“I tried the door, it opened, so I came in,” said Lorna, dropping into a chair. “If you want to keep your guilty secrets from prying eyes you should lock your rooms, John.”
“It’s not worth the risk of missing you,” Mannering riposted.
He had not seen Lorna so frequently of late. The advent of the Wagnalls and Gerry Long and the reopening of his friendship with Lady Mary and Colonel George Belton had occupied him, and Lorna had spent a great deal of time painting. Too much time, he told himself as he looked at her.
He regarded her for several minutes, thoughtfully and without speaking. She returned his gaze, but the smile on her lips was not wholly sincere. She looked tired. Her eyes lacked the lustre they had possessed; that turbulent spirit that had at first intrigued and later enamoured him was subdued. He hardly knew why, but he told himself that she was worried.
“I’m looking a wreck,” said Lorna suddenly.
The disconcerting habit she had of saying the obvious and saying it bluntly was still in her, and Mannering laughed.
“You look as though art has been too hard a master,” he said. “You’re working too much, my dear. You mustn’t.”
Lorna laughed and shook her head; there was a hardness in the sound which made Mannering wary.
“I must,” she said; “but don’t worry about me, John.”
Mannering’s lips curved as he offered her a cigarette and suggested tea. She nodded, and she watched him make it, smiling a little, but without the mischievousness that had characterised her in the early days of their friendship.
“Why must you?” he asked, as he handed her a cup and passed sugar and cream.
The sudden return to the topic seemed to take her off her balance. Her face was very sober as she stirred her tea.
“Why do most people work?” she demanded, almost defiantly.
And then, to Mannering’s complete astonishment, tears welled up in her eyes, and she covered her face in her hands.
“Oh, my dear,” said Mannering. He stepped to her side and gripped her shoulders gently. She said nothing, but after a moment she smiled. There was something pitiful, something tragic, in that smile, and the need for knowing why seemed to Mannering the most urgent thing in the world.
“If there’s anything I can do,” said Mannering very quietly, “you’ve only to say it, Lorna. No need for questions and answers. Just say the word.”
She pressed his fingers, and smiled wanly.
They had finished tea, but for some minutes neither of them had spoken. Mannering was completely at a loss. If there was one thing he had never anticipated this was it. Lorna was essentially strong-willed. He had never seen her show emotion. She had always covered it with that sometimes cynical, sometimes mocking, sometimes uncertain veneer. And now this, taking him completely by surprise.
“There isn’t,” she said. “I’ve made a fool of myself, John, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And so we have to forget it?” suggested Mannering.
Lorna nodded. Mannering smiled, but there was a depth of understanding in his eyes.
“My dear,” he said, “you’re talking nonsense. There was a time when we started to talk of . . .”
“Marriage?” said Lorna as he hesitated, and the word was a whisper.
“Marriage,” he said soberly. “I’ve never mentioned it, because it was an understanding that we shouldn’t. But if we were married you would want me to help. Why don’t you now?”
She forced a smile to her lips.
“There’s no reason why I should,” she said.
“There’s every reason,” said Mannering, and his voice was very low.
Lorna shrugged her shoulders. She looked very forlorn, very tired — and very lovely.
“It’s a very old business,” she said. “I mean, it’s ageless. I’m in need of money. That’s all.”
She spoke listlessly, as though she was speaking without interest. When she stopped she continued to look past Mannering towards the wall.
He was glad that she did.
The complete astonishment which filled him as he heard the word “money” revealed itself on his face. It was gone in a flash, but it had been there, and he felt winded. Lorna, daughter of Lord Fauntley, who had boasted that he was among the ten richest men in England, wanted
There was something absurd about it, but Mannering conquered a temptation to laugh. He swallowed hard, and then said quietly: “How much?”
The blankness disappeared from Lorna’s eyes as he spoke. She laughed, and for the first time since she entered the flat she sounded normal, natural.
“That’s just the one question I’d expect you to ask,” she said. And the expression in her eyes made him flush. His voice was level enough, however, and held a hint of laughter.
“It’s the only pertinent one,” he said.
Lorna looked at him very straightly.
