CHAPTER XXVI

THE USUAL THING

Beatrice and the three men watched the passing of the Hedderwicks in

amused silence. When they had disappeared from view Billing said, "Well,

that's done ... and now, Miss Blair, I'm really going."

"Me, too," said Tony lightly. "I mean to have a shy for that

seven-thirty train."

"Then you're determined?" said Beatrice to both men. Billing nodded with

a smiling melancholy. Tony smiled more cheerfully. Though this interview

with Miss Arkwright in the afternoon had opened his eyes, he was not so

hard hit as the air-man: things had not had time to go so far.

"I'll just wait and see the machine start," he said. "Then ho! for the

station and prosaic London once more!"

"If you like," said Billing, "I'll take you back to Brooklands with me.

This is a two-seater. Unless you've a bad head for heights."

"I've fallen from too many to mind," said Tony ruefully. "My biggest

drop occurred this afternoon. Thanks very much. If you'll give me time

to collar a coat and a rug, I'm your man."

He ran off, leaving them chatting, but he was back in a very short time

bearing the necessary articles. "I bagged the first I could lay hands

on," he explained, getting into the overcoat. "I hope nobody----"

"Er--the coat happens to be mine," said Lionel pointedly. He liked Tony

very well, but could hardly stomach so unblushing a theft. "Sorry, old

chap, but I may want----"

Tony put both hands on his shoulders and gazed deep into his eyes.

"Little man," he said calmly, "listen to your wise old uncle. You

_won't_ want it. Take it from me that you _won't_ want it. I'll send it

back to-morrow. That will be in heaps of time."

"Time for what?" said the puzzled Lionel, smiling out of sheer sympathy

with the quizzical glance. "Oh, well--take it and be hanged to you!"

"Thanks," said Tony. Then he took off his cap and advanced to Beatrice.

"Good-by!" he said brightly. "Thanks a thousand times. I'll send you a

picture post-card announcing my safe arrival."

"And another to say when you've started work!" said Beatrice, smiling a

little mistily. "Don't forget that!"

"I start on Monday," he replied. "Don't know what it will be

yet--perhaps aeroplanes, perhaps politics, possibly poultry farming. But

it's going to materialize. Good-by, and--the very best!"

Billing, who had said good-by, was already in the pilot's seat. "Come

on!" he grunted mournfully, knowing he was bidding farewell to hopes

managerial as well as amatory. Tony climbed up behind him and tucked the

rug well round. "Let her go!" he said cheerfully. In obedience to the

order Lionel gave the propeller a swing, the engine started, and in a

few seconds the aeroplane began to run swiftly over the ground.

Beatrice drew close to Lionel and put her arm through his. It seemed

such a natural thing that he felt no surprise whatever, but only a

tumultuous happiness. Together they stood watching the machine as it

took the air and soared up in the magic of mechanical flight. They waved

a final adieu, and Tony flourished his cap.

"What would you say," shouted Billing when they had risen a hundred

feet, "if I let her drop suddenly?"

"Shouldn't have cared a week ago," shouted Tony in return; "you mustn't

now."

Billing grunted unintelligibly and gave his undivided attention to the

pilotage....

On the dull earth below Beatrice and Lionel were walking silently toward

the house. They were still arm in arm, but no word was spoken till they

had reached the shelter of the garden. Then Lionel stopped and took her

by the hands. "Ah, Beatrice!" he said.

"Not yet! Not yet!" she breathed, holding back and inflaming his passion

the more. "Wait a little! You mustn't say anything yet! Let us approach

it sensibly and in a rational balanced mood if we can." She broke from

him and laughed merrily. "Let us go in and have dinner first. Afterward,

we can talk in the garden."

"Tell me one thing," he said impetuously, "and I will be patient. Was

there ever a Lukos?"

"I will tell you two things," she said, laughing a little wildly. "You

ought to know them before you speak. With them you must be content for

an hour. There was no Lukos, and Miss Arkwright and I are the same

creature."

