Chapter 18

Mrs. Senter came to tell me that they'd all been talking about the way to Bideford, and Sir Lionel said the road was so hilly, he wished we hadn't quite as many passengers in the car. Then the Tyndals asked if they might take me, because they'd made up their minds to go to Bideford too, and Sir Lionel answered that it would be a splendid way out of the difficulty if I were willing. The only trouble was, he didn't like to propose such a thing for fear of hurting my feelings; and the conversation ended, according to Mrs. Senter, by the Tyndals planning to suggest the idea to me as if it were their own, then letting the matter rest on my decision.

Mrs. Senter went on to explain that Sir Lionel didn't know she was repeating to me what had passed, but that she thought I would prefer to know. "I'm sure _I_ should if I were in your place," she purred sweetly. "When the Tyndals invite you, of course you must do exactly as you please; but don't you think for Mrs. Norton's sake, as she's such a coward, it would be best to keep the car as light as possible, since Sir Lionel fears the roads are really bad?"

"Oh, certainly," said I, trying so hard not to blush that I must have been purple. "I shall be delighted to go with Mr. and Mrs. Tyndal, in their lovely car, and it's very nice of them to ask me."

"You _won't_ tell Sir Lionel I interfered, will you?" she begged. "I should be quite afraid of him if he were angry."

"You needn't worry. He shan't hear anything from me," said I.

"And you do think I was right to let you know?" she implored.

"Of course," I assured her. But I was feeling hurt all the way up to my topmost hair and down to my tipmost toe. Not that I mind going with the Tyndals, but that Sir Lionel should pick _me_ out as the bit of superfluous ballast to cast to the winds! That was what made me feel cold and old, and alone in the world. I conscientiously told myself that I was the youngest of the party, and the right one to sacrifice; but nothing was much comfort until the thought jumped into my head that maybe Mrs. Senter had fibbed. I went to dinner buoyed up by that hope, but it died young; for the Tyndals _did_ invite me, in Sir Lionel's hearing; and when I said that I should be charmed--he smiled calmly. So far from making objections, I thought he looked quite pleased.

Poor me! I fancied in the castle ruins that he actually liked my society. But I forgot that I'd invited him to go with me. _I shan't forget again._ And _hang_ the glove!

Your poor, foolish, conceited, humiliated

Audrie.

XX

TELEGRAM FROM DICK BURDEN TO HIS AUNT

_Glen Lachlan, August 13th_, _8 o'clock A.M._

Senter, King Arthur's Castle, Tintagel, Cornwall:

Returning to-day. Hope find you still at Tintagel. Try and make Pendragon stay if he plans to leave. Find some excuse.

Dick.

XXI

TELEGRAM FROM MRS. SENTER TO HER NEPHEW

_Tintagel, August 13th_, _9.20 A.M._

R. Burden, Glen Lachlan, N. B.

Just starting for Bideford. Can make no excuse to delay, but have done better. If you arrive Tintagel to-night will find member of party most important to you still there. Better hurry. Will leave letter explaining all.

Senter.

XXII

LETTER LEFT BY MRS. SENTER AT KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE HOTEL, FOR HER NEPHEW DICK BURDEN

_August 13th_

Dear Dick: Your wire has just come as we are starting. I've telegraphed, and will leave a few words for you in pencil. Lucky you have a resourceful relative, and that Mrs. Norton's washing didn't come till late this morning! My resourcefulness enables me to change my plans for your benefit, or rather, to make them work together for your good, in the time most women take to change their minds; while the lateness of Mrs. N.'s washing and her mild obstinacy in determining to wait for it, against her brother's wishes, provide us with a few extra minutes.

Now it suddenly appears that Young Nick hasn't enough petrol to get on as far as--anywhere. That will give us more minutes. Brown Buddha, as your adored one calls him, has crawled humbly but swiftly off to obtain a new supply. Sir Lionel, already in a vile temper for reasons which I may have time to explain, is bursting with rage to which he is too proud to give a natural outlet. He looks ready to explode, not with bombs, but with dambs. I have never heard him say a single one, during the whole of our acquaintance, but his eyes are sending out a fiery cataract of them this minute. A good thing for me he doesn't know what I know, or the fire would be turned upon me, and I should wither like "She" in her second bath.

