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Page 13
He was in the act of pouring out his coffee, when his name, uttered
behind him in a familiar voice, made him start. The next moment Dudley
Horne stood by his side, and holding out his hand with a smile, seated
himself on the chair beside him.
"I--I--I overslept myself this morning," stammered Max.
He was in a state of absolute bewilderment. Not only had the new Dudley
of the previous night disappeared, with his alternate depression and
feverish high spirits, his furtive glances, his hoarse and altered
voice, but the old Dudley, who had returned, seemed happier and livelier
than usual.
"Town and its wicked ways don't agree with you, my boy, nor do they with
me. If I were in your shoes, I shouldn't tread the streets of Babylon
more than once a twelvemonth."
"You think that now," returned Max, "because you see more than enough of
town."
"Well, I'm not going to see much more of it at present," retorted
Dudley. "This afternoon I'm off again down to Datton, and I came to ask
whether you were coming down with me."
"I thought you had had a row, at least a misunderstanding of some sort,
with--with my father?"
"Why, yes, so I had," replied Dudley, serenely, as he took a newspaper
out of his pocket and folded it for reading. "But I've written to him
already this morning, explaining things, and telling him that I propose
to come down to The Beeches this evening. He'll get it before I turn up,
I should think, for I posted it at six o'clock this morning."
"Why, what were you doing at six o'clock in the morning?" said Max, in a
tone of bewilderment, as before. "Didn't you go to bed at all last
night?"
"No," answered Dudley, calmly. "I had some worrying things to think
about, and so I took the night to do it in."
A slight frown passed over his face as he spoke, but it disappeared
quickly, leaving him as placid as before.
"About one of the things I can consult you, Max. You know something
about it, I suppose. Do you think I have any chance with Doreen?"
Max stared at him again.
"You must be blind if you haven't seen that you have," he said, at last,
in a sort of muffled voice, grudgingly. He moved uneasily in his seat,
and added, in a hurried manner: "But, I say, you know, Dudley, after
last night, I--I want to ask you something myself. I'm Doreen's brother,
though I'm not much of a brother for such a nice girl as she is.
And--and--what on earth did you think of going to Liverpool for _with a
woman_? I've a right to ask that now, haven't I?"
Max blurted out these words in a dogged tone, not deterred from
finishing his sentence by the fact that Dudley's face had grown white
and hard, and that over his whole attitude there had come a rapid
change.
There was a pause when the younger man had finished. Dudley kept his
eyes down, and traced a pattern on the table-cloth with a fork, while
Max looked at him furtively. At last Dudley looked up quickly and asked,
in a tone which admitted of no prevarication in the answer he demanded:
"You have been playing the spy upon me, I see. Tell me just how much you
saw."
It was such a straightforward way of coming to the point that Max, taken
aback, but rather thankful that the ground was to be cleared a little,
answered at once without reserve:
"I did play the spy. It was enough to make me. I saw the hansom waiting
outside your door last night; the cabman mistook me for you, and told me
the lady had walked away. I couldn't help putting that together with
what you had told me about seeing a friend off to Liverpool, and,
perhaps, going there yourself. Now, who could have helped it?"
Dudley did not at once answer. He just glanced inquiringly at the face
of Max while he went on tracing the pattern on the cloth.
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