“and so,” said father o’sullivan, blowing his nose, “i came right along to tell you, and ask you what is the next step to take.”
“poor chap!” ejaculated tommy, delivering himself of a huge sigh. he was standing on the hearthrug, immaculately attired in dinner jacket, white shirt-front, and all the rest of the paraphernalia.
muriel gave a little choke. she was sitting near him in a dress of her favourite pale green. father o’sullivan had descended on them both as they were waiting in the drawing-room for the announcement of dinner. it had, be it stated, already been made, but little heed had been paid thereto, and the butler in wrathful terms was now ordering the soup to be taken below again.
“and what are you both looking so glum about?” demanded father o’sullivan fiercely. “faith, and weren’t you having me say masses, and yourself setting up candles to st. joseph, that that young quixote—what’s-his-name—might hold up his head again? and now that the good lord has answered our prayers and cleared him, and let that poor boy make a good confession and pass peacefully away, you’re looking as mournful as a mute at a funeral. was it perhaps some other way you’d have been having god arrange things and not his way at all?” he stuffed his handkerchief back vigorously in his pocket as he spoke.
“but,” quoth tommy in a slightly haughty fashion, feeling this speech somewhat of an aspersion on his wife’s wet eyes, “you will not, i imagine, deny that it was sad?”
“sad! of course it was sad, what happened first. but can’t you see the fine way, the beautiful way, god has taken away the sadness? you’re all for saying paradise must be a grand place, but directly a soul gets a bit nearer to it you’re for weeping and wailing and crying ‘poor fellow!’”
muriel choked back her tears. smiling at the old priest and the half-wrathful tommy, she spoke.
“and you’re just as near crying yourself as i am, father,” she protested. “and it’s that is making you so abominably rude and cross to us both.”
“huh!” said father o’sullivan, and he coughed, putting up his hand to his mouth. and both cough and gesture hid that his lips were trembling.
“and now,” he requested after a moment, his voice steady and a trifle dry, “what’s to be done next?”
“find mr. carden, of course,” announced muriel with airy decision, as who should say that was a fact apparent to the most infantine intelligence.
“and it’s all very well to say ‘find him,’” remarked father o’sullivan dryly, “but have you the faintest suspicion of a notion where he is at all?”
“not the least,” quoth muriel cheerfully; “that is exactly what we have to discover.”
“and how will you be doing that may i ask?”
muriel leant forward, finger-tips pressed together,speaking with the decision of one who has thoroughly weighed the whole problem.
“first we must tell general carden, and see if he knows where he is. i don’t think he does, but we must find out for certain. then there are his publishers—oh, yes,” in answer to tommy’s elevated eyebrows—“he has written a book, a very good book indeed, and thereby hangs more of a tale than is enclosed within its covers. failing both those plans,” she concluded firmly, “tommy must find him.”
“faith,” said father o’sullivan admiringly, “it’s a fine thing to be a husband!”
and then a second time the drawing-room door opened, and a second time a voice announced, this time in accents of deep reproach, that dinner was on the table.
muriel looked at both the men. “oh,” she cried, “didn’t he tell us that before? i feel apologetic. he’s such a treasure, and so is the cook—both artists in their way, and we’re spoiling their artistic efforts. come, both of you. we’ll talk more at dinner.” a whirl of chiffons and daintiness, she led the way downstairs.
in the intervals of the servant’s absence from the room, she promulgated plans, like any old veteran at the beginning of a campaign. if they sounded somewhat fantastic plans it is certain that neither man had any better to offer. and what, in her opinion, was more feasible, more practicable, than that tommy should take the car to abbotsleigh, where peter was last seen by anne, and from there scour the country for a man with a peacock feather in his hat? it was, she assured them both, the simplest of proceedings.
by the end of dinner they had warmed to her ideas, confessing at least that no better solution of the difficulty presented itself to them. further, she told them, and on this point she was firm, that they must both go that very evening and tell general carden the present state of affairs. for herself, she thought anne was expecting her. yes; she was convinced anne was expecting her, but she would telephone through and make sure while they were finishing their cigars. thus she departed from the room.
anne’s voice at the other end of the telephone presently answered her. yes, she would be at home that evening, and delighted to see muriel. but what was the matter of importance of which muriel had to speak? too long to communicate at the moment? oh, well, anne must possess her soul in patience till muriel arrived.
and then muriel hung up the receiver, and rang for the footman, on whose appearance she ordered him to tell her maid to bring a cloak immediately, and stated also that she would require a taxi in ten minutes. then, as one who has put great things in train, she sank back in a chair with a sigh of relief and content.
