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  JILL THE RECKLESS

  BY

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED

  3 DUKE OF YORK STREET

  ST. JAMES'S, LONDON, S.W. 1

  * * * * *

  TO

  MY WIFE

  BLESS HER

  * * * * *

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE FAMILY CURSE II. THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE LEICESTER III. JILL AND THE UNKNOWN ESCAPE IV. THE LAST OF THE ROOKES TAKES A HAND V. LADY UNDERHILL RECEIVES A SHOCK VI. UNCLE CHRIS BANGS THE TABLE VII. JILL CATCHES THE 10.10 VIII. THE DRY-SALTERS WING DEREK IX. JILL IN SEARCH OF AN UNCLE X. JILL IGNORES AUTHORITY XI. MR. PILKINGTON'S LOVE LIGHT XII. UNCLE CHRIS BORROWS A FLAT XIII. THE AMBASSADOR ARRIVES XIV. MR. GOBLE MAKES THE BIG NOISE XV. JILL EXPLAINS XVI. MR. GOBLE PLAYS WITH FATE XVII. THE COST OF A ROWXVIII. JILL RECEIVES NOTICE XIX. MRS. PEAGRIM BURNS INCENSE XX. DEREK LOSES ONE BIRD AND SECURES ANOTHER XXI. WALLY MASON LEARNS A NEW EXERCISE

  * * * * *

  JILL THE RECKLESS

  CHAPTER I

  THE FAMILY CURSE

  I

  Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleamingeye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Barker, his faithfulman, had placed on a plate before him.

  "Barker!" His voice had a ring of pain.

  "Sir?"

  "What's this?"

  "Poached egg, sir."

  Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder.

  "It looks just like an old aunt of mine," he said. "Remove it!"

  He got up, and, wrapping his dressing-gown about his long legs, tookup a stand in front of the fireplace. From this position he surveyedthe room, his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his calves pressingthe club fender. It was a cheerful oasis in a chill and foggy world, atypical London bachelor's breakfast-room. The walls were a restfulgrey, and the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in whiteand silver.

  "Eggs, Barker," said Freddie solemnly, "are the acid test!"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "If, on the morning after, you can tackle a poached egg, you are allright. If not, not. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

  "No, sir."

  Freddie pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, and sighed.

  "It would seem, then, that I must have revelled a triflewhole-heartedly last night. I was possibly a little blotto. Notwhiffled, perhaps, but indisputably blotto. Did I make much noisecoming in?"

  "No, sir. You were very quiet."

  "Ah! A dashed bad sign!"

  Freddie moved to the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  "The cream jug is to your right, sir," said the helpful Barker.

  "Let it remain there. _Cafe noir_ for me this morning. As _noir_ as itcan jolly well stick!" Freddie retired to the fireplace and sippeddelicately. "As far as I can remember, it was Ronny Devereux' birthdayor something...."

  "Mr. Martyn's, I think you said, sir."

  "That's right. Algy Martyn's birthday, and Ronny and I were theguests. It all comes back to me. I wanted Derek to roll along and jointhe festivities--he's never met Ronny--but he gave it a miss. Quiteright! A chap in his position has responsibilities. Member ofParliament and all that. Besides," said Freddie earnestly, drivinghome the point with a wave of his spoon, "he's engaged to be married.You must remember that, Barker!"

  "I will endeavour to, sir."

  "Sometimes," said Freddie dreamily, "I wish I were engaged to bemarried. Sometimes I wish I had some sweet girl to watch over meand.... No, I don't, by Jove. It would give me the utter pip! Is SirDerek up yet, Barker?"

  "Getting up, sir."

  "See that everything is all right, will you? I mean as regards thefood-stuffs and what not. I want him to make a good breakfast. He'sgot to meet his mother this morning at Charing Cross. She's legging itback from the Riviera."

  "Indeed, sir?"

  Freddie shook his head.

  "You wouldn't speak in that light, careless tone if you knew her!Well, you'll see her to-night. She's coming here to dinner."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Miss Mariner will be here, too. A foursome. Tell Mrs. Barker to pullup her socks and give us something pretty ripe. Soup, fish, all thatsort of thing. _She_ knows. And let's have a stoup of malvoisie fromthe oldest bin. This is a special occasion!"

  "Her ladyship will be meeting Miss Mariner for the first time, sir?"

  "You've put your finger on it! Absolutely the first time on this orany stage! We must all rally round and make the thing a success."

  "I am sure Mrs. Barker will strain every nerve, sir." Barker moved tothe door, carrying the rejected egg, and stepped aside to allow atall, well-built man of about thirty to enter. "Good morning, SirDerek."

  "Morning, Barker."

  Barker slid softly from the room. Derek Underhill sat down at thetable. He was a strikingly handsome man, with a strong, forceful face,dark, lean and cleanly shaven. He was one of those men whom a strangerwould instinctively pick out of a crowd as worthy of note. His onlydefect was that his heavy eyebrows gave him at times an expressionwhich was a little forbidding. Women, however, had never been repelledby it. He was very popular with women, not quite so popular withmen--always excepting Freddie Rooke, who worshipped him. They had beenat school together, though Freddie was the younger by several years.

  "Finished, Freddie?" asked Derek.

  Freddie smiled wanly.

  "We are not breakfasting this morning," he replied. "The spirit waswilling, but the jolly old flesh would have none of it. To beperfectly frank, the Last of the Rookes has a bit of a head."

  "Ass!" said Derek.

  "A bit of sympathy," said Freddie, pained, "would not be out of place.We are far from well. Some person unknown has put a threshing-machineinside the old bean and substituted a piece of brown paper for ourtongue. Things look dark and yellow and wobbly!"

  "You shouldn't have overdone it last night."

  "It was Algy Martyn's birthday," pleaded Freddie.

  "If I were an ass like Algy Martyn," said Derek, "I wouldn't go aboutadvertising the fact that I'd been born. I'd hush it up!"

