Part 12

"That's all right," he rejoined. "All I want is that you don't show any nervousness. Audiences only allow for nervousness on the first night of a piece. After that it fidgets them. I'm going to Lucille's for your dress. It's to be _a la jeune fille_. No shocks to your modesty. As for the rest, well, I daresay you'll introduce me to H.R.H. one of these days, eh?"

It was more a statement than a question, and De Freyne did not wait for an answer. When they met after the performance that night Alexandra, rather bewildered, told Maggy of her good fortune and De Freyne's curious remark. Maggy's delight was such that she jumped.

"Oh, my dear!" she cried. "I'll tell you now. First it was your furs and then it was me. We've done the trick between us. But come away from the theater or some one will hear me and then all the fat will be in the fire!"

She dragged Alexandra away from the stage-door and described her interview with De Freyne. Alexandra listened petrified.

"Maggy, how could you?" she protested piteously. "I--I can't let him go on thinking such a mad thing! I shall have to tell him it isn't true."

"You mustn't, mustn't, mustn't!" commanded Maggy vehemently. "Don't you see it's good for you? If you do he'll take away your song and put that Vandaleur man on your track. He's after little Graves now, but he let out to her that he tried to get to know you, only De Freyne told him he hadn't an earthly. Graves told me that herself. And you don't want to get me the sack, do you? After all, Lexie dear," she wheedled, "I made it a royalty, didn't I? I didn't think any one else good enough."

"I know you meant it for the best. But--but it's such a horrid idea and so--so far-fetched. De Freyne is sure to find out sooner or later."

"So long as it's later it's all right. You make the most of it while he's dreaming of meeting your prince and smoking a cigar with him in public, and p'raps getting the order of the Boot in diamonds to wear on his chest. It'll do him good to be disappointed."

Alexandra would not have been human had she refused to listen to such reasoning. She might have argued that De Freyne had recognized her talent. But she very well knew that was not the case. It was quite evident to her that had she been without talent or voice he would have commissioned Goss and Lander to write her a song on two notes all the same.

"I'll chance it, Maggy," she announced finally.

"That's right," said Maggy, greatly relieved, and then became abstracted. "You ought to have some diamonds to wear on the night," she added presently. "I wish I knew an I.D.B."

XXX

Diamonds for Alexandra had been no random idea of Maggy's. The question of how to provide them, or at least some jewelry for her to wear on the great occasion, continued to exercise her mind. She woke up full of it the next morning. If they were to be obtained, though only for one night, De Freyne would be wonderfully and awfully impressed. And Maggy was right. De Freyne's estimate of a girl was largely influenced by the intrinsic value of what she carried upon her person.

Woolf could be of no help in this matter. He very seldom cared to discuss Alexandra at all, and considering that he had not shown any inclination to supply Maggy herself with any jewelry worth mentioning he was hardly likely to do more for her friend.

Then a daring thought came into her head. Alexandra had told her that Lord Chalfont was back in London. Couldn't he do something? Ever a slave to the enthusiasm of the moment, she looked up Chalfont's address in the telephone index and then drove there. Her heart went into her mouth as she thought of what Woolf would say if he knew where she was bound for. But that did not stop her. She was one of Nature's gamblers, and the element of danger in the undertaking gave her a certain relish for it.

Chalfont was just going to sit down to his breakfast--it was only half-past nine--when she was announced. The earliness of her visit surprised him, but he was none the less pleased to see her. Many times during his absence he had recalled her pretty face, her extraordinary gift of honest frankness, and above all the sympathetic womanliness she had shown at their last meeting.

"I expect you think I'm mad coming to see you so early in the morning," she began.

"I'm glad to see you at any time," he said. "Have you had breakfast?"

"I snatched it. I wanted to catch you in, and I didn't want my Fred to know. He wouldn't like me to be here. Of course, I shan't tell him, because I've come in a good cause. Can you lend me some diamonds?"

He was a little staggered by the request. He would have been prepared to swear that Maggy was not of the grasping sort, and yet here she was, admittedly against the regulations, blandly asking him for diamonds at half-past nine in the morning. He laughed.

