The Paying Guest

business. Still, there might be something from someone; she always looked eagerly for the postman.

The weather was gloomy. Not long after eight the housemaid brought in a lighted lamp, and set it, as usual, upon the little black four-legged table in the drawing-room. And in the same moment the knocker of the front door sounded a vigorous rat-tat-tat, a visitor’s summons.

CHAPTER VIII

‘It may be someone calling upon me,’ said Louise to the servant. ‘Let me know the name before you show anyone in.’

‘Of course, miss,’ replied the domestic, with pert familiarity, and took her time in arranging the shade of the lamp. When she returned from the door it was to announce, smilingly, that Mr. Cobb wished to see Miss Derrick.

‘Please to show him in.’

Louise stood in an attitude of joyous excitement, her eyes sparkling. But at the first glance she perceived that her lover’s mood was by no means correspondingly gay. Cobb stalked forward and kept a stern gaze upon her, but said nothing.

‘Well? You got my letter, I suppose?’

‘What letter?’

He had not been home since breakfast-time, so Louise’s appeal to him for advice lay waiting his arrival. Impatiently, she described the course of events. As soon as she had finished, Cobb threw his hat aside and addressed her harshly.

‘I want to know what you mean by writing to your sister that you are going to marry Bowling. I saw your mother this morning, and that’s what she told me. It must have been only a day or two ago that you said that. Just explain, if you please. I’m about sick of this kind of thing, and I’ll have the truth out of you.’

His anger had never taken such a form as this; for the first time Louise did in truth feel afraid of him. She shrank away, her heart throbbed, and her tongue refused its office.

‘Say what you mean by it!’ Cobb repeated, in a voice that was all the more alarming because he kept it low.

‘Did you write that to your sister?’

‘Yes—but I never meant it—it was just to make her angry—’

‘You expect me to believe that? And, if it’s true, doesn’t it make you out a nice sort of girl? But I don’t believe it You’ve been thinking of him in that way all along; and you’ve been writing to him, or meeting him, since you came here. What sort of behaviour do you call this?’

Louise was recovering self-possession; the irritability of her own temper began to support her courage.

‘What if I have? I’d never given you any promise till last night, had I? I was free to marry anyone I liked, wasn’t I? What do you mean by coming here and going on like this? I’ve told you the truth about that letter, and I’ve always told you the truth about everything. If you don’t like it, say so and go.’

Cobb was impressed by the energy of her defence. He looked her straight in the eyes, and paused a moment; then spoke less violently.

‘You haven’t told me the whole truth. I want to know when you saw Bowling last.’

‘I haven’t seen him since I left home.’

‘When did you write to him last?’

‘The same day I wrote to Cissy. And I shall answer no more questions.’

‘Of course not. But that’s quite enough. You’ve been playing a double game; if you haven’t told lies, you’ve acted them. What sort of a wife would you make? How could I ever believe a word you said? I shall have no more to do with you.’

He turned away, and, in the violence of the movement, knocked over a little toy chair, one of those perfectly useless, and no less ugly, impediments which stand about the floor of a well-furnished drawing-room. Too angry to stoop and set the object on its legs again, he strode towards the door. Louise followed him.

‘You are going?’ she asked, in a struggling voice.

Cobb paid no attention, and all but reached the door. She laid a hand upon him.

‘You are going?’

The touch and the voice checked him. Again he turned abruptly and seized the hand that rested upon his arm.

‘Why are you stopping me? What do you want with me? I’m to help you out of the fix you’ve got into, is that it? I’m to find you a lodging, and take no end of trouble, and then in a week’s time get a letter to say that you want nothing more to do with me.’

Louise was pale with anger and fear, and as many other emotions as her little heart and brain could well hold. She did not look her best—far from it but the man saw something in her eyes which threw a fresh spell upon him. Still grasping her one hand, he caught her by the other arm, held her as far off as he could, and glared passionately as he spoke.

‘What do you want?’

‘You know—I’ve told you the truth—’

His grasp hurt her; she tried to release herself, and moved backwards. For a moment Cobb left her free; she moved backward again, her eyes drawing him on. She felt her power, and could not be content with thus much exercise of it.