  He helped himself to a plentiful portion of kedgeree, Freddie watchinghim with repulsion mingled with envy. When he began to eat thespectacle became too poignant for the sufferer, and he wandered to thewindow.

  "What a beast of a day!"

  It was an appalling day. January, that grim month, was treating Londonwith its usual severity. Early in the morning a bank of fog had rolledup off the river, and was deepening from pearly white to a luridbrown. It pressed on the window-pane like a blanket, leaving dark,damp rivulets on the glass.

  "Awful!" said Derek,

  "Your mater's train will be late."

  "Yes. Damned nuisance. It's bad enough meeting trains in any case,without having to hang about a draughty station for an hour."

  "And it's sure, I should imagine," went on Freddie, pursuing his trainof thought, "to make the dear old thing pretty tolerably ratty, if shehas one of those slow journeys." He pottered back to the fireplace,and rubbed his shoulders reflectively against the mantelpiece. "I takeit that you wrote to her about Jill?"

  "Of course. That's why she's coming over, I suppose. By the way, yougot those seats for that theatre to-night?"

  "Yes. Three together and one somewhere on the outskirts. If it's allthe same to
you, old thing, I'll have the one on the outskirts."

  Derek, who had finished his kedgeree and was now making himself a bloton Freddie's horizon with toast and marmalade, laughed.

  "What a rabbit you are, Freddie! Why on earth are you so afraid ofmother?"

  Freddie looked at him as a timid young squire might have gazed uponSt. George when the latter set out to do battle with the dragon. Hewas of the amiable type which makes heroes of its friends. In the olddays when he had fagged for him at Winchester he had thought Derek themost wonderful person in the world, and this view he still retained.Indeed, subsequent events had strengthened it. Derek had done the mostamazing things since leaving school. He had had a brilliant career atOxford, and now, in the House of Commons, was already looked upon bythe leaders of his party as one to be watched and encouraged. Heplayed polo superlatively well, and was a fine shot. But of all hisgifts and qualities the one that extorted Freddie's admiration in itsintensest form was his lion-like courage as exemplified by hisbehaviour in the present crisis. There he sat, placidly eating toastand marmalade, while the boat-train containing Lady Underhill alreadysped on its way from Dover to London. It was like Drake playing bowlswith the Spanish Armada in sight.

  "I wish I had your nerve!" he said awed. "What I should be feeling, ifI were in your place and had to meet your mater after telling her thatI was engaged to marry a girl she had never seen, I don't know. I'drather face a wounded tiger!"

  "Idiot!" said Derek placidly.

  "Not," pursued Freddie, "that I mean to say anything in the leastderogatory and so forth to your jolly old mater, if you understand me,but the fact remains she scares me pallid. Always has, ever since thefirst time I went to stay at your place when I was a kid. I can stillremember catching her eye the morning I happened by pure chance tobung an apple through her bedroom window, meaning to let a cat on thesill below have it in the short ribs. She was at least thirty feetaway, but, by Jove, it stopped me like a bullet!"

  "Push the bell, old man, will you? I want some more toast."

  Freddie did as he was requested, with growing admiration.

  "The condemned man made an excellent breakfast," he murmured. "Moretoast, Barker," he added, as that admirable servitor opened the door."Gallant! That's what I call it. Gallant!"

  Derek tilted his chair back.

  "Mother is sure to like Jill when she sees her," he said.

  "_When_ she sees her! Ah! But the trouble is, young feller-me-lad,that she _hasn't_ seen her! That's the weak spot in your case, oldcompanion. A month ago she didn't know of Jill's existence. Now, youknow and I know that Jill is one of the best and brightest. As far aswe are concerned, everything in the good old garden is lovely. Why,dash it, Jill and I were children together. Sported side by side onthe green, and what not. I remember Jill, when she was twelve, turningthe garden hose on me and knocking about seventy-five per cent off themarket value of my best Sunday suit. That sort of thing forms a bond,you know, and I've always felt that she was a corker. But yourmater's got to discover it for herself. It's a dashed pity, by Jove,that Jill hasn't a father or a mother or something of that species torally round just now. They would form a gang. There's nothing like agang! But she's only got that old uncle of hers. A rummy bird. Methim?"

  "Several times. I like him."

  "Oh, he's a genial old buck all right. A very bonhomous lad. But youhear some pretty queer stories about him if you get among people whoknew him in the old days. Even now I'm not so dashed sure I shouldcare to play cards with him. Young Threepwood was telling me only theother day that the old boy took thirty quid off him at picquet asclean as a whistle. And Jimmy Monroe, who's on the Stock Exchange,says he's frightfully busy these times buying margins or whatever itis chappies do down in the City. Margins. That's the word. Jimmy mademe buy some myself on a thing called Amalgamated Dyes. I don'tunderstand the procedure exactly, but Jimmy says it's a sound egg andwill do me a bit of good. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, oldSelby. There's no doubt he's quite a sportsman. But till you've gotJill well established, you know, I shouldn't enlarge on him too muchwith the mater."

  "On the contrary," said Derek, "I shall mention him at the firstopportunity. He knew my father out in India."

  "Did he, by Jove! Oh, well, that makes a difference."

  Barker entered with the toast, and Derek resumed his breakfast.

  "It may be a little bit awkward," he said, "at first, meeting mother.But everything will be all right after five minutes."

  "Absolutely! But, oh, boy! that first five minutes!" Freddie gazedportentously through his eye-glass. Then he seemed to be undergoingsome internal struggle, for he gulped once or twice. "That first fiveminutes!" he said, and paused again. A moment's silent self-communion,and he went on with a rush. "I say, listen. Shall I come along, too?"

  "Come along?"

  "To the station. With you."

  "What on earth for?"

  "To see you through the opening stages. Break the ice, and all thatsort of thing. Nothing like collecting a gang, you know. Moments whena feller needs a friend and so forth. Say the word, and I'll buzzalong and lend my moral support."

