Part 62

"You must," said he.

"I won't," said I. "Nobody can make me."

"Oh, can't they?" said he. "I can, then, and I mean to. If you refuse to do it, I shall believe you're in love with Sir Lionel yourself."

"I don't care what you believe," I flung at him. "There's no shame in saying I like Sir Lionel too well and respect him too much to have any hand in making him miserable all the rest of his life."

"Do you insinuate that marrying my aunt would make him miserable?" Dick wanted to know.

"I don't insinuate. I assert," said I. And by that time I was in such a temper, and my nerves had so gone to bits that I didn't know, and cared less, what I was saying. I went on and told Dick exactly what I thought of Mrs. Senter, and that for a loyal, true sort of man like Sir Lionel it would be better to die at once than have her for his wife--for that would be death, too, only slow and lingering. Dick was white with fury, but I hardly noticed then, for I was seeing red.

"If you call her deceitful, what are you?" he sputtered.

"I'm neither here nor there," said I.

"Certainly you won't be here long, or where Pendragon is," said he. "I wouldn't marry you now, if you'd have me. You're nothing more or less than an adventuress."

"And you're a blackmailer," I mentioned, because I'd gone back to primitive passions, like Eve's, or a Brittany fishwife's.

"That's a lie," he answered politely, "because blackmailers only threaten; I'm going to perform. It's all up with you."

"I don't care for myself," said I. But, as you know, that was only partly true.

Then for a minute Dick seemed to repent. "No good losing our tempers like this," he said. "Take back your insults to my aunt, who is the best pal I ever had--though that's not saying much--and speak a good word for her to Sir Lionel, whom she really loves, and I'll let you off."

"I'd have my tongue cut out first," I answered.

"Is that your last word?" he persisted.

"Yes," said I.

"Very well, then," said he, "you'll be sorrier for this than you ever were for anything in your life." And he stamped away, leaving me alone.

I flew up to my room, because I wasn't going to run the risk of his bringing Sir Lionel in and telling him everything before me. So here I am, and that's all; except that Emily has come to my door to say her brother wants to know if I can be ready to start in twenty minutes.

Newcastle, Night

We're back in our rooms at the County Hotel, and I am dazed with the mystery of what is going on. I was ready in twenty minutes; and all the automobiles that brought us yesterday were waiting to take us away again. When I came down, Mrs. Norton and Mrs. Senter were in our car; Sir Lionel, cool but polite, prepared to help me in, standing by. He has great control over his features, but I didn't think, if he had heard Dick's story, and intended to shed me at the nearest railway station (not to make a scandal at Bamborough), he could be looking as unmoved as that.

No Dick was in sight. Naturally, I didn't ask for him, but perhaps my eye moved wildly round, for Mrs. Senter read its question, and answered it in a voice like insufficiently sweetened lemonade:

"Your Dick, dear child, has had another urgent summons to his mother's side, and won't be with us to-day. His last words were that you would understand, so I suppose he explained more to you than to me. But you are privileged."

I could have boxed her ears, hard.

Emily went on, in her fussy way, to make things clear to my intellect by adding that our host had kindly sent Mr. Burden to the nearest railway station in his own fastest motor, as it seemed he had just time to catch a train leaving almost immediately.

I didn't know what to make of it all, and don't now. Whether a telegram from the invalid mother did really come in the nick of time to save me, like Abraham's ram that caught in the bushes at the last minute; or whether this sudden dash to Scotland is a deep-dyed plot; or whether he isn't going, really, but means to stop and spy on me disguised as a chauffeur or a performing bear--or what, I can't guess.

All I do know is that, so far, Sir Lionel's manner is unchanged. Perhaps Dick left a note with Mrs. Senter, which she is to put into Sir L.'s hand at an appropriate moment? He may seem altered at dinner, to which I must go down soon; or he may send for me and have it out during the evening. I'll add a line before we get off to-morrow morning.

September 10th. 8.45 A.M.

We're just going. He seems the same as ever. I'm lost in it! I'll post this downstairs. Please write at once to Graylees; for if I am sent away before, I'll ask to have letters forwarded to my own address.