He had suspected it a hundred times, and a hundred times he had found

fresh evidence to discredit the suspicion. He knew it must be true,

though he could not grasp it yet. But he did not care. The fact that he

had been hoodwinked and made a plaything did not trouble him in the

least. All he was conscious of was that she was free. He laughed

quietly, now completely master of himself.

"That will do to go on with," he said; "now let us be sensible, as you

suggest, and have dinner."

The meal was a great success, despite the presence of Forbes, who

hovered about them like a benignant and sympathetic butterfly. Lionel

could hardly help smiling at him, remembering his recent slip and the

sudden recovery of speech. Forbes seemed entirely unconscious, handing

the plates with an air that was almost fatherly; and Lionel regretted

the obvious necessity of his dismissal in the roseate and

fast-approaching millennium. He was not impatient now, perfectly

disposed to laugh, eat, drink, be merry and take a fair share in the

conversation that sparkled between them. It was a talk as of old, when

they spoke freely and lightly of surface themes--the play, the latest

book, the morning's news--the clash of wit and opinion sounding bravely

through the room.

They smoked a cigarette each over their coffee, but still the talk was

of mundane matters, though neither was ill at ease. There is a telepathy

of souls that can send true messages beneath the cover of human speech.

At last Beatrice said, "Let us go into the garden," and he rose briskly

at the command. She allowed him to help her with her cloak, and then

said, laughing: "But Tony has your coat! What will you do?"

"I shan't need one," he replied. "It's a lovely night."

"You will," she insisted. "I can't have you catching cold. I'll tell

Forbes----"

"No, really," he protested, and threw open the door. "See, what a

glorious night it is! There's not the least need."

She did not press the point, for indeed it was a night for lovers. There

was not a breath of wind in the air, no sound of the works of man to mar

the stillness. From a distant field came the dim wheezing of a

corn-crake; nearer at hand a nightingale was beginning his epithalamic

welcome. A light dew was falling, but nothing to hurt a lover and his

lass, full of health and joyousness. The trees did not even sigh a

greeting: the solemn hush made them imagine that nature herself was

holding her breath in friendly expectation, waiting to hear the old tale

in the newest words, ready to break out into a chorus of free

congratulation. Already Lionel could hear the leaves whispering the gay

tidings, every blade of grass passing on the news, the grasshoppers and

glowworms waking their more sleepy fellows to tell them Beatrice was

here and had said she loved him, the birds waiting happily in their

nests till the first kiss sounded, and then tucking in their heads with

a jolly "So _that's_ all right at last!" He wanted to say "Thank you" to

the world of beasts and trees and flowers, and presently to the world of

men and women.

"Smoke, do!" said Beatrice, as he dragged a couple of the chairs upon

the gravel. "And don't interrupt more than you can help. I'll tell you

the essential facts as shortly as I can. Details we can talk over

later ... if there is to be a 'later.'"

He lighted a cigarette and was silent.

"Most of the tale I told you," she began abruptly, "was all lies. Some

was true. I was, for instance, well-off as regards money, when I was

left an orphan at sixteen. I was brought up by some hateful relations

and launched two years later. I got sick of society in a couple of

years, and cut it for pleasanter paths. I tried painting, but it bored

me. Then the stage--that part was true--and made a success....

"It wasn't enough. I wanted more interest, more reality in life. I

didn't find it--I haven't quite found it yet, but I think I'm on the way

to it. I wanted romance, too. I also wanted fun. Oh, yes! I wanted a

lot, there's no doubt about that.... Presently I determined I wanted a

husband....

"Does that sound odd from a girl's lips? Well, it's true, and I don't

care much about anything except truth just now. I set to work

deliberately to find some one I could love and who would love me. Are

you shocked?" she asked quickly.

"No," he said quietly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Go on."

"So I went husband-hunting. Not much need, you may say, for a girl on

the stage to do that. Of course I had plenty of men running after

me--some beasts, some good sorts. They didn't do. I wanted something

worth loving; a man who was strong, but human; a man with a sense of

humor and not too grown-up for romance--a kind of Admirable Crichton, in

fact. I didn't find him--at all events, not at first.