  Derek's heavy eyebrows closed together in an offended frown, andseemed to darken his whole face. This unsolicited offer of assistancehurt his dignity. He showed a touch of the petulance which came nowand then when he was annoyed, to suggest that he might not possess sostrong a character as his exterior indicated.

  "It's very kind of you," he began stiffly.

  Freddie nodded. He was acutely conscious of this himself.

  "Some fellows," he observed, "would say 'Not at all!' I suppose. Butnot the Last of the Rookes! For, honestly, old man, between ourselves,I don't mind admitting that this is the bravest deed of the year, andI'm dashed if I would do it for anyone else."

  "It's very good of you, Freddie...."

  "That's all right. I'm a Boy Scout, and this is my act of kindness forto-day."

  Derek got up from the table.

  "Of course you mustn't come," he said. "We can't form a sort ofdebating society to discuss Jill on the platform at Charing Cross."

  "Oh, I would just hang around in the offing, shoving in an occasionaltactful word."

  "Nonsense!"

  "The wheeze would simply be to...."

  "It's impossible."

  "Oh, very well," said Freddie, damped. "Just as you say, of course.But there's nothing like a gang, old son, nothing like a gang!"

  II

  Derek Underhill threw down the stump of his cigar, and gruntedirritably. Inside Charing Cross Station business was proceeding asusual. Porters wheeling baggage-trucks moved to and fro likeJuggernauts. Belated trains clanked in, glad to get home, whileothers, less fortunate, crept reluctantly out through the blacknessand disappeared into an inferno of detonating fog-signals. For outsidethe fog still held. The air was cold and raw and tasted coppery. Inthe street traffic moved at a funeral pace, to the accompaniment ofhoarse cries and occasional crashes. Once the sun had worked its waythrough the murk and had hung in the sky like a great red orange, butnow all was darkness and discomfort again, blended with that oddsuggestion of mystery and romance which is a London fog's onlyredeeming quality.

  The fog and the waiting had had their effect upon Derek. The resolutefront he had exhibited to Freddie at the breakfast-table had meltedsince his arrival at the station, and he was feeling nervous at theprospect of the meeting that lay before him. Calm as he had appearedto the eye of Freddie and bravely as he had spoken, Derek, in therecesses of his heart, was afraid of his mother. There are men--andDerek Underhill was one of them--who never wholly emerge from thenursery. They may put away childish things and rise in the world toaffluence and success, but the hand that rocked their cradle stillrules their lives.

  Derek turned to begin one more walk along the platform, and stopped inmid-stride, raging. Beaming over the collar of a plaid greatcoat, allhelpfulness and devotion, Freddie Rooke was advancing towards him, thefriend that sticketh closer than a brothe
r. Like some loving dog, who,ordered home sneaks softly on through alleys and by-ways, peepinground corners and crouching behind lamp-posts, the faithful Freddiehad followed him after all. And with him, to add the last touch toDerek's discomfiture, were those two inseparable allies of his, RonnyDevereux and Algy Martyn.

  "Well, old thing," said Freddie, patting Derek encouragingly on theshoulder, "here we are after all! I know you told me not to roll roundand so forth, but I knew you didn't mean it. I thought it over afteryou had left, and decided it would be a rotten trick not to clusterabout you in your hour of need. I hope you don't mind Ronny and Algybreezing along too. The fact is, I was in the deuce of a funk--yourjolly old mater always rather paralyses my nerve-centres, you know--soI roped them in. Met 'em in Piccadilly, groping about for the club,and conscripted 'em both, they very decently consenting. We alltoddled off and had a pick-me-up at that chemist chappie's at the topof the Hay-market, and now we're feeling full of beans and buck,ready for anything. I've explained the whole thing to them, andthey're with you to the death! Collect a gang, dear boy, collect agang! That's the motto. There's nothing like it!"

  "Nothing!" said Ronny.

  "Absolutely nothing!" said Algy.

  "We'll just see you through the opening stages," said Freddie, "andthen leg it. We'll keep the conversation general you know."

  "Stop it getting into painful channels," said Ronny.

  "Steer it clear," said Algy, "of the touchy topic."

  "That's the wheeze," said Freddie. "We'll ... Oh, golly! There's thetrain coming in now!" His voice quavered, for not even the comfortingpresence of his two allies could altogether sustain him in thisordeal. But he pulled himself together with a manful effort. "Stickit, old beans!" he said doughtily. "Now is the time for all good mento come to the aid of the party!"

  "We're here!" said Ronny Devereux.

  "On the spot!" said Algy Martyn.

  III

  The boat-train slid into the station. Bells rang, engines blew offsteam, porters shouted, baggage-trucks rattled over the platform. Thetrain began to give up its contents, now in ones and twos, now in asteady stream. Most of the travellers seemed limp and exhausted, andwere pale with the pallor that comes of a choppy Channel crossing.Almost the only exception to the general condition of collapse was theeagle-faced lady in the brown ulster, who had taken up her stand inthe middle of the platform and was haranguing a subdued little maid ina voice that cut the gloomy air like a steel knife. Like the othertravellers, she was pale, but she bore up resolutely. No one couldhave told from Lady Underhill's demeanour that the solid platformseemed to heave beneath her feet like a deck.

  Derek approached, acutely conscious of Freddie, Ronny, and Algy, whowere skirmishing about his flank.

  "Well, mother! So there you are at last!"

  "Well, Derek!"

  Derek kissed his mother. Freddie, Ronny, and Algy shuffled closer,like leopards. Freddie, with the expression of one who leads aforlorn hope, moved his Adam's apple briskly up and down severaltimes, and spoke.

  "How do you do, Lady Underhill?"

  "How do you do, Mr. Rooke?"

  Lady Underhill bowed stiffly and without pleasure. She was not fond ofthe Last of the Rookes. She supposed the Almighty had had some wisepurpose in creating Freddie, but it had always been inscrutable toher.

  "Like you," mumbled Freddie, "to meet my friends. Lady Underhill. Mr.Devereux."

  "Charmed," said Ronny affably.

  "Mr. Martyn."