Quickly I'll tell you what I've done, and why Sir Lionel is wild; also how I've rearranged everything and everybody at the last minute, in order to satisfy you. What a precious darling aunt you have got, to be sure, and what a lot you do owe her!

For motives of my own, I planned to transplant your sweet Ellaline from our motor-car to the motor-car of others for the day. The "others" are George and Sallie Tyndal, about whose sudden, apropos appearance I wrote your mother only yesterday; but, of course, as you're leaving to-day you'll miss the news in that letter. I thought your anxiety for your parent's health would hardly be poignant enough to keep you in Scotland long, but I didn't suppose you'd be able to tear yourself away _quite_ so soon.

I don't doubt you wonder how it can be possible for me to have too much of dear E.'s society, but strange as that may seem, it can; and worse than that, I dislike Sir Lionel getting too much of it. I don't think it is good for him; and he's had enough of the commodity since we've been in Tintagel to produce, according to my point of view and yours, disastrous effects. I decided that drastic measures were necessary for both our sakes, and with me to decide is to act--when anything really important is at stake.

First I persuaded the Tyndals that it would be kindly to invite Miss Lethbridge to travel in their motor to Bideford, whither they also are bound. I said that Sir Lionel feared we would be rather a crowd for his car, as the roads are supposed to be bad. This flattered them, for their motor, which is somewhat more powerful than ours, is the one object for which they live at present. Besides, they were delighted at the chance of getting the girl to themselves, as they think they met her years ago in Italy, where it is alleged she has never been. Some school girl escapade, perhaps. You had better do a little catechising, later on. Meanwhile, the Tyndals yearn for the opportunity of pumping. Sir Lionel has quite fiercely prevented them from doing so, up to date. He looked ready to challenge poor George to a duel the other evening for merely suggesting that they might have met Miss Lethbridge in Venice.

To Sir L. I hinted that Ellaline was bored, now that you were gone, and that she would enjoy the change of travelling for a day with new people; that she had taken a fancy to the Tyndal boy; and I added that she had asked me privately whether I thought that Sir Lionel would object to her accepting, provided the Tyndals wanted her to go to Bideford. Naturally, when the invitation came, he did _not_ object. You'd have laughed if you could have seen her face when he smiled with apparent benevolent delight upon the suggestion. The sight would have repaid you for many a snub, my poor love-sick swain!

That was where matters stood till your telegram came, a few minutes ago. All I hoped for was, to get rid of the dear child for one long, happy day, and to estrange her a little (partly for your sake) from her solicitous guardian. But your wire set another bee humming in my motor-bonnet. I determined to do you a good turn if I could; so I flew up, before answering you, to have a talk with the Tyndals. They were starting a few minutes after us, by my advice, and hadn't come downstairs yet. Ellaline, too, was still in her room, sulking, no doubt, and hadn't said good-bye to Sir Lionel or any of us. I know that, because my room at this hotel has been close to hers--and to his, too; so whenever a word is murmured on a doorstep I hear. No word has been murmured this morning; and E. has had her breakfast sent into her bedroom.

To the Tyndals I said that word had arrived from you, and that in confidence I would tell them that you and Miss Lethbridge are as good as engaged. At least, that you had a private understanding which would be an engagement if Sir Lionel weren't a dog in the manger. He didn't want the girl himself, I explained, yet he didn't want to give her to anyone else--short of a millionaire. You, I went on to say, had wired that you would be back this evening, and Ellaline was dying to stay and see you. Sir Lionel didn't know you were coming, I confessed, and would be angry if he did; but if they--the Tyndals--could somehow misunderstand the arrangements made overnight, and in the confusion of their minds leave Miss Lethbridge behind, it would be a great favour to everyone concerned--except Sir Lionel.

The Tyndals, who think a lot of themselves because they have more money than brains, are annoyed with Sir L. because he snapped at them about Venice; so they were rather pleased at the idea of doing him a bad turn and at the same time advancing Love's Young Dream. When I assured them it would be easy to say that they understood Ellaline had changed her mind and was going with Sir Lionel, they agreed to slip off without her about half an hour after the flight of Apollo. That is the plan, as it stands, up to date. Sir Lionel and Mrs. Norton won't know till this evening at Bideford that E. isn't with the Tyndals; and then of course I shall get George and Sallie out of his bad graces as well as I can. Meanwhile you will find her at Tintagel, and can bring her on by rail. That will be delightful for you; and as Sir Lionel is old-fashioned in some of his notions, he may be more inclined to consent to an engagement between you after the sort of journey you and she will have together. So I think all interests will have been served.