"Look here, I haven't had breakfast yet. It's ready. Suppose you have it with me and tell me why you want them."

"May I? I should love it."

He rang the bell, and his man quickly laid another place at the table.

"Sole, omelette, kidneys?" inquired Chalfont. "You need not wait, Mitchell."

"Omelette, please," said Maggy, taking the seat he offered her before the tea and coffee equipage. "Coffee for you? And sugar?"

"Thanks."

He came back from the sideboard where he had gone to the electrically-heated stand, smiled as he served her, and took the cup she handed him.

"Do you know," he said, taking his seat, "I seem to have the feeling that we've breakfasted before."

"So have I," she rejoined. "I like it."

"Your hat spoils the illusion, though."

"How?"

"Of a woman in the house."

She unpinned it and tossed it on to a chair. The reluctance that had made her retain it that day so many months ago when she had lunched for the first time with Woolf was quite absent now.

"Well, what about the diamonds?" asked Chalfont.

"They're not for me. I want them for Lexie. But it must be a secret. She'd shake me if she knew. She's back again at the Pall Mall now."

"I wanted to ask you about her. What is she doing there?"

"I'll tell you all from the beginning," said Maggy. "This omelette's splendid. It was through her legacy. The furs and the dresses poor Mrs. Lambert left her."

Chalfont nodded.

"Well, Lexie had a hard time for weeks. She couldn't get an engagement anywhere. So when the furs came she togged herself out in them and went and saw De Freyne. He took her on again because he thought she'd got rich quick, and that there was a man in it. He was awfully puzzled. Instead of asking her he tried to pump me, and I found myself telling stories." Her face screwed up funnily. "Oh, I let him think! He fancies it's a royalty--a prince--who's running Lexie, and he's given her a part and a song on the strength of it. It goes in three days from now. It's an awfully big thing for her. I've persuaded her not to split--not to let on that her prince is all a fairy story. As I put it to her: she can't come to much harm with an _imaginary_ man. Now, on the night she'll look so bare."

"Bare?" echoed Chalfont.

"Bare of jewelry, I mean."

"Oh, I see!"

"Her dress is white and pink and turquoise, a duck of a thing. But she won't have a single ornament to wear; so if De Freyne is to go on believing what I told him about the prince she ought to have some. Diamonds for choice. It doesn't matter about afterwards. He'll have seen them once and think she's put them away for safety. Now that's where you can help. If you'll lend them I'll make her wear them. You _have_ got some diamonds, haven't you?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes, in the bank. Of course I'll lend you some," said Chalfont readily. "I'll telephone through if you like and tell the bank to send them along. How will that do?"

"Splendid! That is good of you."

"Not at all. I'm very glad to be able to help Miss Hersey. Besides, I wouldn't for worlds spoil the practical joke you've played on De Freyne." He laughed. "It's one of the best things I ever heard of."

"And you won't let on to Lexie?"

"Not a word. It shall be our secret."

"I _knew_ I could count on you," said Maggy confidently.

Chalfont looked at his watch. It was ten now, and the bank would be open, so he went to the telephone and gave the necessary instructions.

"Where have you been all this while?" Maggy asked him when he came back to his seat. "I wondered whether you would take my advice and plump for some wild place."

"As it happens it's just as well I didn't. You wouldn't be pouring out coffee for me if I had gone to the Rockies or Central Africa," he smiled. "I went for a commonplace cruise to Madeira and back instead."

"I'm glad you didn't, now.... Do you feel better--about things?"

He knew she was thinking of Mrs. Lambert, and liked her all the better for her indefiniteness. It showed delicacy.

"I think so," he answered. "I have often recalled something you said when we stood at the window of the little house in Albert Place: 'Life goes on,' were the words. I'm going on with mine. I'm trying to make the best of it."

"I like to hear that. Love isn't meant to mope over. It's the sort of thing to remember with praise and thanksgiving when it's gone. When the loved one's gone, I mean. When you come to think of it love's a curious thing. It's like a very sharp two-edged sword. You handle it so carelessly that it gives you scratches and cuts and wounds that are so deep that even when they heal they throb for years afterwards. I wonder how I should feel--if my love stopped. I think my life would stop too. I shouldn't be brave enough to go on with things.... That doesn't fit in very well with what I said just now about not moping, does it?"

