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Page 31
There was the slow accent of Southern blood in the girl's voice
as she went on.
"Lady Mary," she said, "it's all far more extraordinary than you
have been led to believe - than any one could ever have led you
to believe. I deliberately picked the man up. I waited for him
outside the Savoy, and pretended to be uncertain about an
address. He volunteered to take me in his motor and I went with
him. I told him I was alone in London, at the Ritz. It was
Blackwell's bank I pretended to be looking for. Then we had
tea."
The girl paused.
Presently she continued: "That's how it began: You're mistaken to
imagine that Sir Henry Marquis presented me to this American. It
was the other way about; I presented Sir Henry. I had the run of
the Ritz," she went on. "We all do if we scatter money. Sir
Henry came in to tea the next afternoon. That's how he met Mr.
Meadows. And that's the only place he ever did meet him. Mr.
Meadows came every day, and Sir Henry formed the habit of
dropping in. We got to be a very friendly party."
The motionless old woman, a figure in plaster until now, kneaded
her fingers as under some moving pressure. "At this time," she
said, "you were engaged to Tony and expected to be his wife!"
The girl's voice did not change. It was slow and even. "Yes,"
she said.
"Tony, of course, knew nothing about this?"
"He knows nothing whatever about it unless you have written him."
Again the old woman moved slightly. "I have waited," she said,
"for the benefit of your explanation. It seems as - as bad as I
feared."
"Lady Mary," said the girl in her slow voice, "it's worse than
you feared. I don't undertake to smooth it over. Everything
that you have heard is quite true. I did go out with the man in
his motor, in the evening. Sometimes it was quite dark before we
returned. Mr. Meadows preferred to drive at night because he was
not accustomed to the English rule of taking the left on the
road, when one always takes the right in America. He was afraid
he couldn't remember the rule, so it was safer at night and there
was less traffic.
"I shall not try to make the thing appear better than it was. We
sometimes took long runs. Mr. Meadows liked the high roads along
the east coast, where one got a view of the sea and the cold salt
air. We ran prodigious distances. He had the finest motor in
England, the very latest American model. I didn't think so much
about night coming on, the lights on the car were so wonderful.
Mr. Meadows was an amazing driver. We made express-train time.
The roads were usually clear at night and the motor was a perfect
wonder. The only trouble we ever had was with the lights.
Sometimes one, of them would go out. I think it was bad wiring.
But there was always the sweep of the sea under the stars to look
at while Mr. Meadows got the thing adjusted."
This long, detailed, shameless speech affected the aged soldier
at the window. It seemed to him immodest bravado. And he
suffered in his heart, as a man old and full of memories can
suffer for the damaged honor of a son he loves.
Continuing, the girl said: "Of course it isn't true that we spent
the nights touring the east coast of England in a racer. It was
dark sometimes when we got in - occasionally after trouble with
the lights - quite dark. We did go thundering distances."
"With this person, alone?" The old woman spoke slowly, like one
delicately probing at a wound.
"Yes," the girl admitted. "You see, the car was a roadster; only
two could go; and, besides, there was no one else. Mr. Meadows
said he was alone in London, and of course I was alone. When Sir
Henry asked me to go down from here I went straight off to the
Ritz."
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