I am writing in the big hall of the hotel, and Sir Lionel is walking up and down, glaring first out of one window, and then out of another, at the rain, which is beginning to come down in drops as large as half-crowns. I only wish _my_ half crowns, or even my shillings, were as plentiful! But perhaps they will be, some day before long--who knows? I do hope Ellaline won't take it into her head to appear at the last minute before we get off, and complicate things. Not that I won't be equal to disposing of her if she does! But no! here is Young Nick, very meek and soapy. He has got his petrol. Emily Norton reluctantly puts down a twenty-year-old volume of Blackwood which she has found in the hotel library. We are off. Good-bye--and good luck.

Gwen.

XXIII

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Tintagel_, _August 13th_

Dearest Lodestar: I can feel you drawing me across miles of land and sea, and if only I could travel on a telepathic pass I would start this minute, Ellaline or no Ellaline. Toward her and Sir Lionel I feel as Mercutio felt toward the Montagus and Capulets: "A plague on both your houses!" Nobody seems to care what becomes of me. Why should I care what becomes of them?

Everything is too horrid and too extraordinary to-day. I got into the wrong side of bed last night, and got out again on the wrong side this morning. It happened to be the only side there was, as the bed stands against the wall in an alcove, where it can't be pulled out; and nobody could expect me to bound like a kangaroo over the foot, could they? But there are times in life when every side of everything is wrong; and this is one of those times with me--has been since dinner last night, when Sir Lionel grinned with joy at the prospect of shunting me upon the Tyndal family for a day. (When you are friends with people they smile; when you are out with them, they grin.)

Well, this morning I thought I wouldn't hurry to get down. I felt, if Mrs. Senter beamed at me from under her becoming motor-hat at starting, I should do her a mischief, and if Emily smirked inoffensively I should throw Murray in her face. As for Sir Lionel--words fail to express what I believed myself capable of doing to him. I could have stolen his car, in which he appeared to grudge me a seat, and have gone off with it into space to be a motor pirate. Whence can I have inherited these vicious tendencies? Truly, I never supposed I had them before; but you don't know yourself until people have practically accused you of taking up too much room in their old automobiles, although you're perfectly aware that you are less than eighteen inches wide at your broadest part in your thickest frock, and you thought they liked your society and kept your gloves. In that mood I wouldn't have condescended to see Apollo off if he'd been twice a god, armed with an invitation for me from Juno to a house-party on Olympus.

No sooner, however, did I hear his dear familiar purr as he swept away from the door of the hotel (my balcony is a corner one, and I could just catch the well-known c-r-r-r) when I regretted intensely that I hadn't been _en evidence_, looking indifferent. Suddenly, I suffered pangs of apprehension lest my stopping in my room had seemed like (what it really was) a fit of the sulks; but it was past repentance-time. Apollo was gone, Mrs. Senter doubtless sitting by Sir Lionel's side as usual, and probably commenting wittily on my silly conduct.

The Tyndals told me last night that they meant to start at ten, so I went downstairs five minutes before, too late to have to wait about, too early to be called. I expected to find them in the hall, and when they weren't there, I strolled out to see if the motor had come to the door, thinking they might be watching the loading up of their luggage. As for mine, Apollo had taken it as usual, except a pretty little fitted handbag, small and wonderfully convenient, which Sir Lionel came across in a shop and bought for me (I mean for Ellaline) at Torquay. But there wasn't a Tyndal in sight, and not so much as the smell of a motor-car, so I wandered inside and asked the handsome landlady, whom I met near King Arthur's Round Table, whether she had seen the Tyndal automobile or its owners.

"Why," said she, "they went off about ten minutes ago."

"Went off--where?" I asked blankly.

"To Bideford, I think they were going," she replied.

"That can't be, for I was to have gone with them," said I.