  "Delighted," said Algy with old-world courtesy.

  Lady Underhill regarded this mob-scene with an eye of ice.

  "How do you do?" she said. "Have you come to meet somebody?"

  "I--er--we--er--why--er--" This woman always made Freddie feel as ifhe were being disembowelled by some clumsy amateur. He wished that hehad defied the dictates of his better nature and remained in his snugrooms at the Albany, allowing Derek to go through this business byhimself. "I--er--we--er--came to meet _you_, don't you know!"

  "Indeed! That was very kind of you!"

  "Oh, not at all."

  "Thought we'd welcome you back to the old homestead," said Ronnybeaming.

  "What could be sweeter?" said Algy. He produced a cigar-case, andextracted a formidable torpedo-shaped Havana. He was feelingdelightfully at his ease, and couldn't understand why Freddie had madesuch a fuss about meeting this nice old lady. "Don't mind if I smoke,do you? Air's a bit raw to-day. Gets into the lungs."

  Derek chafed impotently. These unsought allies were making a difficultsituation a thousand times worse. A more acute observer than young Mr.Martyn, he noted the tight lines about his mother's mouth and knewthem for the danger-signal they were. Endeavouring to distract herwith light conversation, he selected a subject which was a littleunfortunate.

  "What sort of crossing did you have, mother?"

  Lady Underhill winced. A current of air had sent the perfume ofAlgy's cigar playing about her nostrils. She closed her eyes, and herface turned a shade paler. Freddie, observing this, felt quite sorryfor the poor old thing. She was a pest and a pot of poison, of course,but all the same, he reflected charitably, it was a shame that sheshould look so green about the gills. He came to the conclusion thatshe must be hungry. The thing to do was to take her mind off it tillshe could be conducted to a restaurant and dumped down in front of abowl of soup.

  "Bit choppy, I suppose, what?" he bellowed, in a voice that ran up anddown Lady Underhill's nervous system like an electric needle. "I wasafraid you were going to have a pretty rough time of it when I readthe forecast in the paper. The good old boat wobbled a bit, eh?"

  Lady Underhill uttered a faint moan. Freddie noticed that she waslooking deucedly chippy, even chippier than a moment ago.

  "It's an extraordinary thing about that Channel crossing," said AlgyMartyn meditatively, as he puffed a refreshing cloud. "I've knownfellows who could travel quite happily everywhere else in theworld--round the Horn in sailing-ships and all that sort ofthing--yield up their immortal soul crossing the Channel! Absolutelyyield up their immortal soul! Don't know why. Rummy, but there it is!"

  "I'm like that myself," assented Ronny Devereux. "That dashed tripfrom Calais gets me every time. Bowls me right over. I go aboard,stoked to the eyebrows with sea-sick remedies, swearing that this timeI'll fool 'em, but down I go ten minutes after we've started and thenext thing I know is somebody saying, 'Well, well! So this is Dover!'"

  "It's exactly the same with me," said Freddie, delighted with thesmooth, easy way the conversation was flowing. "Whether it's the hot,greasy smell of the engines...."

  "It's not the engines," contended Ronny Devereux. "Stands to reason itcan't be. I rather like the smell of engines. This station is reekingwith the smell of engine-grease, and I can drink it in and enjoy it."He sniffed, luxuriantly. "It's something else."

  "Ronny's right," said Algy cordially. "It isn't the engines. It's theway the boat heaves up and down and up and down and up and down...."He shifted his cigar to his left hand in order to give with his righta spirited illustration of a Channel steamer going up and down and upand down and up and down. Lady Underhill, who had opened her eyes, hadan excellent view of the performance, and closed her eyes againquickly.

  "Be quiet!" she snapped.

  "I was only saying...."

  "Be quiet!"

  "Oh, rather!"

  Lady Underhill wrestled with herself. She was a woman of greatwill-power and accustomed to triumph over the weaknesses of the flesh.After a while her eyes opened. She had forced herself, against theevidence of her senses, to recognize that this was a platform on whichshe stood and not a deck.

  There was a pause. Algy, damped, was temporarily out of action, andhis friends had for the moment nothing to remark.

  "I'm afraid you had a trying journey, mother," said Derek. "The trainwas very late."

  "Now, _train_-sickness," said Algy, coming to the surface again, "is athing lots of people suffer from. Never could understand it myself."

&nb
sp; "I've never had a touch of train-sickness," said Ronny.

  "Oh, I have," said Freddie. "I've often felt rotten on a train. I getfloating spots in front of my eyes and a sort of heaving sensation,and everything kind of goes black...."

  "Mr. Rooke!"

  "Eh?"

  "I should be greatly obliged if you would keep those confidences forthe ear of your medical adviser."

  "Freddie," intervened Derek hastily, "my mother's rather tired. Do youthink you could be going ahead and getting a taxi?"

  "My dear old chap, of course! Get you one in a second. Come along,Algy. Pick up the old waukeesis, Ronny."

  And Freddie, accompanied by his henchmen, ambled off, well pleasedwith himself. He had, he felt, helped to break the ice for Derek andhad seen him safely through those awkward opening stages. Now he couldtotter off with a light heart and get a bite of lunch.

  Lady Underhill's eyes glittered. They were small, keen, black eyes,unlike Derek's, which were large and brown. In their other featuresthe two were obviously mother and son. Each had the same long upperlip, the same thin, firm mouth, the prominent chin which was a familycharacteristic of the Underhills, and the jutting Underhill nose. Mostof the Underhills came into the world looking as though they meant todrive their way through life like a wedge.

  "A little more," she said tensely, "and I should have struck thoseunspeakable young men with my umbrella. One of the things I have neverbeen able to understand, Derek, is why you should have selected thatimbecile Rooke as your closest friend."

  Derek smiled tolerantly.

  "It was more a case of him selecting _me_. But Freddie is quite a goodfellow really. He's a man you've got to know."

  "_I_ have not got to know him, and I thank heaven for it!"

