When all the strawberries had been eaten and all the iced coffee drunk, the Vicar solved a problem which had been exercising Mrs. Haswell's mind for some time. He said that much as he would like to engage on further Homeric struggles duty called him, and he must away, to pay a parochial visit on a sick parishioner. This left only nine potential tennis-players to be accommodated on two courts, and no one could doubt, as Gavin Plenmeller informed Kenelm Lindale under his breath that Miss Warrenby would honestly prefer to watch. He was quite right, but judging by his expression, had scarcely foreseen the immediate sequel to this act of self-abnegation. When polite opposition had been overborne, Mrs. Haswell said: “You and Gavin must keep one another company, then, dear. Rosamund, I'm going to take you into the house: it's far too hot for you to be sitting outside.”
“Good God!” uttered Gavin, for Kenelm's ear. “This is where I must think fast! None of you who pity me for my disability have the least conception of the horrors to which I am subjected. I will not bear that afflictive girl company. Quick, what does one do?”
“You can't do anything,” said Kenelm, rather amused.
“You betray your ignorance of my character.”
Kenelm laughed, but soon found that he had underrated Mr. Plenmeller's bland ingenuity, and had certainly been ignorant of the ruthlessness which led that gentleman to implicate him in his plan of escape. He now learned that owing to his own importunity Gavin was about to return to his home to fetch for his perusal the River Board correspondence; and he began to perceive why it was that Gavin was not popular with his neighbours.
“Oh, I'm sure you ought not to!” exclaimed Mavis, glancing reproachfully at Kenelm.
“But I am sure I ought. You could see the Squire was displeased with me. He felt I shouldn't have forgotten to return the papers, and I have a dreadful premonition that I shall go on forgetting.”
“You needn't fetch them for my sake,” interrupted Kenelm maliciously.
“No, for my own!” retorted Gavin, not in the least discomfited. “Something accomplished will earn me a night's repose. I rarely accomplish anything, and never suffer from insomnia, but Miss Warrenby has often told me what an excellent maxim that is.”
“Oh, yes, but all that way just for a few papers! Couldn't someone else go for you?” said Mavis. “I'm sure I'd love to, if you think I could find them.”
Kenelm, who guessed that Gavin's mocking references to his lameness masked his loathing of it, was not surprised that this well-meant piece of tactlessness met with the treatment he privately thought it deserved.
“Does it seem to you a long way to my house? I thought it was only half a mile. Or are you thinking that my short leg pains me? Do let me set your mind at rest! It doesn't. You have been misled by my ungainliness.”
He turned away, and went, with his uneven gait, to where his hostess was standing. Mavis said, sighing: “I often think it does hurt him, you know.”
“He has told you that it doesn't,” replied Kenelm, rather shortly.
She brought her eyes to bear on his face. “He's so plucky, isn't he? People don't realise what it must mean to him, or make allowances.”
Kenelm felt that he was being reproved for insensibility, and obeyed, with relief, a summons from Mrs. Haswell.
Chapter Three
By the time Gavin returned to The Cedars it was half-past six, and the party was beginning to break up. Mrs. Ainstable was the first to leave, driving home alone in her aged Austin, and very nearly running Gavin down as she came somewhat incautiously round the bend in the drive. She pulled up, calling out: “So sorry! Did I frighten you?”
“Yes, I gave myself up for dead” he replied, leaving the grass verge beside the shrubbery on which he had taken refuge, and approaching the car. “And me a cripple! How could you?”
“It's stupid to talk like that: you're not a cripple. You deserved to be frightened, anyway, for behaving so atrociously. You didn't take anyone in, you know. It was as plain as a pikestaff you didn't want to sit out with Mavis Warrenby. She is dull, of course. I can't think why very good people so often are. Why on earth didn't you pretend you had to go home early, and just leave?”
“That would have looked as if I were not enjoying the party.”
“Well, it would have been better than hatching up that quite incredible story about having to fetch a lot of unimportant papers for Bernard!” she said tartly.
“You wrong me. May I hand over to you the proofs of my integrity?” he said, drawing a long, fat envelope from the inner pocket of his coat, and giving it to her, with his impish smile. “Is the Squire still playing tennis?”
“Yes. It's no use my waiting for him. He's going home the other way, so that he can look at what's been done in the new plantation. So foolish of him! He'll only wear himself out to no purpose. How insufferably hot it is!”
“Is it? It doesn't seem so to me. Are you quite well, Mrs. Ainstable? Well enough to be driving alone?”
“Thank you, perfectly well! Is this your way of asking for a lift?”
“No, I should be afraid,” he retorted.
“Oh, don't be so silly!” she said, rather roughly putting the car into gear.
He watched her sweep through the gates on to the lane, and walked on to rejoin the rest of the party.
One of the sets had come to an end, and Delia Lindale, who had been playing in it, was taking leave of her hostess. Since it was past Rose-Veronica's bedtime, Mrs. Haswell made no attempt to detain her. Her husband waved to her from the other court, and she sped away through the gate into the public footpath.
“I ought to be going too,” said Abby.
“No, you oughtn't: I'm going to run you home,” said Charles.
“Oh, rot! I can easily walk.”
“You can do more: you can walk beautifully, but you aren't going to.”
She laughed. “You are an ass! Honestly, there's no need to get your car out just to run me that little distance.”
“Of course not, and I shouldn't dream of doing so. I'm doing it for Mr. Drybeck,” said Charles, with aplomb.
“Really, that is very kind of you, my dear boy,” said Mr. Drybeck. “I am far from despising such a welcome offer. A most enjoyable game, that last.”
“Well, if you're going to motor Abby and Mr. Drybeck home, you could give the Major a lift too,” suggested Mrs. Haswell. “You won't mind waiting till the other game finishes, will you? Mavis, now that I've got you both here, I want you and Mrs. Cliburn to help me over the prizes for the Whist Drive. I ought to get them on Monday, I think, but we never settled what we ought to spend on them. It won't take many minutes. Ah, I see the game has ended! Who won? You looked to be very evenly matched.”
“Yes, a good ding-dong game,” said the Squire, mopping his face and neck. “Midgeholme and I just managed to pull it off, but it was a near thing. I'm not as young as I was. Hallo, you back, Plenmeller? Thought you'd gone.”
“But could you have doubted that I should, sir? Your words struck home. I have fetched the correspondence which has for too long languished on my desk. I have no excuse: I didn't even find it interesting.”
The Squire stared at him under his bushy brows, and gave a grunt. “No need to have rushed off for it then and there. However, I'm obliged to you. Where is it?”
“Can it be that I have erred again? I gave the envelope into Mrs. Ainstable's keeping.”