CHAPTER IX
A BOX AT THE ALHAMBRA
The Baroness lowered her lorgnettes and turned towards Wrayson.
"There is a man," she remarked, "in the stalls, who finds us apparentlymore interesting than the performance. I do not see very well evenwith my glasses, but I fancy, no! I am quite sure, that his face isfamiliar to me."
Wrayson leaned forward from his seat in the back of the box and lookeddownward. There was no mistaking the person indicated by the Baroness,nor was it possible to doubt his obvious interest in their little party.Wrayson frowned slightly as he returned his greeting.
"Ah, then, you know him," the Baroness declared. "It is a friend,without doubt."
"He belongs to my club," Wrayson answered. "His name is Heneage. I begyour pardon! I hope that wasn't my fault."
The Baroness had dropped her lorgnettes on the floor. She stoopedinstantly to discover them, rejecting almost peremptorily Wrayson's aid.When she sat up again she pushed her chair a little further back.
"It was my clumsiness entirely," she declared. "Ah! it is more restfulhere. The lights are a little trying in front. You are wiser than I, mydear Louise, to have chosen a seat back there."
She turned towards the girl as she spoke, and Wrayson fancied that therewas some subtle meaning in the swift glance which passed between the two.Almost involuntarily he leaned forward once more and looked downwards.Heneage's inscrutable face was still upturned in their direction. Therewas nothing to be read there, not even curiosity. As the eyes of the twomen met, Heneage rose and left his seat.
"You know my friend, perhaps?" Wrayson remarked. "He is rather aninteresting person."
The Baroness shrugged her shoulders.
"We are cosmopolitans, Louise and I," she remarked. "We wander about somuch that we meet many people whose names even we do not remember. Is itnot so, _cherie_?"
Louise assented carelessly. The incident appeared to have interested herbut slightly. She alone seemed to be taking an interest in theperformance, which from the first she had followed closely. More thanonce Wrayson had fancied that her attention was only simulated, in orderto avoid conversation.
"This ballet," she remarked, "is wonderful. I don't believe that youpeople have seen any of it--you especially, Amy."
The Baroness glanced towards the stage.
"My dear Louise," she said, "you share one great failing with themajority of your country-people. You cannot do more than one thing at atime. Now I can watch and talk. Truly, the dresses are ravishing.Doucet never conceived anything more delightful than that blend ofgreens! Tell me about your mysterious-looking friend, Mr. Wrayson. Ishe, too, an editor?"
Wrayson shook his head.
"To tell you the truth," he said, "I know very little about him. He isone of those men who seldom talk about themselves. He is a barrister, andhe has written a volume of travels. A clever fellow, I believe, butpossibly without ambition. At any rate, one never hears of his doinganything now."
"Perhaps," the Baroness remarked, with her eyes upon the stage, "he isone of those who keep their own counsel, in more ways than one. He doesnot look like a man who has no object in life."
Wrayson glanced downwards at the empty stall.
"Very likely," he admitted carelessly, "and yet, nowadays, it is a littledifficult, isn't it, to do anything really worth doing, and not be foundout? They say that the press is lynx-eyed."
Louise leaned a little forward in her chair.
"And you," she remarked, "are an editor! Do you feel quite safe, Amy? Mr.Wrayson may rob us of our most cherished secrets."
Her eyes challenged his, her lips were parted in a slight smile.Underneath the levity of her remark, he was fully conscious of theundernote of serious meaning.
"I am not afraid of Mr. Wrayson," the Baroness answered, smiling. "My ageand my dressmaker are the only two things I keep entirely to myself, andI don't think he is likely to guess either."
"And you?" he asked, looking into her companion's eyes.
"There are many things," she answered, in a low tone, "which one keepsto oneself, because confidences with regard to them are impossible.And yet--"
She paused. Her eyes seemed to be following out the mystic design paintedupon her fan.
"And yet?" he reminded her under his breath.
"Yet," she continued, glancing towards the Baroness, and lowering hervoice as though anxious not to be overheard, "there is somethingpoisonous, I think, about secrets. To have them known without disclosingthem would be very often--a great relief."
He leaned a little towards her.
"Is that a challenge?" he asked, "if I can find out?"
The colour left her face with amazing suddenness. She drew away from himquickly. Her whisper was almost a moan.
