"Oh, thank you! I'd love that."
Perhaps the spontaneous pleasure in her voice was something new to Barry Elton. At any rate, he gave her a glance of puzzled amusement that was certainly not without pleasure, and they swung into the stream of traffic.
For the first few minutes he didn't speak, apparently occupying himself with steering the car, but as they turned into a quieter thoroughfare and headed north, he said:
"So Miss Alix is feeling she has fallen into a very strange world?"
"Well—" Alix glanced at him rather timidly, but, encouraged by that slight smile, she asked with a sudden burst of confidence: "Don't you find it a little strange sometimes?"
He gazed reflectively ahead.
"Yes, I suppose I do. But then I've known it much too long to be greatly disturbed by it."
"Have you?" She looked at him this time with undisguised interest. "Do you belong to it? I mean, are you a singer or a conductor or anything like that?"
"Good God, no," Barry Elton said calmly. "Do I appear like that?"
"No," Alix assured him, "you don't."
"Thank you."
She laughed slightly.
"But I thought you liked that world — were fascinated by it."
"Ah — fascinated by it, yes. That's a very different thing. But I have no wish to be anything but an observer of it — a useless dilettante, if you like — anything that stays on the outskirts and reserves the right to retire from it at any moment."
"But really with no desire to take part?"
"Certainly not. I have all the Englishman's horror of appearing artistically accomplished. My pleasant role is to sit on the right side of the footlights, criticising the people who do things I can't do myself."
Alix looked doubtfully at him.
"I think you're laughing at me," she said gravely.
"No, no, not at all," he assured her. "I'm laughing at myself. I like to occasionally. It's very healthy." And he gave her such an extremely frank smile that, deciding perhaps he meant what he said this time, she smiled in return.
"Then what world do you belong to?" Alix asked. "Or am I being inquisitive?" she added quickly, aware suddenly that Grandma, at least, would have considered curiosity was out-running good manners.
"No, not inquisitive," Barry told her. "You're merely displaying a natural and gratifying interest in your companion. I'll tell you all about me, and then you shall tell me all about you."
"Oh, I haven't much to tell," Alix declared hastily. But he merely smiled and said:
"What? Sister of the great Varoni and nothing interesting to tell? I simply don't believe it."
"Well, please tell me about yourself first," Alix said quickly.
"Charming child," murmured Barry. "She gives all the right cues to the conceited male. You are a brilliant conversationalist, Alix. May I call you Alix?"
"Yes, you can call me Alix, but I'm not a brilliant conversationalist," Alix said soberly.
"Oh yes, you are. Absolutely unique in the world you have just entered, I imagine. Think of it! You would rather not talk of yourself, but prefer someone else to talk of himself. You'll be tremendously in demand, Alix, as soon as you are discovered."
Alix laughed.
"Well, everyone seems so interesting to me at the moment," she admitted.
"And I am first in the field? How gratifying. I wish I had a more enthralling story to unfold," Barry told her regretfully. "But the fact is that I'm simply what is known as The Eldest Son'."
"And what does that mean exactly?" asked Alix, who liked things in black and white.
"It means," Barry said, smiling thoughtfully in front of him, "that I have been brought up very correctly and firmly to step exactly into my father's shoes when he should choose to vacate them. But, being a tough old bird, he continues to wear them himself, with the result that I am reduced to the doubtful status of a gentleman in waiting."
Alix considered that for a moment, and then said, extremely firmly and disapprovingly:
"I don't think you ought to speak of your father like that."
To her surprise, Barry gave a delighted laugh.
"No, of course I shouldn't." And then, as though he realized that she was very much in earnest: "I'm sorry. You mustn't think I'm not very much attached to him. I am really. He's an abominable old snob but a great personality. I'm not quarrelling with him for continuing to occupy his own shoes — long may he live to stamp about in them. But sometimes I wish he had brought me up to be a useful business man, instead of a well-to-do gentleman who, at some far distant date, will be called on to manage a very fine estate, but at the moment is not allowed to meddle a finger's length in it."
"Weren't you properly educated, then?" Alix asked coolly, which brought another delighted chuckle from Barry.
"I suppose so. Would you call public school and a university 'proper education'?" he inquired humbly.
"Yes."
"And so? What does that disapproving little quirk at the corner of your mouth mean?" 1 m sorry—
"Not at all. It's extremely attractive — though disquieting, because I believe it means disapproval of my unworthy self."
"Well—" Alix hesitated, and then went on determinedly: "It isn't my business, of course, but I can't help feeling that anyone who has health and a good education can find useful work if he wants to. I don't see why you should blame your father because you haven't gone out and found a job for yourself."
"Alix, you put your lectures in a delicious form," he told her. "You can't think how intriguing — though chastening — it is to be told one's faults by someone half one's age."
"Really, I beg your pardon—"
"No, no, I enjoy it, though I'm taking it all to heart too."
"And anyway, you're nothing like twice my age/* Alix nodded irrelevantly.
He gave her a speculative glance and said:
"Just about, I should say."
"Oh." Alix was silent, considering the interesting subject of his age more obviously than she knew.
