CHAPTER SEVEN—(Continued).

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18644, 22 December 1928, Page 23 (Supplement)

CHAPTER SEVEN—(Continued).

While giving utterance to these cryptic words, he poured himself out another dose of ardent spirit, which this time he consumed in a more leisurely fashion. Aylmer stole a glance at Eileen, on whose brow was a distinct frown. She evidently did not approve of his recourse to stimulants as a remedy for his frayed nerves. Aylmer found himself wondering if this tendency to drink was more than an infirmity, if it had grown into a vice. During the time they had been alone, he had asked Eileen if she felt more contented now she was in England. Her answer had been of rather a hesitating character. “In some ways, yes,” she had told him. “But I believe the other life suits Richard better. I don’t think the loneliness is very good for him; he is thrown too much on his own resources.”

He fancied he was able to read between the lines of that vague statement. In the crowded life of an hotel, Quentin was open to observa-, tion, he had to keep a control over his unfortunate impulses. in this big house, -with only one weak woman, hardly more than a girl, and a set of obsequious servants, he was responsible to nobody but himself. And the young man felt almost certain that, fond as the man must be of Eileen in his placid, paternal way, he did not allow her to exercise much influence over him. Quiet as he was, he conveyed the idea of obstinacy. It was rather an embarrassing moment. Quentin had admitted that he had been upset, but he would not say frankly what had upset him. To create a diversion, Aylmer inquired after Mar- i tyn. . !

The commonplace question seemed to rouse Quentin from his disturbing reflections. He spoke in a brisker tone. “Oh, very well, very well, indeed. I had a letter from him a couple of days before we left for England. He is making a leisurely journey through Italy. He never stops in one place for long, a bird of passage something like ourselves, but without any anchorage in his own country, such as Eileen and I have here.” “Are you likely to make a long stay at Hampstead?” Quentin seemed to hesitate. Eileen, from whose fair brow the frown had not wholly disappeared, answered for him. “It is no use asking Richard that question; he couldn’t give you a reliable reply. He is a man of moods and impulses. To-day he might tell you we would stay a month, and next week he is as likely as not to give me twentyfour hours’ notice to p&ck up and be off to the end of the world.”

Quentin laughed good-humouredly at the petulance in her tone. “Not quite so bad as that, my dear, surely. If the climate behaves itself, I think I could put in a good few weeks here. But of course, if we have an abominable spell of weather I am afraid I shall want to set out for sunnier lands. I hate gloom and rain,” he concluded with a little shiver of disgust. There were no more embarrassing moments, and presently the conversation flowed easily between them. The slight cloud disappeared from Eileen’s face, and she was again the sunny, charming young woman he had known at Ostend. Aylmer thought how little one knows of people till one sees them in their own home. At the hotel they had always seemed an easy-going couple, not particularly devoted, perhaps, but always very pleasant to each other. On this his first visit to them in their strictly domestic surroundings, there had been a certain sub-acid note in Eileen’s demeanour to her supposed husband. Did he, in this more intimate environment, display unchecked certain qualities that aroused her resentment and caused her to show herself in a less attractive light? He could not, of course, bring himself to admit that she was at fault. In due course they went in to dinner, Quentin apologising for there being no other guest. “We are quite en famille, as you see, Mr Aylmer, but I shall hope that you will not be too bored with us.”

