Albert was in a hurry. He skimmed over the carpet like awater-beetle.
"Quick!" he said.
He cast a glance at the maid, George's co-worker. She was reading anovelette with her back turned.
"Tell 'er you'll be back in five minutes," said Albert, jerking athumb.
"Unnecessary. She won't notice my absence. Ever since shediscovered that I had never met her cousin Frank in America, I havemeant nothing in her life.""Then come on.""Where?""I'll show you."That it was not the nearest and most direct route which they tookto the trysting-place George became aware after he had followed hisyoung guide through doors and up stairs and down stairs and had atlast come to a halt in a room to which the sound of the musicpenetrated but faintly. He recognized the room. He had been in itbefore. It was the same room where he and Billie Dore had listenedto Keggs telling the story of Lord Leonard and his leap. Thatwindow there, he remembered now, opened on to the very balcony fromwhich the historic Leonard had done his spectacular dive. That itshould be the scene of this other secret meeting struck George asappropriate. The coincidence appealed to him.
Albert vanished. George took a deep breath. Now that the moment hadarrived for which he had waited so long he was aware of a return ofthat feeling of stage-fright which had come upon him when he heardReggie Byng's voice. This sort of thing, it must be remembered, wasnot in George's usual line. His had been a quiet and uneventfullife, and the only exciting thing which, in his recollection, hadever happened to him previous to the dramatic entry of Lady Maudinto his taxi-cab that day in Piccadilly, had occurred at collegenearly ten years before, when a festive room-mate--no doubt with thebest motives--had placed a Mexican horned toad in his bed on thenight of the Yale football game.
A light footstep sounded outside, and the room whirled round Georgein a manner which, if it had happened to Reggie Byng, would havecaused that injudicious drinker to abandon the habits of alifetime. When the furniture had returned to its place and the rughad ceased to spin, Maud was standing before him.
Nothing is harder to remember than a once-seen face. It had causedGeorge a good deal of distress and inconvenience that, try as hemight, he could not conjure up anything more than a vague vision ofwhat the only girl in the world really looked like. He had carriedaway with him from their meeting in the cab only a confusedrecollection of eyes that shone and a mouth that curved in a smile;and the brief moment in which he was able to refresh his memory,when he found her in the lane with Reggie Byng and the broken-downcar, had not been enough to add definiteness. The consequence wasthat Maud came upon him now with the stunning effect of beauty seenfor the first time. He gasped. In that dazzling ball-dress, withthe flush of dancing on her cheeks and the light of dancing in hereyes, she was so much more wonderful than any picture of her whichmemory had been able to produce for his inspection that it was asif he had never seen her before.
Even her brother, Percy, a stern critic where his nearest anddearest were concerned, had admitted on meeting her in thedrawing-room before dinner that that particular dress suited Maud.
It was a shimmering dream-thing of rose-leaves and moon-beams. That,at least, was how it struck George; a dressmaker would have found alonger and less romantic description for it. But that does notmatter. Whoever wishes for a cold and technical catalogue of thestuffs which went to make up the picture that deprived George ofspeech may consult the files of the Belpher Intelligencer andFarmers' Guide, and read the report of the editor's wife, who"does" the dresses for the Intelligencer under the pen-name of"Birdie Bright-Eye". As far as George was concerned, the thing wasmade of rose-leaves and moon-beams.
George, as I say, was deprived of speech. That any girl couldpossibly look so beautiful was enough to paralyse his faculties;but that this ethereal being straight from Fairyland could havestooped to love him--him--an earthy brute who wore sock-suspendersand drank coffee for breakfast . . . that was what robbed George ofthe power to articulate. He could do nothing but look at her.
From the Hills of Fairyland soft music came. Or, if we must beexact, Maud spoke.
"I couldn't get away before!" Then she stopped short and darted tothe door listening. "Was that somebody coming? I had to cut adance with Mr. Plummer to get here, and I'm so afraid he may. . ."He had. A moment later it was only too evident that this wasprecisely what Mr. Plummer had done. There was a footstep on thestairs, a heavy footstep this time, and from outside the voice ofthe pursuer made itself heard.
"Oh, there you are, Lady Maud! I was looking for you. This is ourdance."George did not know who Mr. Plummer was. He did not want to know.
His only thought regarding Mr. Plummer was a passionate realizationof the superfluity of his existence. It is the presence on theglobe of these Plummers that delays the coming of the Millennium.
His stunned mind leaped into sudden activity. He must not be foundhere, that was certain. Waiters who ramble at large about a feudalcastle and are discovered in conversation with the daughter of thehouse excite comment. And, conversely, daughters of the house whotalk in secluded rooms with waiters also find explanationsnecessary. He must withdraw. He must withdraw quickly. And, as agesture from Maud indicated, the withdrawal must be effectedthrough the french window opening on the balcony. Estimating thedistance that separated him from the approaching Plummer at threestairs--the voice had come from below--and a landing, the space oftime allotted to him by a hustling Fate for disappearing was somefour seconds. Inside two and half, the french window had openedand closed, and George was out under the stars, with the cool windsof the night playing on his heated forehead.
He had now time for meditation. There are few situations whichprovide more scope for meditation than that of the man penned up ona small balcony a considerable distance from the ground, with hisonly avenue of retreat cut off behind him. So George meditated.
First, he mused on Plummer. He thought some hard thoughts aboutPlummer. Then he brooded on the unkindness of a fortune which hadgranted him the opportunity of this meeting with Maud, only tosnatch it away almost before it had begun. He wondered how long thelate Lord Leonard had been permitted to talk on that occasionbefore he, too, had had to retire through these same windows. Therewas no doubt about one thing. Lovers who chose that room for theirinterviews seemed to have very little luck.
It had not occurred to George at first that there could be anyfurther disadvantage attached to his position other than theobvious drawbacks which had already come to his notice. He was nowto perceive that he had been mistaken. A voice was speaking in theroom he had left, a plainly audible voice, deep and throaty; andwithin a minute George had become aware that he was to suffer theadditional discomfort of being obliged to listen to a fellowman--one could call Plummer that by stretching the facts alittle--proposing marriage. The gruesomeness of the situation becameintensified. Of all moments when a man--and justice compelled Georgeto admit that Plummer was technically human--of all moments when aman may by all the laws of decency demand to be alone without anaud............