Chalfont answered her with a question of his own.

"What is love like to you?"

"To me? A burning, fiery furnace. All great waves beating on me and smashing me about."

"Isn't that passion?"

"I don't know. If it is it's like that stuff everybody's talking about--radium. It gives off heat and loses none." She remained lost in thought for a while. "Perhaps I should feel different if I were--married.... I dream of it sometimes."

She was dreaming then. Chalfont saw it in her eyes. Her artlessness seemed a wonderful thing to him.

"The odd thing is," she went on, "when I'm imagining that I forget all about the man. It's like having a sort of marriage service all to yourself."

"Tell me."

"Oh, it's silly.... I think of it to make me go to sleep instead of counting silly sheep. It makes me float off as if I were on a lovely cloud. First I hear the church bells ringing--quite loud, pealing; and my heart goes thumpetty-thump because I'm going to be married, which I shall never be in my life. It seems so important and grand. And then I dress. That doesn't interest me very much; but I like the look of my face through the white veil. It's misty, like a summer morning.... Then I'm in church--a great church, perhaps a cathedral, and as I go up the aisle it's as if God is playing the organ, and I'm walking on all His stars."

There was quite a wonderful look in her beautiful face. She seemed to have forgotten Chalfont. He kept quite still waiting for her to go on.

"And then the service begins. I read it once. Parts of it I shall never forget. In the church there are stacks of white flowers and lilies. It's all so quiet and awful--only the clergyman's voice.... I feel choking and I can't see because my eyes are full of tears.... There _must_ be sacred love. I feel it all through me.... And when it's over I'm crying. Sometimes if I'm not asleep I go on with the honeymoon. I see fields and blue sky and a homey-looking house--soft red brick--with a green lawn and cedar trees on it. Their branches stretch out to me like loving arms. I see flowers everywhere. I think it's a sort of farm, because there are cows and wondering-eyed calves with soft slobbery noses and curly, wet, rough tongues; and lambs with baby faces to make pets of; and clucking chickens and stupid broody hens. I'd be so kind to them...." She drew a long breath. The dream was broken. "Fred would say I'm dotty," she finished apologetically.

"Do you know," said Chalfont, "your thoughts are like dainty butterflies."

"There's a maggot in my brain, I expect," was her dry rejoinder, dispelling her romantic mood.

Mitchell came in to say that a messenger had arrived from the bank. Chalfont excused himself and left the room. A minute or two later he came back and took Maggy into another room. On one of its tables stood two mahogany boxes. Unlocking them he lifted the lids and moved aside for her to see.

"I think you'll find what you want here," he said.

The top tray of one of the boxes was studded with fine rings; the other held necklaces and bracelets--diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls. Underneath, when he removed the trays, Maggy's eyes opened wide at a magnificent tiara and other gemmed ornaments.

"Do they _all_ belong to you?" she gasped.

"Yes, in a sense. They were my mother's. They have belonged to many a Lady Chalfont in the past."

"Then if you marry they will belong to your wife?"

"If I marry."

A mischievous look came into Maggy's face.

"I don't suppose the future Lady Chalfont would like to see Miss Maggy Delamere taking her pick," she said. She became serious again. "I shan't sleep comfortably while I have them."

"I shall," smiled Chalfont. "Will you choose what you want?"

Maggy made a discreet choice, avoiding the tiara and the more splendid objects much as she would have liked to see them on Alexandra. Chalfont put the jewels into a smaller case for her. When he had done that he handed her a little pendant, a dainty thing of small diamonds with a ruby center.

"How do you like that?" he asked.

"It's sweet," said Maggy, holding it up for inspection.

"I would like you to keep it."

"I would like to keep it, too. But"--she handed it back--"I can't take it."

"My dear child, why not? It's only a little thing."

She shook her head.

"Fred wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like my coming here either. I did it because it was for somebody else. Thank you ever so much though. I do think you're kind." She gave his hand a hearty grip.

Chalfont saw her to the door.

"Lexie appears on Thursday night. Don't forget. Come and clap," were her farewell words.