The young man made some polite rejoinder, and the dinner proceeded, the dignified Dicks and the neat-looking parlourmaid attending upon the small party. The Laurels was not nearly as big a hguse as the Peytons’ mansion at Wimbledon, but it was a much more elegant one. The furniture at Wimbledon was solid and expensive, that of The Laurels had evidently been chosen by a person of very considerable taste and artistic leanings. The same applied to the dinner. There was more profusion at Mr Peyton’s table: here there was a smaller menu, but the dishes harmonised better with each other. And the wines were especially choice, but in this respect Quentin had, of course, a serious rival, for the stockbroker dealt with a first-class wine merchant, and was greatly assisted by him in his choice of vintages. At a certain point in the repast, Eileen half rose with the intention of leaving the two men to themselves. But Quentin intervened. “My dear child, in a small party like this, let us dispense with that barbarous custom of separating the sexes just when we are really beginning to get convivial. Stay with us. I am sure Aylmer is too great an admirer of the ladies to object.” Quentin had been by no means sparing in his enjoyment of the excellent wines to which his butler had helped him, and he was certainly by now in a most convivial mood. He set down his glass of half-finished port with genuine satisfaction. “ Help yourself, while it is here, £S“. er \, he c , ried ’ dr °PPine the formal Mister m his jovial mood. “ And persuade that little teetotaller to have a drop more. I have only a halfdozen bottles of it left, and I don't know where to replace it. There’s nothing like it on the market at the present moment.” tw ut Eil r n refused . on the ground that, as she was no judge of wine, it

would be wasted on her. Quentin turned round to the butler, who, so it seemed to Aylmer, had been lingering unnecessarily in the room. “ Dicks, you must take away a glass of this to drinlc downstairs; you know it of old.” The dignified butler brought not one but two glasses. For a moment his genial master looked uncertainly at the second glass as if wondering why it was brought. Then he seemed to recollect himself. “ And, of course, one for Mrs Masters, the cook. She deserves it, for she surpassed herself in that vol-au-vent.” Dicks, with a muttered word of thanks, left the room. Aylmer stole a glance at Eileen, and saw that the cloud had slightly returned to her face. She evidently did not approve of these free and easy relations between the servants and their master. Mr Quentin might have restrained his goodheartedness on this particular evening. When they crossed the hall into the drawing-room, sounds of enjoyment were heard issuing from the regions of the kitchen. Even Quentin, with his lax notions of domestic discipline, frowned a little at the sound. “ What an infernal row,” he said.

Eileen spoke very sharply. “It is perfectly disgraceful. Mr Aylmer must be surprised at the way in which the house is run. And it is all your fault. You let them turn the place into a bear-garden; you never exert your authority in the slightest degree.” A rather obstinate look came over Quentin’s face, although he was in too jovial a mood to resent such plain speaking by any show of temper. “My dear, are you not more than a bit uncharitable? These poor devils are ♦enjoying themselves downstairs, as we are enjoying ourselves upstairs, only otir veneer of refinement enables us to disguise our feelings better.” To these philosophical remarks Eileen did not condescend to reply. But Aylmer surmised that there might be several things at The Laurels Which did not meet with her approval. He rather wondered that she did not herself introduce greater order into the establishment. Was Quentin, in spite of his quiet, amiable manner, one of those obstinate men who will not be interfered with?

In the drawing-room she played and sang a little, but neither her voice nor instrumental performance was of a high order. Presently Quentin began )to talk, and Aylmer was surprised to find what a very well-read and cultivated fellow he was when he fairly got himself launched forth. He wandered from politics to art, from art to literature and music, and was perfectly at home in every subject on which he touched. It was rather a revelation to his guest, for at Ostend he had never let himself go, never poured forth the treasures of information with which he seemed so fully endowed. Even Eileen, in spite of her chagrin at the imperfect running of the establishment, seemed to forget her annoyance, and listened to hii* with evident pleasure, and Aylmer was quite convinced that his host was a many-sided man. The time passed quickly, and then, at a pause in the conversation, Quentin glanced at the clock. “ I’m afraid I’ve been a sad monopolist this evening,” he remarked. “ I see it is past eleven, and I have been talking most of the time. Are you a late bird, Aylmer? Living so much alone when in England, we get into the habit of going to bed early. Is it too soon for you?” Aylmer replied politely in the negative. Quentin rang the bell for the butler to lock up the house, \ and “ good nights ” were exchanged. As a matter of fact, eleven o’clock was rather an early hour for the young man, and when he got into bed, he felt very wakeful.