4 Books by Coningsby Dawson. Coningsby Dawson

the blurred silhouette of the taxi and faltered, thinking he might have a chance to hire it; then he saw that its shadowy occupants were climbing back into its deeper darkness. It seemed that Sir Tobias had been right; it had stopped at the wrong house.

      As he reached the corner where he turned, he glanced back. The taxi had not moved. Its occupants were again getting out--an officer and a girl. The girl was ringing the bell of the house that he had left, while, the officer was settling with the driver. As he joined her, the door opened, letting fall a shaft of light. There was a brief parley--evidently hurried explanations. Even at that distance he could recognize the indignant tones of Sir Tobias' angry voice. Then he heard the "Shish, Daddy!" from Terry. They entered. The door closed behind them. The taxi moved off in the opposite direction. Again there was silence--nothing but the fragrance of unseen flowers and the wistfulness of the cool, spring night.

      CHAPTER THE THIRD

      ALL SORTS OF KINGDOMS

      I

      Tabs had dressed himself with more than ordinary care. He was rather amused at his self-consciousness in having done so, and a little disdainful of it. Yet he knew that in the winning of a woman the strategy of clothes has its value; he had no intention of losing a trick by negligence. It was nine o'clock when he sat down to breakfast; within two hours he would be seeing Terry.

      It was a gay morning, lacquered with sunshine; bustling breezes made young leaves of trees in the little Square murmurous. Ever since he had wakened he had been listening to the gossiping chirp of congregated sparrows and the rolling boom of tumultuous traffic. At intervals across the upland of roofs there had drifted to him the far-blown chime of bells and the slower music of clocks striking. It was like an orchestra scraping its chairs and tuning up before crashing into the overture of the happier world.

      Lying beside his plate as he came down he saw a single letter. It was addressed to him in an unfamiliar feminine hand. He picked it up and examined it carefully with the air of a connoisseur. So long as a letter remains unopened, especially when it is to a bachelor from an unknown woman, it retains an atmosphere of adventure. Up to a point he resented the intrusion. This morning his thoughts should have been so utterly Terry's. And yet he was piqued by it.

      He slit the envelope. The letter-head was embossed with a crest quite unknown to any but the most modern heraldry. He read:--

      _Dear Lord Taborley:

      I have been given to understand that you are exceedingly anxious to make my acquaintance. If this is so, I shall be at home when you call to-morrow afternoon. Asking your lenience for this liberty, I remain,

      Yours very truly,

      Maisie P. Lockwood._

      "To-morrow afternoon! Written yesterday! That means the afternoon of to-day.--And why the _P_--Maisie _P._ Lockwood? Is that for Pollock, her first husband?--Unusual! A rather nave person!" Then his face went blank. "She must be a thought-reader! How the dickens did she guess that I wanted to make her acquaintance? I scarcely knew it myself at the time that she wrote this letter."

      Crushing the scented sheet in his hand, he tossed it into the empty grate. "My dear lady, if you can read minds so accurately at a distance, be assured of this: to-day I shall be too busy with Terry to have any time to spare on you."

      The door from the narrow hall partly opened. "May I come in?"

      At sound of her voice, he sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair. She made bold to look in at him. "Why, Tabs, you _are_ a late breakfaster. Daddy told me you were planning to see me at eleven; to save you the trouble, I hurried round."

      Like a flurry of March sunshine, Terry entered.

      II

      He scarcely knew how to greet her. How does one greet a girl whose permission he has yet to gain, whereas her father has already consented? Moreover, there was his last memory of her, at midnight dodging into the taxi to avoid him.

      She spared him the trouble of deciding by holding out her hand. "I know that you saw me. That's what I've come to talk about."

      Her smile as she said it was both embarrassed and frank. She looked like an honest youngster who had come voluntarily to confess and, if need be, to be spanked. Tabs noticed that her lower lip was tremulous and that she was whipping up her courage. His mind went back to days when she had really been a child and he a man--when he had bound up cut fingers for her, had taken her on fishing expeditions, had taught her to cast her first fly and, as a reward, before the nursery lights went out, had been allowed to see her snuggled safe in bed. Little Terry, she had been his tiny sister in those days whom he had loved with no thought of gain--just a small companion for whom he bought exciting presents wherever he voyaged across the world--a doll's house in China, a quirt in Mexico, a scarlet riding-saddle in Persia. It hurt him to see her afraid of him now--afraid of him because he was about to offer her the greatest of all presents. Was she afraid because he was too old for her?

      "You don't need to talk about it unless you like," he said kindly. "Whatever you do or have done is right."

      "That's not true." She wrung her hands. "Oh, Tabs, you make it so hard for me when you're generous. I haven't done right. I'm in a tangle. I don't know whether what I'll do in the future will be any better."

      They were still standing just as they had confronted each other when she had entered. Tabs glanced round the room at the used breakfast-table, Maisie's crumpled petition lying in the grate, the flood of sunlight and the tops of the heads of passers-by stealing across the pane above the stiff row of tulips. His eyes went back to the flower-face of this young girl as she stood before him, fashionably attired and battling to conceal the storm of her distress. The setting struck him as inadequate and unprivate. The hats which stole by above the row of tulips seemed to belong to spies. At any moment Ann might tap and request that she be allowed to clear the table. He believed that in the next half-hour his dream of the last five years was to be shattered; otherwise, if it had not been to spare him, why should Terry have paid him so unconventional a visit, at such an unconventional hour, when by every law of usage she should have been waiting for him to call on her?

      "How about upstairs?" he suggested. "In my study we shall be sure to be undisturbed."

      "No, Tabs, dear," and the little added word touched him strangely, "I've got to say at once what has to be said. It's like waiting at the dentist's--it's the waiting that's so wearing." Her face lit up with the ghost of a smile. "When you've faced the real pain, it's over in a second."

      She seated herself. Reluctantly he followed her example. But when she was seated, she found herself at a loss for words. She drew off her gloves, and sat there folding and refolding them. He waited for her to commence; the silence was unbroken, save for the laughter of children playing in the Square and the occasional tapping of footsteps on the pavement. He leant across the table and took her hand. "Terry, after all these years you're not afraid of me? You don't need to be. Remember what you've just said: it's the waiting that's so wearing; the real pain's over in a second. Get the real pain over; then we'll plan for the best."

      She looked up gratefully with eyes that were almost clear of trouble. "You're gentle--so different from other men. I could almost love you; I do love you. But not quite in the way---- You understand. I trust you more than any one in the world."

      "Then why----?"

      "Ah, why?" she echoed. "That's what I wish you could tell me. Why should I be able to offer more to--to some one else whom I trust less? So much less?"

      "But is that love, Terry? Isn't it infatuation? Could you keep on offering? Loving means marrying and marrying means being together without respite."

      "I know," she nodded wisely. "I know all that. I know it so well that I don't want to marry him or anybody--at least, not yet."

      "Then why----?"

      She took