‘Yes, Mrs Monteath came back last night. Will you come this way, please.’
‘Thank you, God, thank you, thank you.’
She took Philadelphia up to the first floor flat, opened the door of it with a special key and precipitated her into a large, light bedroom, where Sally and Walter Monteath were sitting up in bed eating their breakfast.
‘A young lady to see you, ma’am.’
‘Philadelphia darling!’ cried Sally in a loud and cheerful voice.
Philadelphia opened her mouth to say something and then fell to the floor in a dead faint.
When she recovered consciousness she was lying in the bed herself, and Sally was sponging her face with cold water while the charwoman looked on. Walter was nowhere to be seen.
‘There, darling,’ said Sally, ‘you lie quite still and don’t worry about anything.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Philadelphia, ‘to be such a bother.’
‘Don’t be silly. Are you feeling all right now?’
‘Yes, perfect. I expect I’m rather hungry really, that’s why I fainted.’
‘Poor sweet. Mrs Crumpit will make you some breakfast at once. You didn’t motor all the way up this morning, did you?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Good gracious. Walter thought you had by the look of the car.’
Philadelphia felt warm, happy and contented. She was in no hurry to tell her story, and Sally did not ask any more questions, but went off to help Mrs Crumpit in the kitchen. Presently she came back with a most delicious breakfast. While Philadelphia was eating this the telephone bell rang in the next room and Walter’s voice could be heard answering it.
‘Hullo – yes? Oh, hullo, Amabelle – my dear, she’s in our bed, quite all right – she appeared about half an hour ago and fainted away. Gave us an awful fright, but she’s eating breakfast now. What? I don’t know. I’ve no idea. Oh, very well, we’ll keep her here for the present then. Right you are, Amabelle. Good-bye.’
‘You seem to have caused a perfect uproar,’ he said, coming into the bedroom. ‘Apparently Michael has been telephoning to Amabelle from Compton Bobbin half out of his mind, and she tried to get on to Paul, but there was no answer; and then by a stroke of luck it occurred to her that we might know something about you. Michael is on his way to London now. I must go and have my bath. See you later.’
‘Do tell me all about it,’ said Sally as he shut the door. ‘I’m eaten with curiosity.’
‘Well, you see, Michael arrived at home last night and gave me a diamond bracelet.’
‘Darling, how gorgeous.’
‘And I simply hadn’t the courage to tell him about Paul. I couldn’t face the scene with Mother; you don’t know how terrifying she can be. But I thought that if I went to Paul straight away everything would be all right. I thought it was my only chance. So I got up very early this morning –’
‘You must have.’
‘And drove up here and went straight to Paul’s house, and when I got there,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘he was lying on the sofa looking too awful, and he wouldn’t speak to me or even bother to open his eyes.’
‘Blind, I suppose,’ said Sally with the wisdom of experience.
‘Yes, he was. At last when I had shaken him for ages all he said was, “Go away – I’m drunk.” Sally, I never knew people got drunk in the morning?’
‘I expect he had a jolly old hangover,’ said Sally. ‘What did you do then?’
‘As soon as I realized what was the matter I went to Amabelle’s, because I thought you were still abroad, but she hadn’t been called and the footman was rude to me, so I came here on the chance that I might find you.’
‘You’ve been crying, haven’t you?’
‘Well, of course. It’s so terrible to think that all this time I’ve been in love with a drunkard.’
‘Paul’s not a drunkard, my dear; that’s absurd. All men get blind sometimes, but they don’t expect their girl friends to call at nine in the morning as a rule.’
‘Anyway, it’s all over between us now. I couldn’t bear to see him again after that.’
‘Couldn’t you?’
‘Never. It was too horrible. He could never have done such a thing if he had really loved me. Michael couldn’t behave like that; he does love me, I know, and I shall be frightfully happy with him now.’
‘I never doubted that you would be happy with Michael,’ said Sally in a dry voice. ‘For one thing, you weren’t at any time properly in love with Paul. He was the first person who had ever made love to you and you fell for him; but that doesn’t count.’
‘Oh, Sally, you don’t understand. I adored him right up to this morning more than anyone in the world. You couldn’t go on being in love with somebody after a thing like that had happened, could you?’
‘But of course you could. That sort of thing doesn’t make a scrap of difference if you really love somebody. When I think of all the times I’ve put Walter to bed absolutely paralytic with drink! You weren’t a bit in love with Paul, my sweet, and you’ve realized it, that’s all. And I think it’s a mercy you have, myself, because you are entirely unsuited to each other in every way. You would both have been miserably unhappy. Now, you’ll be able to marry that divine Michael and have a really enviable life. Don’t cry, darling, but have some more coffee and then I’ll lend you some rouge. You mustn’t be looking pale for Michael when he comes.’
Two days later Paul read in The Times that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between the Marquis of Lewes and Philadelphia, only daughter of Lady Bobbin and the late Sir Hudson Bobbin, of Compton Bobbin, Gloucestershire.
With a sigh, whether of sadness or of relief will never be known,
