The Intrusions of Peggy. Anthony Hope

no, I—I don't say——'

      'It's you that's mean! I never knew you do such a thing before. You've quite spoilt my pleasure this evening.' She looked at him sternly. 'I don't like you at all to-night. I'm very grievously disappointed in you.'

      Temptation raged in Tommy Trent; he held it down manfully.

      'Well, I don't suppose he'll give the dinner, anyhow,' he remarked morosely.

      'No, because he can't; but you'll have made him feel miserable about it. What time is it? I think I shall go home.'

      'Look here, Peggy; you aren't doing me justice.'

      'Well, what have you got to say?'

      Tommy, smoking for a moment or two, looked across at her and answered, 'Nothing.'

      She rose and handed him her purse.

      'Pay the bill, please, and mind you give the waiter half-a-crown. And ask him to call me a cab, please.'

      'It's only half a mile, and it's quite fine.'

      'A rubber-tired hansom, please, with a good horse.'

      Tommy put her into the cab and looked as if he would like to get in too. The cabman, generalising from observed cases, held the reins out of the way, that Tommy's tall hat might mount in safety.

      'Tell him where to go, please. Good-night,' said Peggy.

      Tommy was left on the pavement. He walked slowly along to his club, too upset to think of having a cigar.

      'Very well,' he remarked, as he reached his destination. 'I played fair, but old Airey shall give that dinner—I'm hanged if he sha'n't!—and do it as if he liked it too!'

      A vicious chuckle surprised the hall-porter as Tommy passed within the precincts.

      Peggy drove home, determined to speak plainly to Airey himself; that was the only way to put it right.

      'He shall know that I do him justice, anyhow,' said she. Thanks to the cheque, she was feeling as the rich feel, or should feel, towards those who have helped them in early days of struggle; she experienced a generous glow and meditated delicate benevolence. At least the bread-and-butter must be recouped an hundredfold.

      So great is the virtue of twenty pounds, if only they happen to be sent to the right address. Most money, however, seems to go astray.

CHAPTER IV 'FROM THE MIDST OF THE WHIRL'

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      'Really I must congratulate you on your latest, Sarah,' remarked Lady Blixworth, who was taking tea with Mrs. Bonfill. 'Trix Trevalla is carrying everything before her. The Glentorlys have had her to meet Lord Farringham, and he was delighted. The men adore her, and they do say women like her. All done in six weeks! You're a genius!'

      Mrs. Bonfill made a deprecatory gesture of a Non nobis order. Her friend insisted amiably:

      'Oh, yes, you are. You choose so well. You never make a mistake. Now do tell me what's going to happen. Does Mortimer Mervyn mean it? Of course she wouldn't hesitate.'

      Mrs. Bonfill looked at her volatile friend with a good-humoured distrust.

      'When you congratulate me, Viola,' she said, 'I generally expect to hear that something has gone wrong.'

      'Oh, you believe what you're told about me,' the accused lady murmured plaintively.

      'It's experience,' persisted Mrs. Bonfill. 'Have you anything that you think I sha'n't like to tell me about Trix Trevalla?'

      'I don't suppose you'll dislike it, but I should. Need she drive in the park with Mrs. Fricker?' Her smile contradicted the regret of her tone, as she spread her hands out in affected surprise and appeal.

      'Mrs. Fricker's a very decent sort of woman, Viola. You have a prejudice against her.'

      'Yes, thank heaven! We all want money nowadays, but for my part I'd starve sooner than get it from the Frickers.'

      'Oh, that's what you want me to believe?'

      'Dearest Sarah, no! That's what I'm afraid her enemies and yours will say.'

      'I see,' smiled Mrs. Bonfill indulgently. She always acknowledged that Viola was neat—as a siege-gun might admit it of the field artillery.

      'Couldn't you give her a hint? The gossip about Beaufort Chance doesn't so much matter, but——' Lady Blixworth looked as if she expected to be interrupted, even pausing an instant to allow the opportunity. Mrs. Bonfill obliged her.

      'There's gossip about Beaufort, is there?'

      'Oh, there is, of course—that can't be denied; but it really doesn't matter as long as Mortimer doesn't hear about it.'

      'Was there never more than one aspirant at a time when you were young?'

      'As long as you're content, I am,' Lady Blixworth declared in an injured manner. 'It's not my business what Mrs. Trevalla does.'

      'Don't be huffy,' was Mrs. Bonfill's maternal advice. 'As far as I can see, everything is going splendidly.'

      'It is to be Mortimer?'

      'How can I tell, my dear? If Mortimer Mervyn should ask my advice, which really isn't likely, what could I say except that Trix is a charming woman, and that I know of nothing against it?'

      'She must be very well off, by the way she does things.' There was an inflection of question in her voice, but no direct interrogatory.

      'Doubtless,' said Mrs. Bonfill. Often the craftiest suggestions failed in face of her broad imperturbability.

      Lady Blixworth smiled at her. Mrs. Bonfill shook her head in benign rebuke. The two understood one another, and on the whole liked one another very well.

      'All right, Sarah,' said Lady Blixworth; 'but if you want my opinion, it is that she's out-running the constable, unless——'

      'Well, go on.'

      'You give me leave? You won't order me out? Well, unless—— Well, as I said, why drive Mrs. Fricker round the Park? Why take Connie Fricker to the Quinby-Lees's dance?'

      'Oh, everybody goes to the Quinby-Lees's. She's never offered to bring them here or anywhere that matters.'

      'You know the difference; perhaps the Frickers don't.'

      'That's downright malicious, Viola. And of course they do; at least they live to find it out. No, you can't put me out of conceit with Trix Trevalla.'

      'You're so loyal,' murmured Lady Blixworth in admiration. 'Really Sarah's as blind as a bat sometimes,' she reflected as she got into her carriage.

      A world of people at once inquisitive and clear-sighted would render necessary either moral perfection or reckless defiance; indifference and obtuseness preserve a place for that mediocrity of conduct which characterises the majority. Society at large had hitherto found small fault with Trix Trevalla, and what it said, when passed through Lady Blixworth's resourceful intellect, gained greatly both in volume and in point. No doubt she had very many gowns, no doubt she spent money, certainly she flirted, possibly she was, for so young and pretty a woman, a trifle indiscreet. But she gave the impression of being able to take care of herself, and her attractions, combined with Mrs. Bonfill's unwavering patronage, would have sufficed to excuse more errors than she had been found guilty of. It was actually true that, while men admired, women liked her. There was hardly a discordant voice to break in harshly on her triumph.

      There is no place like the top—especially when it is narrow, and will not hold many at a time. The natives of it have their peculiar joy, those who have painfully climbed theirs. Trix Trevalla seemed, to herself at least, very near the top; if she were not quite on