the range of her experience that his very novelty had overcome all her natural qualms.
Joan was beginning to see life from a new angle, to realize the tremendous difference this marriage would make, and Letty (or was it Mabel?) had been right. What did a girl know about the lover into whose hands she placed her future? Already she knew, and was more akin to, the nature of Clifford Lynne than had been half a dozen brides she could recall to the real character of the men they had wed.
Walking to the window, she stood looking at that visible portion of the Slaters’ Cottage which showed through the trees. Smoke was coming from the chimney now, and she remembered the cab full of provisions and wondered if Clifford Lynne was as efficient as a cook as he seemed in other directions.
Woodmen were engaged in felling the trees about the cottage. Even as she looked she saw a high fir topple over slowly and heard the crash of its branches as it struck the ground. By tomorrow the cottage would be almost completely visible, she thought, and turned at that moment as a tap came upon the door.
“It’s Letty,” said a shrill voice, and, when she hastened to turn the key: “Why on earth do you lock yourself in, Joan?”
Letty had only made two visits to the room, and now she looked around with an air of surprise.
“Why, you’re very comfortable here!” she said, and, had Joan been uncharitable, she would have read into the surprise a note of disappointment. “Father has been on the telephone; he won’t be home tonight. He wants us to go up to dinner with him—you don’t mind being left alone?”
It was an unusual question, considering that it was addressed to one who had spent many an evening alone and was glad of the privilege.
“We may be late because we’re going on to a dance at the Savoy after the theatre.”
She was turning to go, with another glance round the room,-when she remembered something.
“I’ve seen that man Lynne, Joan. He’s awfully good looking! Why on earth did he come here in that ridiculous get-up?”
Here was the inevitable grievance which Joan had anticipated. Minds were evidently working along parallel lines at Sunni Lodge.
“Not that it would have made any difference to me,” said Letty, with a lift of her chin. “A girl can’t live on good looks.”
There was an imp of mischief in Joan Bray’s composition, and she was, moreover, intensely curious to know what would be the effect upon the girls if she passed on her information.
“Clifford Lynne is not a poor man: he is very rich,” she said. “Mr Bray only held a one-tenth interest in the company. Clifford Lynne has a four-fifths holding.”
Letty’s jaw dropped.
“Who told you that?” she asked sharply.
“Clifford Lynne. And I know he was speaking the truth.”
Letty opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, and, slamming the door behind her, went downstairs. In five minutes the girl heard voices outside the door, and without knocking Mabel came in, followed by her sister.
“What is this that Letty tells me about Lynne?” she asked almost querulously. “It is rather curious that we haven’t heard about it before?”
Joan was amused; she could have laughed aloud, but she managed to keep a straight face.
“You mean about Mr Lynne’s wealth? He’s a very rich man—that is all I know.”
“Does Father know too?” asked Mabel, struggling to suppress her unreasonable anger.
Joan shook her head.
“I should imagine he doesn’t.”
The two sisters looked at one another.
“Of course, this alters everything,” said Mabel emphatically. “In the first place, nobody wanted to marry a scarecrow, and in the second place, it was ridiculous to expect either of us girls to tie ourselves for life to a poverty-stricken servant, as it were, of uncle’s.”
“Preposterous!” agreed Letty.
“It was obviously Mr Bray’s idea that he should marry one of us girls,” said Mabel. “I don’t suppose he’d ever heard of your existence, Joan.”
“I’m pretty sure he hadn’t,” answered Joan, and Mabel smiled, as she seated herself in the most comfortable chair in the room.
“Then we’ve got to be just sensible about this,” she said, in her most amiable tone. “If what you say is true —and of course I don’t think for one moment that you’ve made it up—dear Uncle Joe’s wishes should be–-“
“Fulfilled,” suggested Letty, when Mabel paused for a word.
“Yes, that’s it—fulfilled. It is a little awkward for you, but practically you don’t know the man, and I’m sure the idea of this marriage has worried you a great deal. As I was saying to Letty, if there is any sacrifice to be made, it is up to us to make it. We don’t want to use you, so to speak, as a catspaw, but at the same time I feel that we haven’t quite played the game with you, Joan. I told father only this morning that I had my doubts about the marriage, and that we ought to think the matter over more before we allowed you perhaps to let yourself in for a perfectly horrible life with a man you don’t know–-“
“And you don’t know him quite so well,” Joan was compelled to say.
“Still, we’ve larger experience of men,” said Mabel, gravely reproachful. “And don’t think for one moment, Joan, that the question of his wealth makes the slightest difference to us. Papa is rich enough to give me a good time whether I marry Clifford Lynne or not.”
“Whether either of us marries Clifford Lynne or not,” corrected Letty with some asperity, “and–-“
There was a knock at the door. Letty, who was nearest, opened it. It was the butler.
“There’s a gentleman called to see Miss Joan–-” he began.
Letty took the card from his hand.
“Clifford Lynne,” she said breathlessly, and Joan laughed.
“Here is an excellent opportunity of settling the matter, Mabel,” she said, not without malice. “After all, he ought to be consulted!”
Letty went red and white.
“Don’t you dare!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “I will never forgive you, Joan, if you repeat one word!”
But the girl was already half way down the first flight of stairs.
Joan went alone to the drawing-room, oblivious to the whispered injunctions which followed her down. She had an almost overpowering inclination to laugh, and there flashed to her mind a homely parallel; only, if she were Cinderella, neither Letty nor the plump Mabel could by any stretch of imagination be described as the ugly sisters.
She found him standing at a window looking out over the-‘ lawn, and he turned quickly at the sound of the opening door. In his abrupt way and without preamble he asked:
“Could I see you tonight?”
“Why—yes,” she said. And then, remembering: “I shall be alone. The girls are going to town.”
He scratched his chin at this.
“Are they?” He frowned. “But that doesn’t make a great deal of difference. I want to see you at the cottage. Would you come if I called for you?”
The proprieties were never a strong point with Joan; she was so sure of herself, so satisfied with the correctness of her own code, that other people’s opinion of her did not matter. But his suggestion did not accord with her own theory of behaviour.
“Is that necessary?” she asked. “I will come if you wish me to, for I know you would not invite me unless you had a special reason.”
“I have a very special reason,” he insisted. “I want you to meet somebody. At least I think I do.”
He ran his fingers through his hair irritably.
“A friend of mine—and not so much of a friend either.”
She was astonished at his agitation and could only wonder I what was the extraordinary cause.
“I’ll call for you about ten,” he said. “And, Joan, I’ve been thinking matters over and I’m rather worried.”
Instinctively she knew that the cause of his trouble was herself.
“Have you changed your mind?” she bantered.