"No! for God's sake, no!" she murmured. "I meant nothing. You must notthink that I was speaking about myself."
"I hoped that you were," he answered simply.
The Baroness turned in her chair as though anxious to join in theconversation. At that moment came a knock at the door of the box. Wraysonrose and opened it. Heneage stood there and entered at once, as thoughhis coming were the most natural thing in the world.
"Thought I recognized you," he remarked, shaking hands with Wrayson. "Ibelieve, too, I may be mistaken, but I fancy that I have had the pleasureof meeting the Baroness de Sturm."
The Baroness turned towards him with a smile. Nevertheless, Wraysonnoticed what seemed to him a strange thing. The slim-fingered, bejewelledhand which rested upon the ledge of the box was trembling. The Baronesswas disturbed.
"At Brussels, I believe," she remarked, inclining her head graciously.
"At Brussels, certainly," he answered, bowing low.
She turned to Louise.
"Louise," she said, "you must let me present Mr. Heneage--Miss Deveney.Mr. Heneage has a cousin, I believe, of the same name, in the BelgianLegation. I remember seeing you dance with him at the Palace."
The two exchanged greetings. Heneage accepted a chair and spoke of theperformance. The conversation became general and of stereotyped form. YetWrayson was uneasily conscious of something underneath it all which hecould not fathom. The atmosphere of the box was charged with someelectrical disturbance. Heneage alone seemed thoroughly at his ease. Hekept his seat until the close of the performance, and even then seemed inno hurry to depart. Wrayson, however, took his cue from the Baroness, whowas obviously anxious for him to go.
"Goodnight, Heneage!" he said. "I may see you at the club later."
Heneage smiled a little oddly as he turned away.
"Perhaps," he said.
It was not until they were on their way out that Wrayson realized thatshe was slipping away from him once more. Then he took his courage intohis hands and spoke boldly.
"I wonder," he said, "if I might be allowed to see you ladies home. Ihave something to say to Miss Fitzmaurice," he added simply, turning tothe Baroness.
"By all means," she answered graciously, "if you don't mind rather anuncomfortable seat. We are staying in Battersea. It seems a long way out,but it is quiet, and Louise and I like it."
"In Battersea?" Wrayson repeated vaguely.
The Baroness looked over her shoulder. They were standing on thepavement, waiting for their electric brougham.
"Yes!" she answered, dropping her voice a little, "in Frederic Mansions.By the bye, we are neighbours, I believe, are we not?"
"Quite close ones," Wrayson answered. "I live in the next block offlats."
The Baroness looked again over her shoulder.
"Your friend, Mr. Heneage, is close behind," she whispered, "and we areliving so quietly, Louise and I, that we do not care for callers. Tellthe man 'home' simply."
Wrayson obeyed, and the carriage glided off. Heneage had been within afew feet of them when they had started, and although his attentionappeared to be elsewhere, the Baroness' caution was obviously justified.She leaned back amongst the cushions with a little sigh of relief.
"Mr.
Wrayson," she inquired, "may I ask if Mr. Heneage is a particularfriend of yours?"
Wrayson shook his head.
"I do not think that any man could call himself Heneage's particularfriend," he answered. "He is exceedingly reticent about himself and hisdoings. He is a man whom none of us know much of."
The Baroness leaned a little forward.
"Mr. Heneage," she said slowly, "is associated in my mind with days andevents which, just at present, both Louise and I are only anxious toforget. He may be everything that he should be. Perhaps I amprejudiced. But if I were you, I would have as little to do as possiblewith that man."
"We do not often meet," Wrayson answered, "and ours is only a clubacquaintanceship. It is never likely to be more."
"So much the better," the Baroness declared. "Don't you agree withme, Louise?"
"I do not like Mr. Heneage," the girl answered. "But then, I have neverspoken a dozen words to him in my life."
"You have known him intimately?" Wrayson asked the Baroness.
She shrugged her shoulders and looked out of the window.
"Never that, quite," she answered. "I know enough of him, however, to bequite sure that the advice which I have given you is good."
The carriage drew up in the Albert Road, within a hundred yards or so ofWrayson's own block of flats. The Baroness alighted first.
"You must come in and have a whisky and soda," she said to Wrayson.
"If I may," he answered, looking at Louise.
The Baroness passed on. Louise, with a slight shrug of the shoulders,followed her.
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