"Indeed?" exclaimed the landlady, polite but puzzled. "I didn't know. I thought you had gone with your own party. I was surprised to meet you here just now. I'm afraid there must have been some misunderstanding, for certainly Mr. and Mrs. Tyndal and their young cousin have really gone, because they bade me good-bye here in the hall, and said they hoped to come back some day."

She looked at me pityingly, and I felt exactly like Robinson Crusoe before he knew there was going to be a Friday; but, like him, I kept a stiff upper lip. I am happy to say I even laughed. "Well, that's very funny," said I, as if being pigeon-holed by Sir Lionel and marooned by the Tyndals was the most amusing experience in the world, and I simply delighted in it. "Of course, somebody or other will count noses and miss me after a while. Then they'll have to come back and fetch me, I suppose."

"You could go on to Bideford by rail, if you liked," the landlady informed me gratuitously. "There is a train early this afternoon, and----"

"Oh, I think I'd better wait here," I said. "If they came back and found me gone, it would be too complicated."

She agreed; but she little guessed how much more complicated it would be to take a train for anywhere without any pennies. If I had money, I would go to _you_, and not to Bideford. At least, that is the way I feel now; but I suppose I wouldn't, for my obligations to Ellaline haven't snapped with the strain of the situation, although just at this moment they don't seem to matter. It's only deep down in my heart that I know they do matter.

There is my scrape, dearest of women, and mamma whom I would select if I were able to choose among all eligible mothers since Eve, up to date. The situation hasn't changed in the least, to the time of writing, except that it has lasted longer, and got frayed round the edges.

I was paid for, including food and lodging, until after breakfast. It is now half-past five o'clock P.M., pouring with rain, howling with wind, and not only has nobody come back to collect me, but nobody has telephoned or telegraphed. I have eaten, or pretended to eat, a luncheon, for which I have no money to pay. I refused tea, but was so kindly urged that I had to reconsider; and the buttered toast of servitude is at this moment sticking in my throat, lodged on the sharp edge of an unuttered sob. Your poor, forlorn little daughter! What is to become of her? Will she have to go to the place of unclaimed parcels? Or will she be sold as bankrupt stock? Or will she become a kitchen-maid or "tweeny" in King Arthur's Castle? But don't worry, darling. I won't be such a beast as to post this letter till something is settled, somehow, even if I have to rob the hotel till.

There is nothing to do except write, for I can't compose my mind to read; so I will continue recording my emotions, as French criminals do when condemned to death, or lovesick ladies when they have swallowed slow poison.

5.50.--Rain worse. Wind yelling imprecations. I sit in the hall, as I can't call my room my own. New people are arriving. They look Cook-ey, but are probably Countesses. I gaze at them haughtily, and try to appear prosperous. I hope they think my mother, the Duchess, is taking a nap in our magnificent suite upstairs, while I write a letter to my godfather, the Prince, to thank him for his birthday gift of a rope of pearls which reaches to my knees.

6.15.--The landlady has just been sympathizing with me. She says there is a night train to Bideford. I have poured cold water upon the night train to Bideford, and came near pouring some hot tears on the timetable she kindly brought me.

6.25.--People are going up to dress for dinner. They are God's creatures, but I do not love them.

6.40.--The head-waiter has just fluttered up to ask if I would like a smaller table for dinner. No table would be too small for my appetite. I said----

7.10.--Darling, Sir Lionel has come back for me, alone, dripping wet, and it was all a mistake, and he did want me, and he's furious with everybody in the world except me, to whom he is perfectly adorable. And I'm afraid I adore him. And we're starting at once, when we've had a sandwich and coffee--can't wait for dinner. Everything is _too_ nice. I'll explain as soon as I've time to write.

Your Radiant Transformation Scene,

A. B.

XXIV

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_The Luttrell Arms, Dunster_, _Aug. 18th_

Duck of the Universe: Five days since I wrote, and it seems five minutes. But I did telegraph--with my last shilling; and even that would be rightfully Ellaline's, if the labourer weren't worthy of his hire.