Thirty-five? — Forty-five? She supposed he might be anything in the interesting ten years which lay between the two.
But when he spoke again, it seemed that his thoughts were no longer on ages. He said, with teasing gravity:
"You know, you've set me thinking very seriously about this question of finding a useful job."
She looked at him doubtfully.
"Have I? What would you like to do?"
He laughed softly again.
"Alix, my child, you ought to study the social services. There simply wouldn't be a social problem if they put you on to it."
Alix flushed and pressed her lips together nervously.
"You think I'm very silly, don't you?"
"No, my dear," he said quite seriously. "I think you're an extremely sweet and commonsense person." They were out in the open country now, and he drew up the car at the side of the road. "But you mustn't mind if I find you amusing too. People are never lovable unless they are amusing. And you're so utterly, utterly different from anyone I ever meet."
He turned in his seat and looked at her with such obvious, smiling interest that his sophisticated face took on a very much gentler expression than usual.
"I expect — it's just — that I'm silly and inexperienced," Alix said, unclasping and clasping her handbag nervously.
"No, you're not silly at all. And don't do that — you'll break your bag." He lightly put his hand over hers, so that she was perfectly still, most unaccountably thrilled by the touch of his fingers. "You're inexperienced, of course," he
added slowly, "but perhaps that's what is so nice. You bring a freshness to everything that we've all of us lost long ago."
She raised her head and looked at him in surprise. But
at that moment he patted her hand quickly and let it go.
"At any rate, you make a most charming companion,"
he said much more lightly. "Cigarette?" He held out his
case to her.
<
br /> "No, thank you. I don't smoke," Alix explained. "No, of course you don't." He gave her an amused glance that was almost affectionate. "Don't let anyone persuade you to, either. It doesn't go with your type."
Alix wondered rather what her type was, but hardly liked to ask. And at that moment he said carelessly:
"Let me see — what were we discussing before this little digression?"
"We were discussing a job for you," Alix said, whereat he threw back his head and laughed and laughed.
She had to laugh too, because he looked so very attractive when he did that, and she hadn't thought he could laugh so heartily.
"You're absolutely determined to make a useful citizen of me, aren't you?" he said.
"And I think you're equally determined to be what you said — a dilettante," Alix told him with a smile.
"No, seriously, I swear to you that when the time comes, I will become a model landlord and estate owner. But, until then, do you really think I need to take a job from a fellow who has to have a regular job to earn a living?"
"Oh—" Alix considered that. "I see your point." And then: "Are you very rich, then?"
He nodded, with his amused eyes on her.
"Disgustingly so, I'm afraid," he admitted apologetically.
•Well — of course, that does make a difference."
The amusement in his eyes deepened.
"What are you going to do with me now, my little reformer?" he wanted to know.
"I don't know." A sudden, mischievous dimple contradicted the seriousness of her expression. "I'll think it over. Perhaps we can find some useful voluntary work for you."
He gave that intrigued chuckle again and, tossing away his cigarette-end, re-started the car.
"And meanwhile, I may be allowed a half-day's relax** tion at the Zoo?"
"Oh, certainly," Alix agreed. "Besides, doesn't that almost come under the heading of Voluntary work'?"
She thought how very light-hearted his answering laugfc sounded. And from that moment onwards, for the rest of the afternoon, a mood of almost boyish gaiety seemed to possess him.
He bought her an absurd amount of nuts, and aided and abetted her in over-feeding an astounding number of animals. He consented to throw dignity to the winds and tako her hand and run like a schoolboy when it seemed they might be too late to see the lions fed. And he insisted, with perfect seriousness, on discovering marked likenesses between certain of the animals and acquaintances of his.
"There now—" he led her up to a particularly superior-looking eagle which was sitting on its perch, gazing aloofly into the distance — "if that isn't the image of Moerlin& what is? The profile is almost identical."
Alix laughed irresistibly.
"There is a little bit of the eagle about Mr. Moerling " she admitted. "But do you think he's a chained eagle?" she added doubtfully.
"Good God, yes," Barry said agreeably. "No man waj ever better chained. Why, your sister's got him like that" He made a significant gesture with his thumb.
"Do you think so?" Alix was faintly shocked.
"Of course. She always had."
Alix was silent. Then she said curiously:
"Have you known my sister a very long time?"
"Oh yes. Many more years than I should like to admit And certainly many more than she would." Barry smiled. "I was a gay undergraduate when I first knew her."
Again Alix wondered how old he was. And then because she felt that was silly and inquisitive, she said at random:
"Then you've known Mr. Moerling a long time too?"
"Certainly."
"I like him," Alix said impulsively. "I think he's kind."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Don't you like him?"
"No, not much."
"Why not?" She felt that was inquisitive too, but it was
out before she could stop it, and anyway, Barry didn't seem to mind.
He shrugged.
"For one thing, he doesn't like me. And for another, I think he dyes his hair," he said carelessly.
"He doesn't!" Alix declared indignantly.
"No?" Barry was amused. "You believe in the authenticity of that splendid black?"