She hailed a passing taxi. Chalfont helped her in. As it drove off she waved to him, smiling. To Chalfont it seemed that her smile lit the street.

XXXI

The transfer of the borrowed diamonds to Alexandra was a troublesome job. For once Maggy was reticent. In effect she said, "Ask no questions and you will be told no lies." Hers was the stronger will and in the end it prevailed. Alexandra wore them and De Freyne saw them. His shrewd eyes did not mistake them for stage jewelry. He saw they were real and was rather flabbergasted by their value. Maggy hoped and prayed he would not interrogate her again and that he would refrain from putting awkward questions to Alexandra. He did neither. He was much too satisfied with Alexandra's opulent appearance to ask questions. Moreover, he thought he could have provided answers to them himself.

Alexandra had had her baptism of stage-fright on tour. Curiously enough, when it came to walking into the limelight of the stage of the Pall Mall she was hardly nervous at all. She did not know it, but the loss of her old enthusiasm for the stage made her indifferent. Her sensations were deadened. De Freyne noticed her calmness and put it down to self-confidence, the same confidence that had procured her the attentions of her august "friend."

She did not leap into fame that night. She attracted notice. The audience thought her pretty and dainty. They found her refinement rather in the nature of a _sorbet_ between coarser fare. They were not quite sure that they appreciated her air of unconcern but it impressed them. So did her diamonds.

De Freyne was very pleased with her and himself as well. A good many of his friends, several newspaper critics, and others who had a financial interest in the Pall Mall, felicitated him in the foyer on his discernment in recognizing talent among the members of his chorus and incidentally from among the choruses of lesser managers upon whose folds he and his emissaries were always watching and making raids. He went round to the wings to congratulate Alexandra.

"I've only one fault to find," he said. "You coughed twice."

"I've had a cold for some time," was her excuse.

"You ought to take something. See a doctor."

"I will, if it doesn't get better."

"That's right."

Alexandra had on the white wrap which all ladies of the company were expected to wear over their costumes when not on the stage. He drew it slightly aside, exposing her neck.

"Damn fine diamonds, those, my dear. They ought to keep colds away."

He nodded amiably and moved off. Maggy, minus her wrap, rushing toward Alexandra, collided with him.

"Where's your dust-cloak?" he demanded.

"Oh, who can think of dust-cloaks when they're excited!" she exclaimed, and flung her arms round Alexandra. "You _were_ a go, Lexie!"

"That's the third time this week I've seen you without it," said De Freyne testily.

"One and six more for the share-holders. Oh, don't grumble, Mr. De Freyne, or else I shall kiss you, too. I don't know what I'm doing!"

She put her arm in Alexandra's and dragged her off to her dressing-room. De Freyne's eyes followed the former.

"Deep little devil, that," he observed to his stage-manager, who had been looking on. "Clever too."

"They're all devils," rejoined that experienced person, wearily. "But it's a change when they're clever. Talking of cleverness, her friend's worth watching. She's very raw material, but--"

"You mean young Delamere? Clever?"

"Clever as paint!"

XXXII

Maggy had a pleasant surprise in store for Woolf. She meant to spring it on him that night after supper; but before the opportunity arose for doing so she herself was to suffer anything but a pleasant one from him.

Although he was not in the habit of lavishing valuable presents on her she spent a good deal of her pocket money on him. He was not always grateful for these little attentions. He regarded her gifts as superfluous expressions of affection, especially as he paid for both. At one time and another she had given him a gold cigarette-case, pocket-books, silver pencils, photograph frames, smoking requisites. On one occasion, to his amusement, she had presented him with a crocheted pajama bag with his initials carried out in the design. This labor of love was the product of her period of convalescence.

But now, perhaps to clear her conscience of her innocent traffic with Chalfont, she had launched with extravagance on his account. It took the form of the gift of a diamond ring. She had paid for it with all her savings, and she hoped it was a good stone, because Woolf had the trait which the proverb warns us against: he liked to look a gift-horse in the mouth. She was on the point of making her presentation when he said:

"By the way, you're going to be a grass-widow for three weeks."

"Oh, Fred!" she exclaimed, her face falling.