  "He's a very good-natured fellow. It was decent of him to put me up atthe Albany while our house was let. By the way, he has some seats forthe first night of a new piece this evening. He suggested that wemight all dine at the Albany and go on to the theatre." He hesitated amoment. "Jill will be there," he said, and felt easier now that hername had at last come into the talk. "She's longing to meet you."

  "Then why didn't she meet me?"

  "Here, do you mean? At the station? Well, I--I wanted you to see herfor the first time in pleasanter surroundings."

  "Oh!" said Lady Underhill shortly.

  It is a disturbing thought that we suffer in this world just as muchby being prudent and taking precautions as we do by being rash andimpulsive and acting as the spirit moves us. If Jill had beenpermitted by her wary fiance to come with him to the station to meethis mother it is certain that much trouble would have been avoided.True, Lady Underhill would probably have been rude to her in theopening stages of the interview, but she would not have been alarmedand suspicious; or, rather, the vague suspicion which she had beenfeeling would not have solidified, as it did now into definitecertainty of the worst. All that Derek had effected by his carefuldiplomacy had been to convince his mother that he considered hisbride-elect something to be broken gently to her.

  She stopped and faced him.

  "Who is she?" she demanded. "Who is this girl?"

  Derek flushed.

  "I thought I made everything clear in my letter."

  "You made nothing clear at all."

  "By your leave!" chanted a porter behind them, and a baggage-truckclove them apart.

  "We can't talk in a crowded station," said Derek irritably. "Let meget you to the taxi and take you to the hotel.... What do you want toknow about Jill?"

  "Everything. Where does she come from? Who are her people? I don'tknow any Mariners."

  "I haven't cross-examined her," said Derek stiffly. "But I do knowthat her parents are dead. Her father was an American."

  "American!"

  "Americans frequently have daughters, I believe."

  "There is nothing to be gained by losing your temper," said LadyUnderhill with steely calm.

  "There is nothing to be gained, as far as I can see, by all thistalk," retorted Derek. He wondered vexedly why his mother always hadthis power of making him lose control of himself. He hated to losecontrol of himself. It upset him, and blurred that vision which heliked to have of himself as a calm, important man superior to ordinaryweaknesses. "Jill and I are engaged, and there is an end to it."

  "Don't be a fool," said Lady Underhill, and was driven away by anotherbaggage-truck. "You know perfectly well," she resumed, returning tothe attack, "that your marriage is a matter of the greatest concern tome and to the whole of the family."

  "Listen, mother!" Derek's long wait on the draughty platform hadgenerated an irritability which overcame the deep-seated awe of hismother which was the result of years of defeat in battles of the will."Let me tell you in a few words all that I know of Jill, and thenwe'll drop the subject. In the first place, she is a lady. Secondly,she has plenty of money...."

  "The Underhills do not need to marry for money."

  "I am not marrying for money!"

  "Well, go on."

  "I have already described to you in my letter--very inadequately, butI did my best--what she looks like. Her sweetness, her lovableness,all the subtle things about her which go to make her what she is, youwill have to judge for yourself."

  "I intend to!"

  "Well, that's all, then. She lives with her uncle, a Major Selby...."

  "Major Selby? What regiment?"

  "I didn't ask him," snapped the goaded Derek. "And, in the name ofheaven, what does it matter? If you are worrying about Major Selby'ssocial standing, I may as well tell you that he used to know father."

  "What! When? Where?"

  "Years ago. In India, when father was at Simla."

  "Selby? Selby? Not Christopher Selby?"

  "Oh, you remember him?"

  "I certainly remember him! Not that he and I ever met, but your fatheroften spoke of him."

  Derek was relieved. It was abominable that this sort of thing shouldmatter, but one had to face facts, and, as far as his mother wasconcerned, it did. The fact that Jill's uncle had known his deadfather would make all the difference to Lady Underhill.

  "Christopher Selby!" said Lady Underhill reflectively. "Yes! I haveoften heard your father speak of him. He was the man who gave yourfather an I.O.U. to pay a card debt, and redeemed it with a chequewhich was returned by the bank!"

  "What!"

  "Didn't you hear what I said? I will repeat it, if you wish."

  "There must have been some mistake."

  "Only the one your father made when he trusted the man."

  "It must have been some other fellow."

  "Of course!" said Lady Underhill satirically. "No doubt your fatherknew hundreds of Christopher Selbys!"

  Derek bit his lip.

  "Well, after all," he said doggedly, "whether it's true or not...."

  "I see no reason why your father should not have spoken the truth."

  "All right. We'll say it _is_ true, then. But what does it matter? Iam marrying Jill, not her uncle."

  "Nevertheless, it would be pleasanter if her only living relativewere not a swindler!... Tell me, where and how did you meet thisgirl?"

  "I should be glad if you would not refer to her as 'this girl.' Thename, if you have forgotten it, is Mariner."

  "Well, where did you meet Miss Mariner?"

  "At Prince's. Just after you left for Mentone. Freddie Rookeintroduced me."

  "Oh, your intellectual friend Mr. Rooke knows her?"

  "They were children together. Her people lived next to the Rookes inWorcestershire."

  "I thought you said she was an American."

  "I said her father was. He settled in England. Jill hasn't been inAmerica since she was eight or nine."

  "The fact," said Lady Underhill, "that the girl is a friend of Mr.Rooke is no great recommendation."

  Derek kicked angrily at a box of matches which someone had thrown downon the platform.

  "I wonder if you could possibly get it into your head, mother, that
Iwant to marry Jill, not engage her as an under-housemaid. I don'tconsider that she requires recommendations, as you call them. However,don't you think the most sensible thing is for you to wait till youmeet her at dinner to-night, and then you can form your own opinion?I'm beginning to get a little bored by this futile discussion."

  "As you seem quite unable to talk on the subject of this girl withoutbecoming rude," said Lady Underhill, "I agree with you. Let us hopethat my first impression will be a favourable one. Experience hastaught me that first impressions are everything."