"Well, I can't imagine he would do anything so undignified."
"Can't you? I rather think he would be prepared to preserve those flamboyant good looks at the expense of a little private dignity."
"He is good-looking, isn't he?" Alix smiled reminiscently.
"Yes. But you mustn't say so to me in just that tone of awed indulgence."
"Why not?"
"There is such a thing as jealousy, you know," Barry told her with a grin. "And such a thing as wounded feelings too."
"Oh, that's too bad." Alix laughed, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm in a sudden access of friendliness. The next moment she wondered if that were a trifle too familiar, but apparently not, for her fingers were pressed against his side with an instinctive movement at least as friendly as her own.
They were silent for a moment, and then Alix said:
"You know what you said — about Moerling really being keen on Nina?"
"Yes."
"Do you think — Well, is she fond of him?"
"My dear girl—" Barry stopped, and looked at her with rather a complicated expression. Then he walked on slowly, holding Alix's hand fast in his arm, so that she had to walk with him.
"Alix," he said, a little hesitatingly, "I know it's an odd question, but just how well do you know your sister?"
She saw she was on dangerous ground.
"Not — very — well, I suppose," Alix admitted. "You see, I always lived with my — my grandmother." (Was Grandma supposed to assume a new relationship? she wondered worriedly. But anyway, it was too late now.) "We
"I see." Pause. "And of course, you're tremendously thrilled and fascinated by her?"
"I think she's wonderful," Alix said simply.
"Yes — well, she is, of course." Barry looked faintly troubled, and again they walked a little way in silence. "Alix," he said rather gently at last, "it would be kinder if I said something now, I think. You're bound to hear stories about your sister, and some people will tell them very brutally. Try not to be distressed by them, because you know there are always stories about anyone as famous and attractive as she is. Spiteful people take a pleasure in inventing or repeating them."
"You mean — they aren't true?"
"My dear," he gave a troubled little laugh, "I'm not the keeper of Varoni's conscience."
Alix was silent. She thought of her wonderful, radiant mother, of Grandma's dry, stern reserve whenever she spoke of her. Barry couldn't know, of course, that the whole thing went so much more deeply than a relationship between two sisters who scarcely knew each other.
"Do you mean — that she and Moerling—"
"Listen, Alix. I've known Nina much too long either to criticize or discuss her. I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, except that I was afraid someone might hurt you badly." Alix pressed his arm gratefully. "The fact is that Moerling has conducted, on and off, for her, for fifteen years at least, and during that time most people believe that she's been a good deal to him."
"And what do you honestly think?"
"I'm not prepared to say," Barry said firmly. And then, as Alix remained silent and serious, he added: "Try not to mind too much."
"I wasn't minding," Alix said. "At least, I mean — not unbearably. I was thinking of something Grandma once said about her."
"What was that?"
'That she had never seen the struggle between good and evil so clearly outlined in any other person."
"How odd," Barry said slowly. "It's rather a good description."
"Is it?" Alix looked suddenly wistful. "Perhaps that's
67
why I feel that I would love her whatever she did — that there would always be something left."
With a quick movement, Barry half put his arm round her.
"You are a good child, Alix. I hope y
ou don't get hurt."
For some reason or other she couldn't ask him just what he meant by that. Then he spoke of something quite different, and after a while they went and had tea together, without the subject of Varoni being touched on again.
The shadows were lengthening by the time they started for home, and Alix felt an almost childish regret that her afternoon was over.
"I have enjoyed myself," she said, as she realized they were nearing the hotel. "I wish it were not over."
"Why, Alix—" he laughed in that pleased, amused way, "we can do it again — or something like it — whenever you choose."
"Can we?" She looked at him doubtfully. "But I think you're in the habit of taking out much more interesting and sophisticated people. It was only by chance that that happened."
"Nothing of the sort. It was most carefully arranged," he reminded her. "First of all by Varoni and then by us."
"Oh—" Alix smiled. "Yes, I suppose it was."
"And it will be arranged again, if you will allow it, without the assistance of Varoni."
"I should love it, of course," Alix said frankly.
"Then it's as good as done."
He didn't say any more until they actually stopped outside the hotel. Then he turned to her, his arm along the back of the seat.
"And, Alix—"
"Yes?"
"Don't make the mistake of confusing sophistication with interestingness."
Her brown eyes regarded him gravely.
"What does that mean?"
"You said something just now about my taking out people who were more sophisticated and interesting than you. Sophisticated people can be the most unconscionable bores, you know. Whereas you will never be a bore, even if you live to be a hundred." He got out of the car and came
round to open the door for her. "In fact, you'll probably be a most entertaining little centenarian," he added, his seriousness giving way to a smile once more.
"Oh, thank you." Alix coloured and laughed a little as she took his hand. "Thank you for the compliment to my old age — and for a perfectly lovely afternoon. Are you coming in?"
"No, I'm not coming in just now. I'm due at my club in twenty minutes. And thank you for a delightful afternoon,, Do you always enjoy yourself so wholeheartedly?"
"Well—" Alix considered that. "No. Only if I do something specially nice, I think."
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