The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure

by Arnold Bennett

  III.

  Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier worked together admirably that afternoon onthe arrangements for the corner-stone-laying. And--such was theinteraction of their separate enthusiasms--it soon became apparent thatall London (in the only right sense of the word "all") must and would beat the ceremony. Characteristically, Mr. Marrier happened to have alist or catalogue of all London in his pocket, and Edward Henryappreciated him more than ever. But towards four o'clock Mr. Marrierannoyed and even somewhat alarmed Edward Henry by a mysterious change ofmien. His assured optimism slipped away from him. He grew uneasy,darkly preoccupied, and inefficient. At last when the clock in the roomstruck four, and Edward Henry failed to hear it, Mr. Marrier said:

  "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me now."

  "Why?"

  "I told you I had an appointment for tea at four."

  "Did you? What is it?" Edward Henry demanded with an employer'sinstinctive assumption that souls as well as brains can be bought forsuch sums as three pounds a week.

  "I have a lady coming to tea, here; that is, downstairs."

  "In this hotel?"

  "Yes."

  "Who is it?" Edward Henry pursued lightly, for though he appreciated Mr.Marrier, he also despised him. However, he found the grace to add: "Mayone ask?"

  "It's Miss Elsie April."

  "Do you mean to say, Marrier," complained Edward Henry, "that you'veknown Miss Elsie April all these months and never told me? ... Therearen't two, I suppose? It's the cousin or something of Rose Euclid?"

  Mr. Marrier nodded. "The fact is," he said, "she and I are jointhonorary organising secretaries for the annual conference of the AzureSociety. You know, it leads the New Thought movement in England."

  "You never told me that either."

  "Didn't I, sir? I didn't think it would interest you. Besides, bothMiss April and I are comparatively new members."

  "Oh!" said Edward Henry with all the canny provincial's conviction ofhis own superior shrewdness; and he repeated, so as to intensify thisconviction and impress it on others, "Oh!" In the undergrowth of hismind was the thought: "How dare this man, whose brains belong to me, bethe organising secretary of something that I don't know anything aboutand don't want to know anything about?"

  "Yes," said Mr. Marrier modestly.

  "I say," Edward Henry enquired warmly, with an impulsive gesture, "whois she?"

  "Who is she?" repeated Mr. Marrier blankly.

  "Yes. What does she do?"

  "Doesn't do anything," said Mr. Marrier. "Very good amateur actress.Goes about a great deal. Her mother was on the stage. Married awealthy wholesale corset-maker."

  "Who did? Miss April?" Edward Henry had a twinge.

  "No; her mother. Both parents are dead, and Miss April has an income--aconsiderable income."

  "What do you call considerable?"

  "Five or six thousand a year."

  "The deuce!" murmured Edward Henry.

  "May have lost a bit of it, of course," Mr. Marrier hedged. "But notmuch, not much!"

  "Well," said Edward Henry, smiling. "What about _my_ tea? Am I to havetea all by myself?"

  "Will you come down and meet her?" Mr. Marrier's expression approachedthe wistful.

  "Well," said Edward Henry, "it's an idea, isn't it? Why should I be theonly person in London who doesn't know Miss Elsie April?"

  It was ten minutes past four when they descended into the electricpublicity of the Grand Babylon. Amid the music and the rattle ofcrockery and the gliding waiters and the large nodding hats thatgathered more and more thickly round the tables, there was no sign ofElsie April.

  "She may have been and gone away again," said Edward Henry,apprehensive.

  "Oh, no! She wouldn't go away." Mr. Marrier was positive.

  In the tone of a man with an income of two hundred pounds a week heordered a table to be prepared for three.

  At ten minutes to five he said:

  "I hope she _hasn't_ been and gone away again!"

  Edward Henry began to be gloomy and resentful. The crowded andfactitious gaiety of the place actually annoyed him. If Elsie April hadbeen and gone away again, he objected to such silly feminine conduct.If she was merely late, he equally objected to such unconscionableinexactitude. He blamed Mr. Marrier. He considered that he had theright to blame Mr. Marrier because he paid him three pounds a week. Andhe very badly wanted his tea.

  Then their four eyes, which for forty minutes had scarcely left theentrance staircase, were rewarded. She came in furs, gleaming white kidgloves, gold chains, a gold bag, and a black velvet hat.

  "I'm not late, am I?" she said after the introduction.

  "No," they both replied. And they both meant it. For she was like fineweather. The forty minutes of waiting were forgotten, expunged from therecords of time, just as the memory of a month of rain is obliterated byone splendid sunny day.