  "I'm glad you think so," said Derek, "for I fell in love with Jill thevery first moment I saw her!"

  IV

  Barker stepped back and surveyed with modest pride the dinner-table towhich he had been putting the finishing touches. It was an artisticjob and a credit to him.

  "That's that!" said Barker, satisfied.

  He went to the window and looked out. The fog which had lasted wellinto the evening, had vanished now, and the clear night was brightwith stars. A distant murmur of traffic came from the direction ofPiccadilly.

  As he stood there, the front-door bell rang, and continued to ring inlittle spurts of sound. If character can be deduced from bell-ringing,as nowadays it apparently can be from every other form of humanactivity, one might have hazarded the guess that whoever was on theother side of the door was determined, impetuous, and energetic.

  "Barker!"

  Freddie Rooke pushed a tousled head, which had yet to be brushed intothe smooth sleekness that made a delight to the public eye, out of aroom down the passage.

  "Sir?"

  "Somebody ringing."

  "I heard, sir. I was about to answer the bell."

  "If it's Lady Underhill, tell her I'll be in in a minute."

  "I fancy it is Miss Mariner, sir. I think I recognize her touch."

  He made his way down the passage to the front-door, and opened it. Agirl was standing outside. She wore a long grey fur coat, and a filmyhood covered her hair. As Barker opened the door, she scampered inlike a grey kitten.

  "Brrh! It's cold!" she exclaimed. "Hullo, Barker!"

  "Good evening, miss."

  "Am I the last or the first or what?"

  Barker moved to help her with her cloak.

  "Sir Derek and her ladyship have not yet arrived, miss. Sir Derek wentto bring her ladyship from the Savoy Hotel. Mr. Rooke is dressing inhis bedroom and will be ready very shortly."

  The girl had slipped out of the fur coat, and Barker cast a swiftglance of approval at her. He had the valet's unerring eye for athoroughbred, and Jill Mariner was manifestly that. It showed in herwalk, in every move of her small, active body, in the way she lookedat you, in the way she talked to you, in the little tilt of herresolute chin. Her hair was pale gold, and had the brightness ofcolouring of a child's. Her face glowed, and her grey eyes sparkled.She looked very much alive.

  It was this liveliness of hers that was her chief charm. Her eyes weregood and her mouth, with its small, even teeth, attractive, but shewould have laughed if anybody had called her beautiful. She sometimesdoubted if she Were even pretty. Yet few men had met her and remainedentirely undisturbed. She had a magnetism. One hapless youth, who hadlaid his heart at her feet and had been commanded to pick it up again,had endeavoured subsequently to explain her attraction (to a bosomfriend over a mournful bottle of the best in the club smoking-room) inthese words: "I don't know what it is about her, old man, but shesomehow makes a feller feel she's so damned _interested_ in a chap, ifyou know what I mean." And though not generally credited in his circlewith any great acuteness, there is no doubt that the speaker hadachieved something approaching a true analysis of Jill's fascinationfor his sex. She was interested in everything Life presented to hernotice, from a Coronation to a stray cat. She was vivid. She hadsympathy. She listened to you as though you really mattered. It takesa man of tough fibre to resist these qualities. Women, on the otherhand, especially of the Lady Underhill type, can resist them withoutan effort.

  "Go and stir him up," said Jill, alluding to the absent Mr. Rooke."Tell him to come and talk to me. Where's the nearest fire? I want toget right over it and huddle."

  "The fire's burning nicely in the sitting-room, miss."

  Jill hurried into the sitting-room, and increased her hold on Barker'sesteem by exclaiming rapturously at the sight that greeted her. Barkerhad expended time and trouble over the sitting-room. There was nodust, no untidiness. The pictures all hung straight; the cushions weresmooth and unrumpled; and a fire of exactly the right dimensionsburned cheerfully in the grate, flickering cosily on the small pianoby the couch, on the deep leather arm-chairs which Freddie had broughtwith him from Oxford, that home of comfortable chairs, and on thephotographs that studded the walls. In the centre of the mantelpiece,the place of honour, was the photograph of herself which she had givenDerek a week ago.

  "You're simply wonderful, Barker! I don't see how you manage to make aroom so cosy!" Jill sat down on the club fender that guarded thefireplace, and held her hands over the blaze. "I can't understand whymen ever marry. Fancy having to give up all this!"

  "I am gratified that you appreciate it, miss. I did my best to make itcomfortable for you. I fancy I hear Mr. Rooke coming now."

  "I hope the others won't be long. I'm starving. Has Mrs. Barker gotsomething very good for dinner?"

  "She has strained every nerve, miss."

  "Then I'm sure it's worth waiting for. Hullo, Freddie."

  Freddie Rooke, resplendent in evening dress, bustled in, patting histie with solicitous fingers. It had been right when he had looked inthe glass in his bedroom, but you never know about ties. Sometimesthey stay right, sometimes they wriggle up sideways. Life is full ofthese anxieties.

  "I shouldn't touch it," said Jill. "It looks beautiful, and, if I maysay so in confidence, is having a most disturbing effect on myemotional nature. I'm not at all sure I shall be able to resist itright through the evening. It isn't fair of you to try to alienate theaffections of an engaged young person like this."

  Freddie squinted down, and became calmer.

  "Hullo, Jill, old thing. Nobody here yet?"

  "Well, I'm here--the _petite_ figure seated on the fender. But perhapsI don't count."

  "Oh, I didn't mean that, you know."

  "I should hope not, when I've bought a special new dress just tofascinate you. A creation I mean. When they cost as much as this onedid, you have to call them names. What do you think of it?"

  Freddie seated himself on another section of the fender, and regardedher with the eye of an expert. A snappy dresser, as the technical termis, himself, he appreciated snap in the outer covering of the othersex.

  "Topping!" he said spaciously. "No other word for it. All wool and ayard wide. Precisely as mother makes it. You look like a thingummy."

  "How splendid. All my life I've wanted to look like a thingummy, butsomehow I've never been able to manage it."

  "A wood-nymph!" exclaimed Freddie, in a burst of unwonted imagery. Helooked at her with honest admiration. "Dash it, Jill, you know,there's something about you! You're--what's the word?--you've got suchsmall bones."

  "Ugh! I suppose it's a compliment, but how horrible it sounds! Itmakes me feel like a skeleton."

  "I mean to say, you're--you're dainty!"

  "That's much better."

  "You look as if you weighed about an ounce and a half. You look likea bit of thistledown! You're a little fairy princess, dash it!"

  "Freddie! This is eloquence!" Jill raised her left hand, and twiddleda ringed finger ostentatiously. "Er--you _do_ realize that I'mbespoke, don't you, and that my heart, alas, is another's? Because yousound as if you were going to propose."

  Freddie produced a snowy handkerchief, and polished his eye-glass.Solemnity descended on him like a cloud. He looked at Jill with anearnest, paternal gaze.

  "That reminds me," he said. "I wanted to have a bit of a talk with youabout that--being engaged and all that sort of thing. I'm glad I gotyo
u alone before the Curse arrived."

  "Curse? Do you mean Derek's mother? That sounds cheerful andencouraging."

  "Well, she is, you know," said Freddie earnestly. "She's a bird! Itwould be idle to deny it. She always puts the fear of God into me. Inever know what to say to her."

  "Why don't you try asking her riddles?"

  "It's no joking matter," persisted Freddie, his amiable face overcast."Wait till you meet her! You should have seen her at the station thismorning. You don't know what you're up against!"

  "You make my flesh creep, Freddie. What am I up against?"

  Freddie poked the fire scientifically, and assisted it with coal.

  "It's this way," he said. "Of course, dear old Derek's the finest chapin the world."

  "I know that," said Jill softly. She patted Freddie's hand with alittle gesture of gratitude. Freddie's devotion to Derek was a thingthat always touched her. She looked thoughtfully into the fire, andher eyes seemed to glow in sympathy with the glowing coals. "There'snobody like him!"

  "But," continued Freddie, "he always has been frightfully under hismother's thumb, you know."

  Jill was conscious of a little flicker of irritation.

  "Don't be absurd, Freddie. How could a man like Derek be underanybody's thumb?"

  "Well, you know what I mean!"

  "I don't in the least know what you mean."

  "I mean, it would be rather rotten if his mother set him against you."

  Jill clenched her teeth. The quick temper which always lurked so verylittle beneath the surface of her cheerfulness was stirred. She feltsuddenly chilled and miserable. She tried to tell herself that Freddiewas just an amiable blunderer who spoke without sense or reason, butit was no use. She could not rid herself of a feeling of forebodingand discomfort. It had been the one jarring note in the sweet melodyof her love-story, this apprehension of Derek's regarding his mother.The Derek she loved was a strong man, with a strong man's contempt forother people's criticism; and there had been something ignoble andfussy in his attitude regarding Lady Underhill. She had tried to feelthat the flaw in her idol did not exist. And here was Freddie Rooke, aman who admired Derek with all his hero-worshipping nature, pointingit out independently. She was annoyed, and she expended her annoyance,as women will do, upon the innocent bystander.

  "Do you remember the time I turned the hose on you, Freddie," shesaid, rising from the fender, "years ago, when we were children, whenyou and that awful Mason boy--what was his name? Wally Mason--teasedme?" She looked at the unhappy Freddie with a hostile eye. It was hisblundering words that had spoiled everything. "I've forgotten what itwas all about, but I know that you and Wally infuriated me and Iturned the garden hose on you and soaked you both to the skin. Well,all I want to point out is that, if you go on talking nonsense aboutDerek and his mother and me, I shall ask Barker to bring me a jug ofwater, and I shall empty it over you! Set him against me! You talk asif love were a thing any third party could come along and turn offwith a tap! Do you suppose that, when two people love each other asDerek and I do, that it can possibly matter in the least what anybodyelse thinks or says, even if it is his mother? I haven't got a mother,but suppose Uncle Chris came and warned me against Derek...."

  Her anger suddenly left her as quickly as it had come. That was alwaysthe way with Jill. One moment she would be raging; the next, somethingwould tickle her sense of humour and restore her instantly tocheerfulness. And the thought of dear, lazy old Uncle Chris taking thetrouble to warn anybody against anything except the wrong brand ofwine or an inferior make of cigar conjured up a picture before whichwrath melted away. She chuckled, and Freddie, who had been wilting onthe fender, perked up.

  "You're an extraordinary girl, Jill. One never knows when you're goingto get the wind up."

  "Isn't it enough to make me get the wind up, as you call it, when yousay absurd things like that?"

  "I meant well, old girl!"

  "That's the trouble with you. You always do mean well. You go aboutthe world meaning well till people fly to put themselves under policeprotection. Besides, what on earth could Lady Underhill find to objectto in me? I've plenty of money, and I'm one of the most charming andattractive of Society belles. You needn't take my word for that, and Idon't suppose you've noticed it, but that's what Mr. Gossip in the_Morning Mirror_ called me when he was writing about my gettingengaged to Derek. My maid showed me the clipping. There was quite along paragraph, with a picture of me that looked like a Zuluchieftainess taken in a coal-cellar during a bad fog. Well, afterthat, what could anyone say against me? I'm a perfect prize! I expectLady Underhill screamed with joy when she heard the news and wentsinging all over her Riviera villa."

  "Yes," said Freddie dubiously. "Yes, yes, oh, quite so, rather!"

  Jill looked at him sternly.

  "Freddie, you're concealing something from me! You _don't_ think I'ma charming and attractive Society belle! Tell me why not and I'll showyou where you are wrong. Is it my face you object to, or my manners,or my figure? There was a young bride of Antigua, who said to hermate, 'What a pig you are!' Said he, 'Oh, my queen, is it manners youmean, or do you allude to my fig-u-ar?' Isn't my figuar all right,Freddie?"

  "Oh, _I_ think you're topping."