"This Turkish tale I made up for two reasons,--one, the purely

irresponsible childish enjoyment of a fairy tale--a lark, if you like!

Two, for a test. If my projected benedict could swallow that--believe

it, if possible, but at all events not refuse it because it looked so

silly--well, he would do on the romantic side. But he had to be a man

and a strong man, too; hence the invention of Lukos for a further test."

"A pretty hard one," he interposed.

"Pretty hard," she agreed, "but I meant to have the best. I tried the

tale on two or three men who seemed good sorts, during a period of three

months or so. They all failed for ... one reason or another. Then, by a

lucky chance, you came and succeeded. That's all."

"And Mizzi?"

"My faithful helper and plagiarist. She got bitten with the romantic

notion too, and set her lover a somewhat similar task. She invented the

burglary."

"Tony Wild?"

"Luck," she confessed. "I worked the broad outlines of the scheme, but

added to it as circumstances helped. The ambassador was an old friend,

and I used his presence here to give verisimilitude. He didn't know, of

course, and the day he caught you here I was afraid my schemes would be

blurted out by his calling me 'Miss Blair.' Luck helped me there."

"Hedderwick?"

"Sheer madness. I wanted a new adventure that night, and risked the

police court. I trusted to my wits to get us out if caught. If not,

well, 'the papers have been stolen!'"

"The dumb servants?"

"The gardener really is dumb. Forbes I gave five pounds a week to sham,

for safety's sake. I couldn't risk his talking in the village. I've only

had this house two months--I wanted it for perfect rest. I didn't come

down here every day--just when the mood took me. I used to motor up to

London at night, sometimes sending the car back empty (Forbes drove),

sometimes coming myself. When you were here I used to leave the car a

mile away and walk."

"Alone!"

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "I always carried the revolver for protection.

That was true in a sense. I was never interfered with, though I had some

trouble at times dodging Tony, Brown and Mr. Hedderwick. It was exciting

work."

He laughed, at her courage and his ignorance of her. She laughed gaily

in return.

"Is that enough?"

"Not quite," he demurred. "Why were you so angry with Mizzi that night

you caught us?"

She blushed.

"Ah! I am ashamed to tell you that. One day perhaps I shall ... not

now."

"I kissed her, you know," he said frankly. She sat up.

"When?"

"In London, the first night."

"Not since?"

"Never."

She sat down again.

"A proof of humanity," she smiled. "She's quite charming, I know. Is

that all?"

"Not yet. Wasn't it very hard to keep up the two roles?"

"Hard, but, not so very hard to a woman who has brains and is an

actress. It was interesting, and I enjoyed watching you."

"Tell me; suppose I had kissed Miss Arkwright. Would you have forgiven

me?"

The answer came quickly.

"Yes. But I'm so glad you didn't!"

"I, too," he confessed. And then, "I think that's all."

There was a complete silence for half a minute, while he struggled to

find words to say to this most lovely woman. He could find none. Each

knew the other's heart already, and words seemed vain and meaningless.

"Oh, Beatrice darling!" he said, almost with a sob, "don't keep me

waiting any longer! I want you! I want you!"

"Lal, dearest!" she said.

* * * * *

"And this is the end," she said presently with a little sigh. "We shall

just get married and settle into stodgy conventional people. It sounds

flat, doesn't it?"

"Why should it be the end? We can be happy and ourselves, too. We can

still have romance, adventures, though youth passes----"

She shook her head.

"No; we shall have happiness, but never the same as this. We have been

lucky and had the most splendid fun. But now, whether we wish it or not,

we shall have to grow up and try to find out what life is."

"Well, we'll bargain for one adventure a year, at least," he stipulated.

"Old or young, we'll have that!"

"We must earn it, Lal!" she said with a wise smile. "We've no right to

such happiness unless----"

"Make me your debtor now!" he said, clasping her more closely.

"Beatrice, darling, I love you! Do you realize it? I love you!"

She breathed one word, the most perfect pledge a man could hope for.

"Egotist!"

THE END

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