed.”

“Ran away from you?” Mr. Dempsi sat up.

“When I say ‘passed’”--there was more than a trace of acid in Diana’s voice--“I mean ... to the Great Beyond.”

“Pegged out?” Dempsi shrugged. “These things happen. Once I loved a girl--oh, Diana, such a girl amongst girls! Tall, divinely fair, gracious in every look and movement. She also passed--to the Great Beyond.”

“She died?” whispered Diana.

“She went on to the stage--in America,” said Dempsi. “She was dead to me. I cut her out of my heart. I could have killed myself, but I said: ‘Wopsy, have you forgotten your little Diana--your first, your only love?’ With a courage that I have often admired, I forgot her. She is now the greatest screen vamp in Hollywood. I see her frequently without a tremor. Such things happen.”

Diana was unmoved, though a little discouraged.

“My love will never be forgotten,” she gulped. “Wopsy, you see how impossible it is--did you get the money?”

“The money--you sent it to me? But, Diana, how foolish!”

“I sent it by cheque,” she said.

He sank back again in his chair.

“You are a foolish little one. Money!” He laughed cruelly. “How you Anglo-Saxons worship money! To men of my temperament ...!” He snapped his fingers. “As to your unfaithfulness to the great ideal I provided, your heartless disregard for my memory, I forgive you. You were only a child--you could not be expected to cherish the memory of the man who died for you. That is past. We belong to the Day--to-morrow, Monday, Tuesday we shall be married.”

“What are we doing on Wednesday?” she asked. “Forgive me for looking so far ahead.”

For a second he was disconcerted, uneasy: that he betrayed in his laughter.

“My dear little Diana, how droll you are----”

“Listen, Dempsi or Wopsy, as the case may be--you are returning to your hotel to-morrow. We are not getting married on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. Shall I tell you why? I see that you are interested. Because I don’t want to marry you.”

His face darkened.

“This is Uncle Isaac!” he said between his teeth. “The influence of that man is diabolical! All my life I have been thwarted by aunts and uncles. He shall answer to me--Guiseppi Dempsi!”

He flung out of his chair, took two strides toward the door, when she caught his arms desperately.

“Let me go,” he stormed.

“If you leave this room I will telephone for the police!”

The tension relaxed.

“For me--the police for me!” He covered his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved convulsively. Diana felt no regrets.

“And she of whom I dreamt threatens me. Let me die!”

Diana let him. At the end of three minutes he was still alive.

“Mr. Dempsi, dry your eyes.”

Like a faithful but heart-broken hound, he obeyed.

“You may stay here to-night,” she said; “your bedroom is at the top of the stairs. I hope you sleep well. If you want anything, ring the bell. Good-night.”

He turned wearily toward the door.

“This is not Diana.”

His dejection would have touched a heart of stone. Diana was unmoved. She heard his door close, went silently up the stairs and slipped a key into the lock. He heard, too late, the grating of steel against steel. Before he could reach the door the lock snapped.

“Who is that--who has locked the door? Open it at once.”

“It is I,” said Diana in a low voice.

“But, Diana, this is extraordinary!”

“I do it for your own protection,” she whispered through the keyhole. “Uncle Isaac does not like you--and _he is armed_.”

A silence.

“But this is dangerous! If there is a fire----”

“Use the extinguisher!” she hissed. “It is hanging in the wardrobe.”

She was tired, aching in every limb, immensely lonely. Oh, for the comforting presence of Gordon! Or even Eleanor, at that moment sitting in agitated conference with Mrs. Magglesark, discussing the strange behaviour of mistresses in general and Australian mistresses in particular.

Happily there was Mr. Superbus.

The faint sound of music came up from the servants’ hall as she descended the stairs. Mr. Superbus was playing a mouth-organ softly, almost musically. Aunt Lizzie sat before the kitchen fire, chin in hand. Uncle Isaac leant against the kitchen dresser, glowering at the musician. The harmonies were confirmed as she opened the door.