  "But for some reason you're afraid that Derek's mother won't think so.Why won't Lady Underhill agree with Mr. Gossip?"

  Freddie hesitated.

  "Speak up!"

  "Well, it's like this. Remember, I've known the old devil...."

  "Freddie Rooke! Where do you pick up such expressions? Not from me!"

  "Well, that's how I always think of her! I say I've known her eversince I used to go and stop at their place when I was at school, and Iknow exactly the sort of things that put her back up. She's awhat-d'you-call-it. I mean to say, one of the old school, don't youknow. And you're so dashed impulsive, old girl. You know you are! Youare always saying things that come into your head."

  "You can't say a thing unless it comes into your head."

  "You know what I mean," Freddie went on earnestly, not to be divertedfrom his theme. "You say rummy things and you do rummy things. What Imean to say is, you're impulsive."

  "What have I ever done that the sternest critic could call rummy?"

  "Well, I've seen you with my own eyes stop in the middle of BondStreet and help a lot of fellows shove along a cart that had gotstuck. Mind you, I'm not blaming you for it...."

  "I should hope not. The poor old horse was trying all he knew to getgoing, and he couldn't quite make it. Naturally, I helped."

  "Oh, I know. Very decent and all that, but I doubt if Lady Underhillwould have thought a lot of it. And you're so dashed chummy with thelower orders."

  "Don't be a snob, Freddie."

  "I'm not a snob," protested Freddie, wounded. "When I'm alone withBarker--for instance--I'm as chatty as dammit. But I don't ask waitersin public restaurants how their lumbago is."

  "Have you ever had lumbago?"

  "No."

  "Well, it's a very painful thing, and waiters get it just as badly asdukes. Worse, I should think, because they're always bending andstooping and carrying things. Naturally one feels sorry for them."

  "But how do you ever find out that a waiter has _got_ lumbago?"

  "I ask him, of course."

  "Well, for goodness' sake," said Freddie, "if you feel the impulse todo that sort of thing to-night, try and restrain it. I mean to say,if you're curious to know anything about Barker's chilblains, forinstance, don't enquire after them while he's handing Lady Underhillthe potatoes! She wouldn't like it."

  Jill uttered an exclamation.

  "I knew there was something! Being so cold and wanting to rush in andcrouch over a fire put it clean out of my head. He must be thinking mea perfect beast!" She ran to the door. "Barker! Barker!"

  Barker appeared from nowhere.

  "Yes, miss?"

  "I'm so sorry I forgot to ask before. How are your chilblains?"

  "A good deal better miss, thank
you."

  "Did you try the stuff I recommended?"

  "Yes, miss. It did them a world of good."

  "Splendid!"

  Jill went back into the sitting-room.

  "It's all right," she said reassuringly. "They're better."

  She wandered restlessly about the room, looking at the photographs,then sat down at the piano and touched the keys. The clock on themantelpiece chimed the half-hour. "I wish to goodness they wouldarrive," she said.

  "They'll be here pretty soon, I expect."

  "It's rather awful," said Jill, "to think of Lady Underhill racing allthe way from Mentone to Paris and from Paris to Calais and from Calaisto Dover and from Dover to London simply to inspect me. You can'twonder I'm nervous, Freddie."

  The eye-glass dropped from Freddie's eye.

  "Are _you_ nervous?" he asked, astonished.

  "Of course I'm nervous. Wouldn't you be in my place?"

  "Well, I should never have thought it."

  "Why do you suppose I've been talking such a lot? Why do you imagine Isnapped your poor, innocent head off just now! I'm terrified inside,terrified!"

  "You don't look it, by Jove!"

  "No, I'm trying to be a little warrior. That's what Uncle Chris alwaysused to call me. It started the day when he took me to have a toothout, when I was ten. 'Be a little warrior, Jill!' he kept saying. 'Bea little warrior!' And I was." She looked at the clock. "But I shan'tbe if they don't get here soon. The suspense is awful." She strummedthe keys. "Suppose she _doesn't_ like me, Freddie! You see how you'vescared me."

  "I didn't say she wouldn't. I only said you'd got to watch out a bit."

  "Something tells me she won't. My nerve is oozing out of me." Jillshook her head impatiently. "It's all so vulgar! I thought this sortof thing only happened in the comic papers and in music-hall songs.Why, it's just like that song somebody used to sing." She laughed. "Doyou remember? I don't know how the verse went, but ...

  John took me round to see his mother, his mother, his mother! And when he'd introduced us to each other, She sized up everything that I had on. She put me through a cross-examination: I fairly boiled with aggravation: Then she shook her head, Looked at me and said: 'Poor John! Poor John!'

  Chorus, Freddie! Let's cheer ourselves up! We need it!"

  John took me round to see his mother...!

  "His m-o-o-other!" croaked Freddie. Curiously enough, this ballad wasone of Freddie's favourites. He had rendered it with a good deal ofsuccess on three separate occasions at village entertainments down inWorcestershire, and he rather flattered himself that he could getabout as much out of it as the next man. He proceeded to abet Jillheartily with gruff sounds which he was under the impressionconstituted what is known in musical circles as "singing seconds."

  "His mo-o-other!" he growled with frightful scorn.

  "And when he'd introduced us to each other...."

  "O-o-o-other!"

  "She sized up everything that I had on!"

  "Pom-_pom_-pom!"

  "She put me through a cross-examination...."

  Jill had thrown her head back, and was singing jubilantly at the topof her voice. The appositeness of the song had cheered her up. Itseemed somehow to make her forebodings rather ridiculous, to reducethem to absurdity, to turn into farce the gathering tragedy which hadbeen weighing upon her nerves.

  Then she shook her head, Looked at me and said: 'Poor John!'....

  "Jill," said a voice at the door. "I want you to meet my mother!"

  "Poo-oo-oor John!" bleated the hapless Freddie, unable to checkhimself.

  "Dinner," said Barker the valet, appearing at the door and breaking asilence that seemed to fill the room like a tangible presence, "isserved!"