THE WITCH NEXT DOOR

EPISODE 58

Previously:-

“But old Heythorp could. It was neat, though, oh! neat! And that was a fine woman--remarkably! He had a sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might have been worth while to have made a bargain--a woman like that could have made it worth while! And he believed her quite capable of entertaining the proposition! Her eye! Pity--quite a pity! Mrs. Ventnor was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the settlement was safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, if anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap should feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so bad--not so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no, not luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which marks a real genius for affairs. But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed. 2 With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing. "Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home." His heart leaped. "Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?" The little maid answered "I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll see." Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He could scarcely breathe.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If her hair were not dry--how awful! Suddenly he heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh! Gefoozleme!" and other words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down. "Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir." Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room. He went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed over to the mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face; but now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had too much flesh and colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a handicap. With a narrow white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses, he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But do what he would, he was never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make him confident in her presence. And until this month to lack confidence had never been his wont.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A clear, high, mocking voice said: "Oh-h! Conceited young man!" And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately: "Oh! I say--how jolly!" "Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?" Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered: "Ye-es. I--I'm glad she's not in, though." Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling. "Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?" Bob Pillin answered feebly: "Of course, I haven't much experience." Her mouth opened. "Oh! You are--aren't you?" And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow take her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers fixed him to the soul.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when chaff and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair game, would make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't she really want me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment before a blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and tragic delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed its sway. And suddenly he heard her say: "Why do you know such awful men?" "What? I don't know any awful men." "Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was awful." "Whiskers?" His soul revolted in disclaimer. "I believe I only know one man with whiskers--a lawyer." "Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, but I thought he was a beast." "Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?" "He did; about some business of yours, too." Her face had clouded over. Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a poem: "I rode upon my way and saw A maid who watched me from the door." It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Brushing aside the two distressful lines, he said: "Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!" "All right, I'm looking!" "What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?" She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered: "I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money! Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's reddening ears. "I say--don't! And do tell me, because--" "Oh! you know." "I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---" Phyllis looked up at him. "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!" A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer: "Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him through her lashes--a look saying: "Ah! that's better!" "I am d---d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here about my lending money? I never said a word to him---" "There you see--you are lending!" He clutched his hair. "We've got to have this out," he added. "Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your hair untidy. 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.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .