CHAPTER XI
Jacob sought distraction in the golfing resorts of England and theContinent, tried mountaineering in Switzerland, at which he had somesuccess, and finally, with the entire Dauncey menage, took a smallmoor near the sea in Scotland, and in the extreme well-being ofphysical content found a species of happiness which sufficed wellenough for the time. It was early winter before he settled down inLondon again, with the firm determination of neither writing to normaking any enquiries concerning Sybil. Chance, however, brought him intouch with her before many days were passed.
"Who is the smartly dressed, sunburnt little Johnny who is staring atyou so, Miss Bultiwell?" asked her _vis-a-vis_ at a luncheon party atthe Savoy one day. "His face seems familiar to me, but I can't placehim. I'm sure I've been told something interesting about him,somewhere or other."
"That," Sybil replied coldly, glancing across the room towards a smalltable against the wall, at which Jacob and Dauncey were seated, "isMr. Jacob Pratt."
Mason, one of the mysteries of smarter Bohemian life, a young man ofirreproachable appearance, a frequenter of the best restaurants, witha large acquaintance amongst the racing and theatrical world but withno known means of subsistence, showed marked interest in theannouncement.
"Not Jacob Pratt, the oil millionaire?" he exclaimed.
She nodded.
"His money comes to him, I believe, from some oil springs in thewestern States of America," she acquiesced. "His brother is asuccessful prospector."
The young man leaned across the table.
"Did you hear that, Joe?" he enquired.
Joe Hartwell, a smooth-shaven, stalwart young American, with fleshycheeks and unusually small eyes, assented vigorously.
"Mighty interesting," was his thoughtful comment. "A millionaire, LadyPowers."
Grace Powers, an attractive looking young lady, who had made meteoricappearances upon the musical comedy stage and in the divorce court,and was now lamenting the decease of her last husband--a youthfulbaronet whom she had married while yet a minor--gazed across at Jacobwith frank interest.
"What a dear person!" she exclaimed. "He looks as though he had comeout of a bandbox. I think he is perfectly sweet. What a lucky girl youare to know him, Sybil!"
"You all seem to have taken such a fancy to him that you had betterdivide him up amongst you," Sybil suggested coldly. "I detest him."
"Please introduce me," Grace Powers begged,--"that is, if you are sureyou don't want him yourself."
"And me," Mason echoed.
"Can't I be in this?" the third man, young Lord Felixstowe, suggested,leaning forward and dropping the eyeglass through which he had beenstaring at Jacob. "Seems to me I am as likely to land the fish as anyof you."
Sybil thoroughly disliked the conversation and did not hesitate todisclose her feelings.
"Mr. Pratt is only an acquaintance of mine," she declared, "and I donot wish to speak to him. If he has the temerity to accost me, I willintroduce you all--not unless. It will serve him right then."
Mason looked at her reprovingly.
"My dear Miss Bultiwell," he said, "in the tortuous course of life,our daily life, an unpleasant action must sometimes be faced. If youremember, barely an hour ago, over our cocktails, we declared for alife of adventure. We paid tribute to the principle that the unworthywealthy must support the worthy pauper. We are all worthy paupers."
Grace Powers laughed softly.
"I don't know about the worthiness," she murmured, "but you should seemy dressmaker's bill!"
"Useless, dear lady," Mason sighed. "We five are, alas! all in thesame box. We must look outside for relief. Since I have studied yourfriend's physiognomy, Miss Bultiwell, I am convinced that anacquaintance with him is necessary to our future welfare. I can seephilanthropy written all over his engaging countenance."
"Mr. Pratt isn't a fool," Sybil observed drily.
"Neither are we fools," Mason rejoined. "Besides," he went on, "youmust remember that in any little exchange of wits which might takeplace between Mr. Pratt and ourselves, the conditions are scarcelyequal. We have nothing to lose and he has everything. He has money--avery great deal of money--and we are paupers."
"There are other things to be lost besides money," Sybil reminded him.
"I guess not," Hartwell intervened, with real fervour,--"nothing elsethat counts, anyway."
They watched Jacob longingly as he left the restaurant,--personable,self-possessed, and with the crudities of his too immaculate toiletsubdued by experience. His almost wistful glance towards Sybil metwith an unexpected reward. She bowed, if not with cordiality, at anyrate without any desire to evade him. For a single moment hehesitated, as though about to stop, and the faces of her friendsseemed to sharpen, as though the prey were already thrown to them.Perhaps it was instinct which induced him to reconsider his idea. Atany rate he passed out, and Dauncey pressed his arm as they emergedinto the street.
"I have never been favourably impressed with Miss Bultiwell," thelatter observed, "but I like the look of her friends still less."
"Sharks," Jacob murmured gloomily, "sharks, every one of them, and itwouldn't be the faintest use in the world my telling her so."
* * * * *
The opportunity, at any rate, came a few days later, when Jacob foundamongst his letters one which he read and reread with varyingsensations. It was in Sybil's handwriting and dated from Number 100,Russell Square.
Dear Mr. Pratt,
If you are smitten with the new craze and are thinking of having dancing lessons, will you patronise my little endeavour? Lady Powers, who was with me at the Milan the other day, and I, have a class at this address every Thursday, and give private lessons any day by appointment. Perhaps you would like to telephone--1324, Museum. I shall be there any morning after eleven o'clock.
Sincerely yours, Sybil Bultiwell.
P.S. I dare say you have heard that my mother has gone to make a long stay with a sister at Torquay, and I have let our Cropstone Wood house at quite a nice profit. I am staying for a few weeks with Lady Powers, who was at school with me.
Jacob summoned Dauncey and put the letter into his hand.
"Read this, my astute friend, and comment," he invited.
Dauncey read and reread it before passing it back.
"The young lady," he observed, "is becoming amenable. She is also, Ishould imagine, hankering after the fleshpots. A month or two oftyping has perhaps had its effect."
"Any other criticism?"
Dauncey shook his head.
"It seems to me an ordinary communication enough," he confessed.
"I suppose you are right," Jacob admitted thoughtfully. "Perhaps I amgetting suspicious. It must have been seeing Miss Bultiwell with thathateful crowd."
"You think that the dancing class is a blind?"
Jacob glanced back at the letter and frowned.
"I don't think Miss Bultiwell would stoop to anything in the nature ofa conspiracy, but those two men, Hartwell and Mason, are out and outwrong 'uns, and it is several months since any one tried to rob me."
"You'll go, all the same," Dauncey observed, with a smile.
Jacob leaned over to the telephone.
"Museum 1324," he demanded.
At half-past four that afternoon, Jacob rang the bell at a large andapparently empty house in Russell Square. The door was opened after abrief delay by a woman who appeared to be a caretaker and who invitedhim to ascend to the next floor. Jacob did so, and, pushing open adoor which was standing ajar, found himself in a large apartment witha polished oak floor, two or three lounges by the wall, a gramophone,and a young lady whom he recognised as Sybil's companion at the Milan.
"Mr. Pratt," she greeted him sweetly. "I am so glad to know you."
Jacob shook hands and murmured something appropriate.
"Sybil will be here in a few minutes," the young lady conti
nued. "Youare going to have a lesson, aren't you?"
"I believe so," Jacob answered. "I hope you won't find me verystupid."
She smiled up into his face.
"You don't look as though you would be. I am Sybil's partner, GracePowers. I saw you at the Milan the other day, didn't I? Are you in agreat hurry to start, or would you like to sit and talk for a fewminutes?"
Jacob accepted the chair to which she pointed, and a cigarette.
"You find it tiring giving these lessons?" he enquired politely.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "I have just had such a stupid boy. He willnever learn anything, and he is such a nuisance."
"I hope you won't have to find fault with me," Jacob observed.
She smiled.
"Not in the same way, at any rate."
"A timid dancer?" Jacob queried.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"We won't discuss him," she said. "He bores me. He is one of thosepersistent young men who make love to you in monosyllables and expectsuccess as a matter of course."
"In how many syllables," Jacob began----
She interrupted him with a little grimace.
"You know perfectly well you will never want to make love to me," shesaid. "You are in love with Sybil Bultiwell, aren't you?"
"Did she tell you so?"
The girl shook her head.
"I just guessed it from the way you looked at her. And I expect youare one of those picturesque survivals, too, who can only love onewoman at a time. Aren't you, Mr. Pratt?"
"I don't know what I am capable of yet," Jacob confessed. "You see, mycareer as a philanderer has only just begun. I had to work hard untilabout a year ago."
"I have heard all about your wonderful fortune," she said, looking athim with veneration. "It gives you a sort of halo, you know. We allspeak of you as a kind of Monte Cristo. It's a queer thing, isn't it,the fascination of wealth?"
"I haven't noticed that it's done me much good up till now, so far asregards the things we were discussing," Jacob replied, a little sadly.
"Then that must be because you are very unresponsive," she saidsoftly, rising to her feet and coming and standing before him. "Wouldyou care--to dance?"
"Hadn't I better set the gramophone going first?" Jacob suggested,with blatant lack of intuition.
She drew back a little, laughed softly, and put on a record herself.Then she held out her arms.
"Come, then, my anxious pupil," she invited. "What do you most wish tolearn, and have you any idea of the steps?"
Jacob confessed to some acquaintance with modern dancing and aknowledge at least of the steps. They danced a fox trot, and at itsconclusion she shook her head at him.
"I know all about you now, Mr. Pratt," she said. "You are an absolutefraud. You dance as well as I do."
"But I need practice badly," he assured her anxiously.
"I suppose--it's really Sybil?" she asked ruefully, looking him inthe eyes with a queer little smile at the corners of her lips.
"I'm afraid so," he admitted. "You won't give me away, will you?"
"How can I give you away?" she asked. "Your behavior has beenperfect--of its sort."
"I mean about the dancing," he explained. "If Miss Bultiwell thinks Iknow as much about it as I do----"
"I understand," she interrupted. "I won't say a word. Shall we try ahesitation?"
Here Jacob found a little instruction useful, but he was a born dancerand very soon gave his instructress complete satisfaction. Just asthey had finished, Sybil came in. She greeted Jacob politely, but withnone of her partner's cordiality.
"I am sorry to be late, Mr. Pratt," she said. "I hope that Grace hasbeen looking after you."
"Admirably," he replied.
"I suppose you thought I was quite mad when you got my note," she wenton, walking to the mantelpiece and drawing off her gloves.
"Not at all," he assured her. "I was very glad to get it. Very kind ofyou to give me the chance of polishing up my dancing."
"Try a fox trot with him, Sybil," Grace suggested. "I think he isgoing to be quite good."
Jacob was as clumsy as he dared be, but he was naturally very light onhis feet, and, with an unusually correct ear for music, he foundblunders difficult. They danced to the end without conversation.
"I do not think," Sybil said, a little coldly, "that you will needmany lessons."
"On the contrary," he replied, "I feel that I shall need a great many.I am rather out of breath. May I have a rest?"
"There will be another pupil very shortly," she warned him.
"Never mind," he answered. "You can give me a longer time to-morrow."
She turned towards him with upraised eyebrows.
"To-morrow? Surely you are not thinking of coming every day?"
"Why not? I get so little exercise in London, and wherever one goes,nowadays, there is dancing."
"But you don't need the lessons."
"I need the exercise, and indeed I am much worse than you think I am.That happened to be a very decent tune."
"Don't discourage a pupil," Grace intervened. "We can fit him in everyday, if he wants to come. We charge an awful lot though, Mr. Pratt."
"You ought to," Jacob replied. "You teach so exceptionally well. May Ipay for a few lessons in advance, please," he asked, producing hispocketbook; "say a dozen?"
"It's a guinea a time," Grace told him. "Don't be rash."
Jacob laid the money upon the desk, and Sybil wrote out a formalreceipt.
"I think you are very foolish," she said, "and if you take my adviceyou will come once a week."
"And if you take mine," Grace declared, leaning over his shoulder andlaughing, "you'll come every day. We might go bankrupt, and then you'dlose your money."
"I shall come as often as I am allowed," Jacob assured her.
"Oh, you can come when you like," Sybil remarked carelessly. "If I amnot here, Grace can give you a lesson. You will find it a mostinformal place," she went on, listening to footsteps on the stairs."People drop in and have a dance whenever they feel like it. I am gladyou are not an absolute beginner. It is sometimes embarrassing forthem."
The door opened and Hartwell entered, followed by Mason. Sybilintroduced them. Both were exceedingly cordial.
"Heard of you out in New York, Mr. Pratt," the former remarked, as heshook hands. "I only just missed meeting your brother. He got wellahead of our prospectors, out West."
"My brother has been very fortunate," Jacob replied.
"I guess he is one of the brightest men who ever came over to theStates from this country," Hartwell declared. "Knows all about oil,too."
"Not too much gossip," Sybil interposed. "Mr. Pratt, you are here tolearn dancing. So are you, Mr. Hartwell. Please try a hesitation withme, and, Grace, you take Mr. Pratt."
"Sybil is very foolish," Grace whispered to Jacob, as they swayed upand down the room. "Mr. Hartwell is perfectly hopeless, and you dancebeautifully."
"It is you," Jacob told her, "who are inspiring."
She looked into his eyes.
"I believe you are going to improve," she said hopefully.
Jacob's Ladder Page 12
