Phyllis of Philistia [65]
look at my wife's toilet: it is bridal, and yet we have been married three years."
"Quite so; and that toilet means that you are the luckiest fellow in the world," said Mr. Ayrton.
"I admit the interpretation," said her husband. "I told the hansom to wait for me. He is at the door now. You have had no opera to-night, my dear?"
"You would not expect me to go alone? Phyllis was dining at the Earlscourts'," said the wife.
"You are the soul of discretion, my beloved," said the husband. "Is your stock of phrases equal to a suggestion as to what instrument is the soul of a woman, Ayrton?" he added. "Her heart is a barometer, her toilet a thermometer, and her soul----"
"The soul of a woman is not an instrument, but a flower--a lily," said Mr. Ayrton.
"And my wife wears her soul upon her sleeve," said Mr. Linton, touching the design on the lace that fell from her shoulders.
"But not for daws to peck at--that is the heart," laughed Mr. Ayrton. "Talking of woman's soul, how is Lady Earlscourt?" he added, to his daughter.
"I was so sorry that I was at that stupid dinner," said Phyllis. "I might have enjoyed the music of 'Romeo and Juliet.' But I had engaged myself to Lady Earlscourt a fortnight ago."
"You did not see Lord Earlscourt, at any rate," said her father.
"No; he left us in the evening for Southampton," said Phyllis.
"And, curiously enough, I dined with him at the club," said her father. "Yes, he came in with Herbert Courtland at half-past seven; he had met Courtland and persuaded him to join him in his cruise to Norway. They dined at my table, and by the time we had finished Courtland's man had arrived with his bag. He had sent the man a message from the club to pack. They left by the eight-forty train, and I expect they are well under way by this time."
"That's quite too bad of Courtland," said Mr. Linton. "I wanted to have a talk with him--a rather serious talk."
Ella had listened to Mr. Ayrton's account of that little dinner party at the club with white cheeks--a moment before they had been red--and with her lips tightly closed. Her hands were clenched until the tips of the nails were biting into each of her palms, before he had come to the end of his story--a story of one incident. But when her husband had spoken her hands relaxed. The blaze that had come to her eyes for a second went out without a flicker.
"A serious talk?" she murmured.
"A serious talk--about the mine," replied her husband.
"About the mine," she repeated, and a moment after burst into a laugh that was almost startling in its insincerity. "It is so amusing, this chapter of cross-purposes," she cried. "What a sight it has been! a night of thrilling surprises to all of us! I miss Phyllis by half an hour and my husband misses me by less than half an hour. He comes at express speed from Paris to have a talk, a serious talk, with Mr. Courtland about the mine, and while he is driving from Victoria, Mr. Courtland is driving to the same station with Lord Earlscourt!"
"What a series of fatalities!" said Mr. Ayrton. "But what seemed to me most amusing was the persuasiveness of Earlscourt. He has only to speak half a dozen words to Courtland, and off he goes to Norway at a moment's notice with probably the most uncongenial boat's load that Courtland ever sailed with, and he must have done a good deal in that way in New Guinea waters. Now, why should Courtland take such a turn?"
"Ah, why, indeed!" cried Mrs. Linton. "Yes, that is, as you say, the most amusing part of the whole evening of cross-purposes. Why should he run away just at this time--to-night--to-night?"
"What is there particular about to-night that Courtland's running away should seem doubly erratic?" asked Mr. Linton, after a little pause. He had his eyes fixed coldly upon his wife's face.
She turned to him and laughed quite merrily.
"What is there particular about to-night?" she repeated. "Why, have you not arrived from Paris to-night to have that serious talk with him about the mine? Doesn't it seem to you doubly provoking that he didn't
"Quite so; and that toilet means that you are the luckiest fellow in the world," said Mr. Ayrton.
"I admit the interpretation," said her husband. "I told the hansom to wait for me. He is at the door now. You have had no opera to-night, my dear?"
"You would not expect me to go alone? Phyllis was dining at the Earlscourts'," said the wife.
"You are the soul of discretion, my beloved," said the husband. "Is your stock of phrases equal to a suggestion as to what instrument is the soul of a woman, Ayrton?" he added. "Her heart is a barometer, her toilet a thermometer, and her soul----"
"The soul of a woman is not an instrument, but a flower--a lily," said Mr. Ayrton.
"And my wife wears her soul upon her sleeve," said Mr. Linton, touching the design on the lace that fell from her shoulders.
"But not for daws to peck at--that is the heart," laughed Mr. Ayrton. "Talking of woman's soul, how is Lady Earlscourt?" he added, to his daughter.
"I was so sorry that I was at that stupid dinner," said Phyllis. "I might have enjoyed the music of 'Romeo and Juliet.' But I had engaged myself to Lady Earlscourt a fortnight ago."
"You did not see Lord Earlscourt, at any rate," said her father.
"No; he left us in the evening for Southampton," said Phyllis.
"And, curiously enough, I dined with him at the club," said her father. "Yes, he came in with Herbert Courtland at half-past seven; he had met Courtland and persuaded him to join him in his cruise to Norway. They dined at my table, and by the time we had finished Courtland's man had arrived with his bag. He had sent the man a message from the club to pack. They left by the eight-forty train, and I expect they are well under way by this time."
"That's quite too bad of Courtland," said Mr. Linton. "I wanted to have a talk with him--a rather serious talk."
Ella had listened to Mr. Ayrton's account of that little dinner party at the club with white cheeks--a moment before they had been red--and with her lips tightly closed. Her hands were clenched until the tips of the nails were biting into each of her palms, before he had come to the end of his story--a story of one incident. But when her husband had spoken her hands relaxed. The blaze that had come to her eyes for a second went out without a flicker.
"A serious talk?" she murmured.
"A serious talk--about the mine," replied her husband.
"About the mine," she repeated, and a moment after burst into a laugh that was almost startling in its insincerity. "It is so amusing, this chapter of cross-purposes," she cried. "What a sight it has been! a night of thrilling surprises to all of us! I miss Phyllis by half an hour and my husband misses me by less than half an hour. He comes at express speed from Paris to have a talk, a serious talk, with Mr. Courtland about the mine, and while he is driving from Victoria, Mr. Courtland is driving to the same station with Lord Earlscourt!"
"What a series of fatalities!" said Mr. Ayrton. "But what seemed to me most amusing was the persuasiveness of Earlscourt. He has only to speak half a dozen words to Courtland, and off he goes to Norway at a moment's notice with probably the most uncongenial boat's load that Courtland ever sailed with, and he must have done a good deal in that way in New Guinea waters. Now, why should Courtland take such a turn?"
"Ah, why, indeed!" cried Mrs. Linton. "Yes, that is, as you say, the most amusing part of the whole evening of cross-purposes. Why should he run away just at this time--to-night--to-night?"
"What is there particular about to-night that Courtland's running away should seem doubly erratic?" asked Mr. Linton, after a little pause. He had his eyes fixed coldly upon his wife's face.
She turned to him and laughed quite merrily.
"What is there particular about to-night?" she repeated. "Why, have you not arrived from Paris to-night to have that serious talk with him about the mine? Doesn't it seem to you doubly provoking that he didn't