"I've got to go abroad."

"Where?"

"South of France."

"When?"

"To-morrow."

That he should leave her at all was utterly unexpected: the immediateness of his departure was so overwhelming. She sat for a while in startled silence. Suddenly she got up and threw her arms round him.

"Oh, Fred, take me with you," she coaxed. "It's summer there, isn't it? I've never been abroad."

Woolf avoided her eyes.

"And I've not been well. It would do me good. I'd _love_ to travel with you, Fred. I'd have some new trunks with your initials on them, and I'd look so married and good. Really!"

"Not possible, my dear," said Woolf. "De Freyne wouldn't let you off."

"Yes, he would. He did before. You arranged that, so you can again."

"I'll take you abroad some day," he temporized. "I really can't this time, Maggy. I shall be traveling from place to place. I've arranged dates with a man, and I can't put him off. It's business. Don't plague me about it."

She saw it was no use arguing with him.

"I suppose I may write? What are the places?" she inquired disconsolately.

"Nice, Mentone, Cannes. Nice to start with at any rate. I'm not quite sure of my movements, but I'll let you know. You'd better address me Poste Restante."

"Honeymoon places!" There was a note of longing in her voice. "Well, I suppose I've had mine." She thought of the ring, forgot her chagrin and went on mischievously: "As you're going on your honeymoon I may as well give you your wedding present. Here it is."

She put it in his hand and hung back to watch the effect it should have on him. He looked pleased, but to her surprise seemed reluctant to accept it. She broke in on his muttered excuses.

"Tommy rot! I saw by your face that you liked it. Hold out your finger." She kissed the ring and also kissed his finger. "How does it go? ... With this ring I thee wed, with this body I thee worship.... There now. It's on. We're as good as--no, worse than married! Kiss me, you dear King. I don't mind your going so very much so long as you'll be glad to come back." Her lips quivered. "We've never been parted before."

"What's three weeks?" said Woolf lightly.

"I shall be a gray-haired old woman by the time you come back."

"Good Heavens! You're crying!"

"No, I'm not," she denied, hiding her face.

"Silly Maggy." He took her in his arms. "Cry afterwards. I'm not gone yet."

XXXIII

"I've brought them back."

Maggy had come to restore the borrowed jewels to Chalfont. It was late afternoon of the following day. She was dressed in gray with touches of black, and her face wore a subdued expression. Woolf had left for the Continent by the morning boat train.

"You were a brick to lend them," she proceeded. "Didn't you think Lexie was awfully good?"

"Very good indeed," he said.

"She isn't a bit excited. Funny, isn't it? She used to be so keen once. Now I don't think she'd mind a bit if she left the stage."

"Would you?"

"I? I can't imagine myself anywhere else. This time twenty years, if Maggy Delamere's still alive, she'll be capering about in the chorus somewhere, I expect. I hope I shall be dead though," she added pessimistically.

"What is the matter with you to-day?" asked Chalfont.

"Blue devils. Mr. Woolf's away. He won't be back for three weeks. He's on his honeymoon."

Chalfont stared at her. For a moment he thought she was speaking seriously. He could not understand her calm acceptance of such a fact. Then Maggy laughed.

"He's gone to honeymoon places, I mean. On business. He couldn't take me." She changed the subject quickly. "Have you ever been to see Lexie?"

"No," he replied. "I wasn't sure she would like me to."

"Perhaps she wouldn't. It's not much of a place where she lives."

"But I want you to give her a message, if you will."

"Of course. What is it?"

"An invitation. It's for you too, if you will accept it. But perhaps you've made arrangements already--for Christmas, I mean."

Maggy shook her head. Her Christmas would have to be spent alone in her flat. It did not occur to her that Chalfont was making her an alternative proposition.

"In that case I shall be very glad if you and Miss Hersey will spend it with me at Purton Towers."

Maggy started. Lexie and she and he all together at Christmas time! At Purton Towers!

"Is that your country-house?" she faltered.

"Yes. You'll come? We should be rather quiet because--"

"Because of poor Mrs. Lambert," she interjected with quick understanding. "Was--was she there with you last year?"

"No, she would never come."

Maggy was thinking.