Good luck to you--and I hope I'll never see your face again."With that he ran out in lover-like haste leaving the hall-door wide open. Mrs. Fyne had not found a word to say. She had been too much taken aback even to gasp freely. But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's arm just as she, too, was running out into the street--with the haste, I suppose, of despair and to keep I don't know what tragic tryst.
"You stopped her with your own hand, Mrs. Fyne," I said. "I presume she meant to get away. That girl is no comedian--if I am any judge.""Yes! I had to use some force to drag her in."Mrs. Fyne had no difficulty in stating the truth. "You see I was in the very act of letting myself out when these two appeared. So that, when that unpleasant young man ran off, I found myself alone with Flora. It was all I could do to hold her in the hall while Icalled to the servants to come and shut the door."As is my habit, or my weakness, or my gift, I don't know which, Ivisualized the story for myself. I really can't help it. And the vision of Mrs. Fyne dressed for a rather special afternoon function, engaged in wrestling with a wild-eyed, white-faced girl had a certain dramatic fascination.
"Really!" I murmured.
"Oh! There's no doubt that she struggled," said Mrs. Fyne. She compressed her lips for a moment and then added: "As to her being a comedian that's another question."Mrs. Fyne had returned to her attitude of folded arms. I saw before me the daughter of the refined poet accepting life whole with its unavoidable conditions of which one of the first is the instinct of self-preservation and the egoism of every living creature. "The fact remains nevertheless that you--yourself--have, in your own words, pulled her in," I insisted in a jocular tone, with a serious intention.
"What was one to do," exclaimed Mrs. Fyne with almost comic exasperation. "Are you reproaching me with being too impulsive?"And she went on telling me that she was not that in the least. One of the recommendations she always insisted on (to the girl-friends, I imagine) was to be on guard against impulse. Always! But I had not been there to see the face of Flora at the time. If I had it would be haunting me to this day. Nobody unless made of iron would have allowed a human being with a face like that to rush out alone into the streets.
"And doesn't it haunt you, Mrs. Fyne?" I asked.
"No, not now," she said implacably. "Perhaps if I had let her go it might have done . . . Don't conclude, though, that I think she was playing a comedy then, because after struggling at first she ended by remaining. She gave up very suddenly. She collapsed in our arms, mine and the maid's who came running up in response to my calls, and . . . ""And the door was then shut," I completed the phrase in my own way.
"Yes, the door was shut," Mrs. Fyne lowered and raised her head slowly.
I did not ask her for details. Of one thing I am certain, and that is that Mrs. Fyne did not go out to the musical function that afternoon. She was no doubt considerably annoyed at missing the privilege of hearing privately an interesting young pianist (a girl)who, since, had become one of the recognized performers. Mrs. Fyne did not dare leave her house. As to the feelings of little Fyne when he came home from the office, via his club, just half an hour before dinner, I have no information. But I venture to affirm that in the main they were kindly, though it is quite possible that in the first moment of surprise he had to keep down a swear-word or two.
The long and the short of it all is that next day the Fynes made up their minds to take into their confidence a certain wealthy old lady. With certain old ladies the passing years bring back a sort of mellowed youthfulness of feeling, an optimistic outlook, liking for novelty, readiness for experiment. The old lady was very much interested: "Do let me see the poor thing!" She was accordingly allowed to see Flora de Barral in Mrs. Fyne's drawing-room on a day when there was no one else there, and she preached to her with charming, sympathetic authority: "The only way to deal with our troubles, my dear child, is to forget them. You must forget yours.
It's very ******. Look at me. I always forget mine. At your age one ought to be cheerful."Later on when left alone with Mrs. Fyne she said to that lady: "Ido hope the child will manage to be cheerful. I can't have sad faces near me. At my age one needs cheerful companions."And in this hope she carried off Flora de Barral to Bournemouth for the winter months in the quality of reader and companion. She had said to her with kindly jocularity: "We shall have a good time together. I am not a grumpy old woman." But on their return to London she sought Mrs. Fyne at once. She had discovered that Flora was not naturally cheerful. When she made efforts to be it was still worse. The old lady couldn't stand the strain of that. And then, to have the whole thing out, she could not bear to have for a companion anyone who did not love her. She was certain that Flora did not love her. Why? She couldn't say. Moreover, she had caught the girl looking at her in a peculiar way at times. Oh no!--it was not an evil look--it was an unusual expression which one could not understand. And when one remembered that her father was in prison shut up together with a lot of criminals and so on--it made one uncomfortable. If the child had only tried to forget her troubles!
But she obviously was incapable or unwilling to do so. And that was somewhat perverse--wasn't it? Upon the whole, she thought it would be better perhaps -Mrs. Fyne assented hurriedly to the unspoken conclusion: "Oh certainly! Certainly," wondering to herself what was to be done with Flora next; but she was not very much surprised at the change in the old lady's view of Flora de Barral. She almost understood it.
