THE WITCH NEXT DOOR

EPISODE 59

“Oh! oh!" Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair. Then coming to a halt he said: "Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's only till quarter-day. Anybody might want money." Phyllis did not raise her face. "Why are you lending it?" "Because--because--why shouldn't I?" and diving suddenly, he seized her hands. She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took out the envelope. "If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--" It was for her alone he had been going to lend this money! Phyllis murmured through her hair: "Yes! You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!" Apprehension pierced his mind. "Oh! I never--I swear I never--" "Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it." She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window. So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful-- especially since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with simple fervour: "What rot!" It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost shouted: "Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to--here goes!" Phyllis turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire”

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"There it is," he said. Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!" In a sort of agony of honesty he said: "It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way." Staring at the fire she answered slowly: "I expect you'd better go before mother comes." Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily: "No, I shall stick it!" Phyllis sneezed. "My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her back to the fire. A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: "Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?" But nothing came--nothing. And suddenly she said: "Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!" "Breathe? I wasn't!" "You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming." He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps back again. She said softly: "Poor young man!" He answered gloomily: "I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?" "Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre." "I don't know whether your mother will--after---" Phyllis gave a little clear laugh. "You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her." And Bob Pillin muttered: "I see." He did not, but it was of no consequence.

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Then the thought of Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night. Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their address. There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got to be cleared up! And he said: "Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was Ventnor?" Phyllis nodded. "And he was short, and had whiskers?" "Yes; red, and red eyes." He murmured reluctantly: "It must be him. Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand. I shall go and see him. How on earth did he know your address?" "I expect you gave it him." "I did not. I won't have you thinking me a squirt." Phyllis jumped up. "Oh! Lawks! Here's mother!" Mrs. Larne was coming up the garden. Bob Pillin made for the door. "Good-bye," he said; "I'm going." But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. Enveloping him in fur and her rich personality, she drew him with her into the drawing-room, where the back window was open and Phyllis gone. "I hope," she said, "those naughty children have been making you comfortable. That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday. He seemed quite satisfied." Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered: "I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer. I don't know what it means.

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" Mrs. Larne smiled. "My dear boy, it's all right. You needn't be so squeamish. I want it to be quite on a business footing." Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: "It's not going to be on any footing!" Bob Pillin mumbled: "I must go; I'm late." "And when will you be able---?" "Oh! I'll--I'll send--I'll write. Good-bye!" And suddenly he found that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat. The scent of violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through him: 'I believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the Bible. I can't leave my coat in her hands! What shall I do?' Mrs. Larne was murmuring: "It would be so sweet of you if you could manage it today"; and her hand slid over his chest. "Oh! You have brought your cheque-book--what a nice boy!" Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the bureau, wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. A warm kiss lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment to a furry bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: "How delightful!" and a sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume. Backing to the door, he gasped: "Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please. Good-bye!" Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum! I've done it now.

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That Phyllis should know about it at all! That beast Ventnor!' His face grew almost grim. He would go and see what that meant anyway! 3 Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was brought to him. Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he thought: 'No! What's the good? Bound to see him some time!' If he had not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-confidence and insensibility which must needs distinguish those who follow the law; nor did he ever forget that he was in the right. "Show him in!" he said. He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich curves and moving lips, and the possibilities of better acquaintanceship. While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected at once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and relapsing into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage over men more statically seated, he said: "You look pretty bobbish. Anything I can do for you?" Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on his knee. "Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne."

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Mr. Ventnor did not flinch. "Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!" And into those words he put a certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt the pressure of his blood increasing. "Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation." "What of?" "Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what." Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said "Well, you won't get it." Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered resolutely: "It's not the conduct of a gentleman." Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the whites of his eyes grew red. "Oh!" he said; "indeed! You mind your own business, will you?" "It is my business--very much so.

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