Merely to be back in the same town made him nearly wild with joy. How jolly London looked at the beginning of July! So gay, so full of life.

And then he read a letter in a writing he didn't know; it was from Mavis Argles, the friend of Vincy--the young art-student: Vincy had given her his address some time ago--asking him for some special privilege which he possessed, to see some of the Chinese pictures in the British Museum. He was to oblige her with a letter to the museum.

She would call for it. Vincy was away, and evidently she had by accident chosen the day of Aylmer's return without knowing anything of his absence. She had never seen him in her life.

Aylmer was wandering about the half-dismantled house _desoeuvre_, with nothing to do, restlessly counting the minutes till two in the afternoon. He remembered the very little that Vincy had told him of Mavis; how proud she was and how hard up. He saw her through the window. She looked pale and rather shabby. He told the servant to show her in.

'I've just this moment got your letter, Miss Argles. But, of course, I'm only too delighted.'

'Thank you. Mr Vincy said you'd give me the letter.'

The girl sat down stiffly on the edge of a chair. Vincy had said she was pretty. Aylmer could not see it. But he felt br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with sympathy and kindness for her--for everyone, in fact.

She wore a thin light grey cotton dress, and a small grey hat; her hair looked rich, red, and fluffy as ever; her face white and rather thin.

She looked about seventeen. When she smiled she was pretty; she had a Rossetti mouth; that must have been what Vincy admired. Aylmer had no idea that Vincy did more than admire her very mildly.

'Won't you let me take you there?' suggested Aylmer suddenly. He had nothing on earth to do, and thought it would fill up the time. 'Yes!

I'll drive you there and show you the pictures. And then, wouldn't you come and have lunch? I've got an appointment at two.'

She firmly declined lunch, but consented that he should drive her, and they went.

Aylmer talked with the eagerness produced by his restless excitement and she listened with interest, somewhat fascinated, as people always were, with his warmth and vitality.

As they were driving along Oxford Street Edith, walking with Archie, saw them clearly. She had been taking him on some mission of clothes.

(For the children only she went into shops.) He was talking with such animation that he did not see her, to a pale young girl with bright red hair. Edith knew the girl by sight, knew perfectly well that she was Vincy's friend--there was a photograph of her at his rooms. Aylmer did not see her. After a start she kept it to herself. She walked a few steps, then got into a cab. She felt ill.

So Aylmer had never got her letter? He had been in London without telling her. He had forgotten her. Perhaps he was deceiving her? And he was making love obviously to that sickening, irritating red-haired fool (so Edith thought of her), Vincy's silly, affected art-student.

When Edith went home she had a bad quarter of an hour. She never even asked herself what right she had to mind so much; she only knew it hurt. A messenger boy at once, of course.

'Dear Mr Ross,

I saw you this morning. I wrote you a line to Paris, not knowing you had returned. When you get the note forwarded, will you do me the little favour to tear it up unopened? I'm sure you will do this to please me.

'We are going away in a day or two, but I don't know where. Please don't trouble to come and see me.

'Good-bye.

'EDITH OTTLEY.'

Aylmer left Miss Argles at the British Museum. When he went back, he found this letter.

CHAPTER XIX

An Extraordinary Afternoon

Aylmer guessed at once she had seen him driving. Being a man of sense, and not an impossible hero in a feuilleton, instead of going away again and leaving the misunderstanding to ripen, he went to the telephone, endeavoured to get on, and to explain, in few words, what had obviously happened. To follow the explanation by an immediate visit was his plan.

Though, of course, slightly irritated that she had seen him under circ.u.mstances conveying a false impression, on the other hand he was delighted at the pique her letter showed, especially coming immediately after the almost tender letter in Paris.

He rang and rang (and used language), and after much difficulty getting an answer he asked, '_Why he could not get on_' a pathetic question asked plaintively by many people (not only on the telephone).

'The line is out of order.'

In about twenty minutes he was at her door. The lift seemed to him preternaturally slow.

'Mrs Ottley?'

'Mrs Ottley is not at home, sir.'

At his blank expression the servant, who knew him, and of course liked him, as they always did, offered the further information that Mrs Ottley had gone out for the whole afternoon.

'Are the children at home, or out with Miss Townsend?'

'The children are out, sir, but not with Miss Townsend. They are spending the day with their grandmother.'

'Oh! Do you happen to know if Mr and Mrs Ottley will be at home to dinner?'

'I've heard nothing to the contrary, sir.'

'May I come in and write a note?'

He went into the little drawing-room. It was intensely a.s.sociated with her. He felt a little emu.... There was the writing-table, there the bookcase, the few chairs, the grey walls; some pale roses fading in a pewter vase.... The restfulness of the surroundings filled him, and feeling happier he wrote on the grey notepaper:

'DEAR MRS OTTLEY,

I arrived early this morning. I started, in fact, from Paris immediately after receiving a few lines you very kindly sent me there.

I'm so disappointed not to see you. Unless I hear to the contrary--and even if I do, I think!--I propose to come round this evening about nine, and tell you and Bruce all about my travels.

'Excuse my country manners in thus inviting myself. But I know you will say no if you don't want me. And in that case I shall have to come another time, very soon, instead, as I really must see you and show you something I've got for Archie. Yours always--'

He paused, and then added:

'Sincerely,

'AYLMER ROSS'

He went to his club, there to try and pa.s.s the time until the evening.

He meant to go in the evening, even if she put him off again; and, if they were out, to wait until they returned, pretending he had not heard from her again.

He was no better. He had been away six weeks and was rather more in love than ever. He would only see her--she _did_ want to see him before they all separated for the summer! He could not think further than of the immediate future; he would see her; they could make plans afterwards. Of course, her letter was simply pique! She had given herself away--twice--once in the angry letter, also in the previous one to Paris. Where was she now? What did it mean? Why did she go out for the whole afternoon? Where was she?

After Edith had written and sent her letter to Aylmer in the morning, Mrs Ottley the elder came to fetch the children to dine, and Edith told Miss Townsend to go for the afternoon. She was glad she would be absolutely alone.

'Aren't you very well, dear Mrs Ottley?' asked this young lady, in her sweet, sympathetic way.

Edith was fond of her, and, by implication only, occasionally confided in her on other subjects than the children. Today, however, Edith answered that she was _very_ well _indeed_, but was going to see about things before they went away. 'I don't know how we shall manage without you for the holidays, Miss Townsend. I think you had better come with us for the first fortnight, if you don't mind much.'