"it would be quite safe," kate charlock had said to herself. john was so foolish about the boy. he always took the gloomiest view of everything. she would retire to her bedroom and would pretend to be asleep. she could dress herself and slip across to mrs. bromley-martin's and pass the night in the fascinating pursuit of bridge. nobody would know. she would be back by daylight. and then she could take her husband's place by the boy's bedside.
she had forgotten everything in the excitement of the moment. she leant forward as the game finished.
"mrs. charlock cuts out," the dealer murmured.
she rose reluctantly and another gambler eagerly took her place. the subdued lights of the shaded candles touched drawn faces. now and again came a cry of annoyance from some plunger whose luck was past bearing. outside, the silence of the night was coming to an end. the trees murmured with the first touch of the morning breeze. as kate charlock crossed the room towards one of the french windows a man followed her. one of the card-players elevated his eyebrows and smiled significantly at his partner, who happened also to be his hostess. her eyes twinkled in reply.
"who is the man?" he asked.
"arnold rent," was the reply. "they say he is going to be president of the royal society. he is a man of various attainments. he is writing a series of essays on the follies of society. i believe electricity is his specialty. but he says he came here to-night to gain experience."
"that was ingenious of him," the questioner said sarcastically. "he couldn't have come to a better house. all the follies and frivolities worth seeing can be found here."
"that is right enough," mrs. bromley-martin said placidly. "i thought it was awfully sweet of him to choose me out of so many others. i am living in hopes that perhaps he will mention my name in one of his essays, and then how furiously jealous all the rest will be! still, i like arnold rent. he is so terribly cynical. in the old days he would have made an ideal libertine."
the man under discussion crossed the room and stood by kate charlock's side. she turned her beautiful face to him, her eyes smiled a welcome. it was by no means the first time the two had met under mrs. bromley-martin's roof.
"there is a seat on the balcony," rent said. "shall we sit there and chat for five minutes? the atmosphere of that room is positively poison to me. it seems incredible that civilised men and women, endowed with all the blessings of life, can sit down and deliberately pass their nights like this."
a gentle sigh escaped kate charlock's lips. her face glowed with sympathy; there was a sad expression on the lovely features.
"is it as bad as you expected, then?" she asked.
"oh, worse, infinitely worse. in their way these people are just as heathenish as the romans of the empire were. what a strange thing fashion is! your friends come down here ostensibly from the cowes regatta, but they have played nothing but bridge all day since monday. it disgusts me to see young girls given over to the vice of gambling, heedless of aught else. forgive me if i wonder why you come here. it cannot be out of sympathy with women like mrs. bromley-martin and her class."
"perhaps not," kate charlock murmured. she sighed again in the same gentle fashion. her eyes had a far-away look in them. "perhaps i am like the man who is on the verge of a breakdown from overwork, or the man who falls back upon brandy to drown some overwhelming sorrow."
the words came slowly and sadly. in the first flush of the dawn rent did not fail to see the look of patient unhappiness on the face of his companion. many fair women arnold rent had seen in his time, but never one who appealed to him as kate charlock did then. he had been too seriously engaged in study to think of women in the abstract. this tall, fair creature in silver grey appeared to be asking mutely for his sympathy. it was such a perfect face, too, a face that seemed to be out of place here. there was a suggestion of sadness in the glorious eyes, as if the woman nursed some secret sorrow and hid it bravely from the world. nine men out of ten would have picked out kate charlock as a perfect confidante in the hour of trouble or affliction. and arnold rent had heard whispers of the story of her life. he turned to her quickly, forgetting his cynicism.
"do you speak from experience?" he asked.
a wave of colour swept over her face.
"you have no right to ask that question," she said.
"that is true, but i am not speaking out of vulgar curiosity. it was yourself who hinted that you came here to escape your own thoughts."
"did i say as much as that?" kate charlock asked absently. "you must make allowance for us poor women who have seen enough of the world to know that it is the woman who always pays."
"so you are one of the women who pay, are you? do you know, i guessed that the first time i saw you. there is something sad and pathetic about you. and yet i am sure you are brave and strong. but, tell me, is the trouble likely to last?"
"i am afraid so," kate charlock murmured. "it is such a terrible thing for a woman to be tied to a man who has no sympathy with her. but i am speaking disloyally of my husband."
arnold rent pursued the subject no further. he had heard something of the kind of man that john charlock, the famous artist, was. despite his brilliant genius, despite the position which he had attained from the ranks of the people, he was spoken of as a boor and a savage brute where his beautiful wife was concerned. strange, rent thought cynically, how frequently men like these win the pearls among womanhood. he was about to say something of this kind when the hostess darted suddenly out and pounced upon kate charlock. with a sigh of protest the latter rose.
"you must come and take my hand," mrs. bromley-martin shrieked. "i am called away for the moment."
with a self-sacrificing smile kate charlock returned to the drawing-room, followed by rent. after the sweetness of the morning air, the atmosphere of the room was close and repellent. the gamblers sat jaded and weary, their faces ghastly where the light fell upon them, but the greedy light in their eyes was still as keen as ever. rent could hear the swish of the cards as they slid over the green baize tables. he could hear the click of gold and the rustle of bank paper. his heart beat faster as he stood watching. what chance could there be for the common people, he asked himself, when the rich amused themselves like this? it was so demoralising, too. it seemed almost impossible to believe that the keen-eyed, eager woman sorting her cards dexterously could be the same sweet creature who had been seated by his side a few moments ago. if ever woman was in need of spiritual support, that woman was kate charlock. what a glorious thing it would be to play the game of platonic friend, to show her how to suffer her misfortunes calmly. she was the sort of woman, too, who in happier auspices might be a maker of history. rent could understand men going mad for the sake of a face like that, or travelling to the end of the world to obey her lightest wish. he wondered what manner of man it was that treated so beautiful a creature with cruel indifference.
he was still wondering when the open french window was flung back and an intruder entered. the intruder was not in evening dress. he was attired in a shabby flannel suit, his hair was dishevelled, his short brown beard in disorder. the man's face was a strong one, and there was an almost sinister suggestion of power about the short, blunt nose and deep-set, gleaming eyes. there was anger as well as bitter contempt written on the features as he strode across the room towards the table where kate charlock was seated. by instinct arnold rent knew that he was face to face with mrs. charlock's husband.
the stranger strode up to her and laid his hand on her arm. her features turned a shade paler as she glanced up.
"john," she faltered. just for a moment it occurred to rent that the woman's face had a guilty air. "what are you doing here like this? is anything wrong?"
"oh, i know i am out of place," the stranger said grimly. "mrs. bromley-martin has asked me more than once to call, and now i am here. i have come for you."
the speaker's stern, clear tones rang through the room, and cards were dropped for the moment. the hostess laughed.
"oh, don't mention it," she said. "i love originality. you can't think how tired one gets sometimes of bridge in a drawing-room."
all eyes were turned upon charlock, and he seemed to have become master of the situation. he walked to the windows and jerked up the blinds. the clear glow of the morning fell on tired eyes and painted faces that looked ghastly white and drawn. there was no sign of a smile on charlock's face.
"take the tables and play outside," he said. "that will be something new, something for the papers to chatter about. but i am intruding here, and i want my wife. you will come at once. i beg your pardon, i am sure i did not mean to hurt you, but i am a little beside myself to-night. you will know why presently. i will go outside and wait for you."