“Had a pleasant evening?” she asked.

“I’ve had nothing to eat but bread and cheese,” said Gordon. “This little joke of yours is going too far, Diana.”

She looked at him aghast.

“We didn’t have any dinner!” she said in dismay, tempered with the satisfaction that Dempsi was at that moment starving in his locked room. “I haven’t even had bread and cheese--it is time for you to go to bed.”

“I’ll go when I please,” said Gordon loudly.

Mr. Superbus shook his head reprovingly.

“Naughty, naughty!” he chided. “That’s not like my Uncle Isaac. And he’s been such a good boy, ma’am, singing as gay as a lark.”

Gordon blushed.

“I didn’t sing, you jackass!” he growled.

“Didn’t he sing, Aunt Lizzie?”

She shrugged indifferent shoulders.

“Well, if he didn’t sing he ’ummed,” insisted Mr. Superbus.

His repertoire on the mouth-organ included the Eton Boating Song--Gordon was an old Etonian. Doubtless he had ’ummed: no Etonian could resist the lilt of it.

“To bed,” said Diana curtly.

Swinging her keys, she had the appearance of a jailer.

“You will regret this,” said Gordon between his teeth. “I can bring a thousand people to identify me.”

“And how many to identify Aunt Lizzie?” asked Diana with a curl of her lips.

Gordon had no answer. She had the exasperating habit of shutting every door in his face, dispelling every wild vision of liberty that hope conjured to shape.

Heloise was not silenced.

“Why, that’s not going to be difficult,” she drawled. “I’m Mrs. van Oynne of 71 Clarence Gate Gardens.”

“Very good,” nodded Diana. “You are at liberty to telephone to the police and allow them to identify you. I’ll tell them that by an error I have mistaken you for Double Dan’s--what is the word? partners? They will put things right.”

Heloise got up.

“I was never strong for fighting,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

Diana led the way, Gordon came after, Mr. Superbus followed, emitting soft tuning noises from his mouth-organ. Were it in his repertoire, Gordon would have selected “The Death of Asa” as an appropriate accompaniment to that solemn march. He imagined himself a malefactor on his way to execution. Diana had the air of hangman and private torturer.

“Good-night,” he said mechanically, and stopped at the door of his room.

“Not in there!” Her loud whisper was threatening. He followed to the floor above. The room chosen was that in which Diana said she intended sleeping the man and wife who were to be engaged for the autumn cleaning. Heloise went in--she knew the room.

“Good-night,” she said.

“You have forgotten something,” said Diana.

“If you think I’m going to kiss you, there’s a surprise coming to you, girl,” said Heloise, and tried to shut the door.

“Your husband,” said Diana primitively.

The door slammed, Diana heard a chair dragged across the room, and guessed that the back of it was being propped under the handle. Gordon’s throat went dry.

“You have quarrelled?” said Diana. “Or perhaps you don’t....”

“I don’t!”

The voice came from his stomach--he had never suspected such a range of sound in himself.

“That’s very awkward.” She tapped her lips with a key. “You’ll have to go into the spare room. Come down.”

The spare room was at the far end of the passage and the bed had not been made up.

“There are the blankets,” said Diana and pointed. “To-morrow I will find sheets for you. The bed is more comfortable than any you’ll find at the police station.”

She locked the door on him.

The window was open, but there was no method of reaching safety. Here the wall dropped sheerly to the bottom of the area, and if you missed the area there was a row of sharp, spiked railings. Gordon decided to go to bed. For an hour he tossed from side to side, his nerves on edge, sleep farther from him than ever. There might be a spare key to the room in one of the drawers. He searched diligently, but without success. Then he tried the door. From somewhere outside came the sound of a knife-cleaner working eccentrically. Or it may have been the noise of a carpet-sweeper being pushed across the floor by one who had no conception of rhythm. As he turned the handle, the noise ceased and a voice said:

“Sleep well, Uncle Isaac.”

Mr. Superbus, that faithful watch dog, was sleeping on the mat.