“Gay!”
She jumped up. The music was stopping-just in time-just in time-just in time. For what had she been going to say? And why was it so dreadfully easy to say things to Algy? It scared her. She spoke a little breathlessly.
“Come along with me and meet Sylvia if you want to. She’ll be snapped up in a second.”
Sylvia looked surprised and pleased when Gay slipped a hand under her arm.
“Gay-darling! How did you get here?”
Gay’s other hand indicated the slightly abashed Mr. Somers.
“He brought me. He’s one of the kind hearts, and it was his scout deed for the day. His name is Algy Somers, and as a reward he would like very much to dance with you. Algy-Lady Colesborough. He knows Francis-a little.”
“I don’t think-” began Sylvia. Then she met Algy’s admiring gaze and wavered. “Mr. Brewster-and then I’m dancing with Mr. Wessex-Gardner-”
“I shouldn’t,” said Algy-“I really, really shouldn’t. I know seventeen women in London who are crippled for life because they were reckless enough to dance with him. He’s a confirmed toe-treader and ankle-kicker. He’s known at his club as the Bonesetter’s Friend. Brewster, this is Miss Gay Hardwicke, and she will be kind enough to give you the next dance if you ask her very nicely.” He gazed at Sylvia, offered her his arm, and when after a moment of indecision she took it, he bore her away in triumph, leaving behind him a darkly annoyed Mr. Brewster, and Gay Hardwicke, who smiled prettily and had a horrid little jabbing pain in her mind.
Cyril Brewster was a polite young man. He said, “May I have the pleasure?” and Gay said, “Yes,” and the music struck up again and they danced.
It was a very efficient performance on Mr. Brewster’s part, but it lacked thrill. There was plenty of swing in the music, but what is the good of swing in the music if there isn’t any swing in your partner? Gay caught a glimpse of Sylvia floating in Algy’s arms. Sylvia really did float-like a cloud, like a wave, like a leaf in the wind.
The crooner lifted up his voice and crooned:
“You’re mine this minute.
That’s all that’s in it and there’s no limit
To my ecstasy.”
Cyril Brewster said, in the voice which indicated that a remark has been repeated for the second time,
“Have you known Lady Colesborough for long?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Gay-“I was thinking about something else. What did you say?”
Mr. Brewster repeated his remark for the third time-patiently.
“I said, ‘Have you known Lady Colesborough for long?’ ”
“Twenty years,” said Gay, and then giggled because he looked as if he didn’t believe her. “She’s a cousin, you know, and we bit each other in the nursery-at least I did the biting and Sylvia did the kissing and making friends afterwards.”
“She must have been a lovely child,” said Cyril Brewster earnestly.
“Everyone says so. I expect that was why I bit.”
Cyril put his pince-nez straight. He did this constantly, but it never stayed put.
“I have only met her three times,” he said. “I think she is extremely beautiful.”
“Everyone thinks so,” said Gay firmly.
“It is unusual to find anyone with so many attractions. As a rule there is something lacking, but Lady Colesborough has everything. Of course, I do not know her well enough to speak of anything but externals. If it is possible to judge by those, her disposition should be as charming as her face.”
“She has a very amiable disposition,” said Gay.
Algy was perfectly right. Brewster was a most efficient bore, and, like all bores, there was no stopping him. He wanted to talk about Sylvia, and he intended to talk about Sylvia. He went on talking about Sylvia.
“The first time I met her was not really a meeting at all. She was walking with Mrs. Wessex-Gardner, and I bowed-to Mrs. Wessex-Gardner. And the second time she was also walking in the park-”
“With Mrs. Wessex-Gardner?”
“No-she was alone, so of course I couldn’t bow. But tonight Mrs. Wessex-Gardner very kindly asked me to join her party, and I was introduced to her. As you are her cousin, perhaps you will tell me a little more about her. Is she a widow?”
“Certainly not. She’s only been married for a year.”
“And her husband?”
“He is Sir Francis Colesborough, because his father made a lot of money in-well, I think it was timber-and gave away parks, and playgrounds, and things, so they made him a baronet. He bought a most lovely old place called Cole Lester. I believe he bought it because of the name being like his own, and of course it belongs to Francis now.”
“I see,” said Cyril. “And do they live there a good deal?”
“I don’t think so. Sylvia likes London. She was brought up in the country, you know, so she’s had enough of it. Francis seems to go away a lot on business.”
“Ah, yes,-I suppose he would.” He went on talking about Sylvia and asking questions. The crooner’s voice came through again:
“I’m feeling lazy.
My mind’s all hazy
Because I’m crazy
With my ecstasy.”
VI
It was rather a disappointing evening, because Algy when he came back would do nothing but talk about Sylvia too. Even in the taxi going home he was still saying how lovely she was. And of course it was all quite true. Sylvia was lovely, and that was all there was about it. And Gay wasn’t lovely at all, and no one would ever feel rewarded by winning a dance from her. She wasn’t a bad little thing, and she had her points of course-good hair, and-yes, really good eyes-and a good colour too, though nowadays when everyone could put it on that didn’t go for so much-and good teeth-oh, yes, really good teeth. Gay would stick up for Gay on all these points, but what was the good if Algy had no eyes for anyone but Sylvia?
She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass at the side of the taxi, and saw a plain little Gay with no colour at all and the sparkle gone from her eyes. They were very nearly home, and she was glad.
She turned, and saw Algy beside her like a shadow. The light that had showed her her own face was gone. They were in Hunt Street again and it was fast asleep, not a light in any one of the crowded houses, and the street-lamps few and dim and far between. Miss Hardwicke’s house was No. 36.
The taxi drew up. Algy paid it off and came up the steps with Gay. He said,
“I’ll walk home. I’m short of fresh air and exercise.”
Gay said nothing. She was looking in her bag for the latchkey. It was a black velvet bag with a cut steel handle, and it had belonged to Aunt Henrietta, who was an aunt of Aunt Agatha’s, and the velvet had lasted all those years and never worn out. It wasn’t even shabby. Other things didn’t wear so well-being friends, and-and liking people-
Gay found her key and shut the bag again, but she didn’t put the key in the lock. She just stood there, and Algy just stood there. The hooded porch was over them, and the street was dark. There was no sound at all-no sound. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Then Gay lifted the key and put it into the lock, and as she did that, Algy’s hand came past her shoulder and closed down over her hand and over the key, and Gay’s hand shook. Algy said, “Gay-” in an odd muffled voice, and Gay turned the key, pushed the door open, and ran in. She stood just inside with the hall light shining behind her, and said in a bright, clear voice, “Night, Algy. Thanks ever so much,” and sent the door to with a bang that brought Aunt Agatha out in a dressing-gown and a cap rather like a string shopping-bag to enquire what sort of hour of the night Gay thought it was, and what did she think she was going to be like next day.
Gay went on up to her room and shut the door with a sense of escape. She was rather out of breath, and her cheeks were as hot as if she had been scorching them over a fire, but her hand was cold, as cold as if it had been in ice-cold water. She was angrier with herself than she had ever been in all her life before. What did she think she was doing, turning hot and cold and going all dithery inside just because Algy Somers had grabbed her hand like that? Only he hadn’t grabbed it. His hand had come down upon hers and stayed there. Gay spoke very fiercely to herself. “You just get into bed as quick as you can and take a book and read till your eyes pop out. And don’t you dare to think about Algy again tonight-and there’s not so much of tonight left either.”