You see, after the letter I had from her in Torquay, when she wanted money to go to Scotland with her new friends, the McNamaras, I very reluctantly screwed my courage to the asking point, and got more out of Sir Lionel. If he weren't the most generous man in the world he would have privately dubbed me "Oliver Twist" by this time. Perhaps he has! But I trust not. Anyhow, I shall get on without more requests, I hope, until the next "allowance" day comes round; or until every pin is lost and every hairpin has dropped out.

Because in the telegram I was forced to be economical, and ran only to "All well. Love" ("much" scratched out as an extravagance), I must now go back to the moment of Sir Lionel's unexpected, almost miraculous, appearance at Tintagel.

There I was in the hall, scribbling dolefully about my symptoms. "Teuf, teuf, teuf!" heard outside, between screeches of wind. In bounces Sir Lionel, wet as a merman, dripping rivulets at every step, splashing, swashing in his boots, drops dripping from his eyelashes; glares around, looking ready to bite someone's head off without salt or sauce; sees me; brightens with a watery gleam; comes toward me, rather shy and stiff, yet evidently under the influence of--emotion of some sort. I didn't know whether to expect a scolding or a blessing, so waited speechless.

"What a brute you must think me," was his first remark. I drank it as a thirsty traveller lost on the Sahara would bolt a pint of dew.

"I didn't know what to think," I replied conservatively. "But you are wet, aren't you?"

"Am I?" he asked, mildly surprised. "I hadn't noticed. I suppose I am. It's raining."

"I should think it was," said I. And then we both laughed. It is the nicest thing, to laugh with Sir Lionel! Whatever he might have done against me, I forgave him all instantly.

"Never mind whether I'm wet or dry," he went on. "Whichever I am, it won't hurt me. The only thing that has hurt was thinking of you being here--abandoned. By Jove!--I've been in a murderous mood!"

"A good thing you weren't back in Bengal," said I, mildly.

He looked at me with a sharp look. "Who has been telling you tales about me in Bengal?"

"I sometimes read newspapers," I explained.

"Schoolgirls have no business with newspapers. But hang Bengal! I want to come to an understanding with you. Is it true or is it not that you wanted to go with the Tyndals in their motor to-day?"

"I wanted to, if you wanted me to."

"I didn't. I hated the idea. But, of course, if you----"

"_I_ didn't. I hated the idea. But I thought your motor was too full for such hilly country."

(Dearest, I longed to tell him who had said that _he_ had said, etc., etc.; but I'd promised; and one must keep one's promises even to Cats.)

"My dear child," Sir Lionel burst out, "little girls shouldn't do too much independent thinking. It's bad for their health and their guardians' tempers. If my motor had been too full for hilly country, you wouldn't have been the Jonah to cast into the sea. Nick would have been fed to the whales. But the idea was ridiculous--ridiculous!"

I was so happy, I didn't even want to defend myself. I understood most of the mystery now. I suppose it's a compliment to a girl if a woman of the world wants to get rid of her. Anyhow, I consoled myself for hours of misery by laying that flattering unction to my soul.

If I had liked, I could have unravelled the whole tangle for Sir Lionel's still puzzled mind; but if I had done so, I should have been returning cat-claw for cat-claw; so I pretended to be "lost in it, my lord"; and, indeed, it was true that I couldn't understand why the Tyndals had failed me.

Sir Lionel explained that, just before reaching Bideford the silencer worked loose, and so got upon Mrs. Norton's nerves that Apollo was stopped in the pouring rain for Young Nick to right the wrong. As if to prove the truth of the proverb, "the more haste the less speed," in his hurry poor Buddha burnt his hand. While he was wringing it like a distracted goblin, along came the Tyndal car, which had left Tintagel about half an hour after Apollo. To Sir Lionel's amazement, no me! Questions on his part; according to him, idiotic answers on the part of the Tyndals. _He_ had thought, of course, I was going with them. _They_ had thought that I'd changed my mind, and gone earlier with him. Everybody confused, apologetic, repeating the same silly excuses over and over, three or four times. Nobody showing the slightest sign of having a remnant of common sense.

"By Jove! I could have cheerfully executed the lot of them--all but the boy, who seemed to have some glimmerings of sanity," grumbled Sir Lionel. "He had wanted to run up and knock at your door, to make sure you really had gone; but somebody--he began to say who, when Mrs. Tyndal stepped on his foot--forbade him to do it."