CHAPTER XXVI.

BEFORE THE DAWN

Gretton and Sibell returned to their table, whereon Moyna was leaning her shapely bare arms and smoking through her long cigarette-tube, watching them lazily.

Sibell, unsteady in movement, her brain muddled by the insidious drinks to which she was unused, sank upon the red silken settee and sighed deeply.

“I feel horribly tired,” she murmured, passing her hand wearily across her white brow and disarranging her evenly cut fringe of fair hair that so well became her.

“It’s awfully close in this place,” Moyna declared sympathetically. “I can’t think why it is that at any dance club they seem to be afraid of a little ventilation--not draughts, but a little fresh air.”

“I’m so very sorry, Sibell,” declared the tall, well-groomed man, bending over the girl whom he so greatly admired, and had hoped, before the unwelcome advent of young Brinsley Otway, to make his wife. “I’m afraid--I ought not to have asked you to dance. Do forgive me, Sibell, won’t you?” he asked, deeply penitent.

“Of course,” replied the girl, whose head was swimming. “It was not your fault. I’m--well, I’m a little giddy, that’s all. Give Moyna a dance, will you? I’ll sit quiet.”

Thus invited, her friend asked:

“You are quite sure you’re all right, dear? If not, we’ll go back to the hotel at once.”

“Quite. I’ll feel better if I remain here.”

So the pair crossed to the floor and began to Charleston.

“She looks rather bad,” Gretton murmured into his partner’s ear.

“Yes. We’d better take her home soon, I think. She’s not used, it seems, to hectic nights”; and she smiled.

Meanwhile to Sibell it seemed as though the dancers were floating around her, while the music sounded harsh and discordant, far away. She was twisting her bracelet around her wrist nervously and staring straight before her. Both Gretton and his dancing-partner at once realized that she was not herself.

“I feel very faint,” she replied, when Moyna asked how she was.

“Then we’d better get back. Don’t you think so, Mr. Gretton?” the girl asked anxiously. “Don’t come with us. We can easily go back in a taxi. It’s awfully good of you to have given both of us such a jolly nice time. I’m only anxious for Sibell’s health. I’ve been like this myself more than once. It’s nerves, of course.”

“No doubt,” said the man, taking up the cigarette he had left in the tray and which was still alight. “But, of course, I’ll see you back to the hotel.”

“You won’t,” declared the girl vehemently. “I won’t allow you to spoil your evening. You’ve lots of friends here. I can take her home quite well, so just see us to the ladies’ room--that’s all.”

“My dear Miss Lascelles, do you really think that I would allow you to take Sibell back?” he protested. Then, with a smile, he added, “Sibell and I are very old friends, and I would not dream of allowing you two to go alone.”

And he called the obsequious waiter, to whom he hurriedly handed a five-pound note, to pay the supper-bill.

As he was assisting Sibell into a taxi, the change was thrust into his hand by the alert little Italian, who received a ten-shilling note as his _pourboire_, and next moment the three were on their way back to the Hotel Cecil.

On arrival Gretton accompanied them to the lift, saying:

“I hope you’ll be all right in the morning, my dear Sibell. It is most unfortunate, isn’t it?” Then, turning to Moyna, he added, “If you want anything in the night, just call me. I’m in No. 231.”

“Righto! and lots of thanks,” replied the girl, shaking his hand, while Sibell, her brain still awhirl, sat in the lift and then managed to walk along the corridor to her room, even though a trifle unsteadily. Those ingeniously concocted cocktails, which are mixed in all the dance clubs, had done their work, and she only had a most hazy idea of what had occurred since her return to the table after dancing.

“Oh, my dear!” she gasped, as she sank upon her bed. “I--I feel most awfully ill. I--I really don’t know what is the matter with me. I came over horribly queer suddenly after that last drink which Gussie pressed me to have. Did you have one?”

“Of course I did. But I’m quite all right. So why should you be so queer?”

“I--I really don’t know, dear,” replied the girl, looking around the room blankly with wild, startled eyes. “I was a silly fool. I ought never to have allowed him to take us there. I’m sure Brin would have strongly objected.”

“Well, he doesn’t know, and he need never know, my dear old girl--unless you tell him.”

Then, as Moyna was helping the girl to undress, she went to the toilet-table, and saw a telegram lying upon the white cloth.

“Why, here’s a wire for you! Fancy, we’ve never noticed it before!”

And she handed it to Sibell, who tore it open with nervous fingers.

“Brin will be back in London at half-past seven to-morrow morning!” she said. “He has got word from Cookham that we are here for the night. So he’ll call on us for early breakfast. Won’t it be fun?”

“Yes. But of course you’ll say nothing about meeting Gussie Gretton?”

“No. Of course not. It would only worry the dear old thing. And surely he has lots of worry already. I’ll go to bed.”

And, while Moyna waited, she undressed, washed, put on a dainty boudoir cap, and made her toilette for the night, assuming a pretty nightie of pale-mauve crêpe-de-Chine.

She was already comfortably snuggled up in bed, and her friend had kissed her good night, when suddenly Moyna, glancing at her hand, exclaimed:

“Why, where’s your beautiful ring?”

Sibell started up in bed, staring aghast.

“Why, Gussie has got it! He wanted to have another look at it, and has forgotten to give it back to me.”

“That’s awkward! Brinsley, when he meets you at breakfast, will surely notice that it isn’t on your hand,” Moyna said. “You’ll have to get it back--and to-night. You must, my dear!”

The girl, sitting up in her bed, gazed around her, her blue eyes terror-stricken at her friend’s words. In an instant she was out of bed.

“I--I must! Of course I must! Brin’s birthday-present to me! Oh!” And she gasped, clutching her throat for air. “Oh, what a fool I was to let Gussie have it! How absurd of him to keep it! What can I possibly do?”

Then, glancing at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she said:

“Look! It’s late--past two o’clock! Where is he? How can I get it from him?” she asked distractedly and half-dazed.

“He gave us the number of his room--231. Don’t you remember? It’s on the second floor, evidently.”

“But Mr. Routh! He’s home by this time, no doubt. He could go and get it,” Sibell suggested, standing beside the toilet-table and staring vacantly into the mirror.

“For heaven’s sake, no! The old man might blurt it out in fun, and Brinsley might know that Mr. Gretton is here. Don’t be a fool! Put on your dressing-gown, and go down to Mr. Gretton’s room and get your ring. There’s nobody about, and, besides, he’s forgotten all about it, no doubt, and will hand it out to you!”

“Are you quite sure there’s nobody about?” asked the girl, and, to reassure her, her friend opened the door cautiously and, looking up and down the long corridor, said:

“No, nobody! Not a soul. Go down, and you’ll easily find the room and get the ring. Then all will be well in the morning, and your fiancé need not know anything. Why should he, after all?”

Sibell, instead of taking her kimono, slipped her feet into her little pink slippers and put on her long fur travelling-coat over her nightie, and in that attire and her boudoir cap, crept out of her room and, slipping down the broad flight of red-carpeted stairs in the silence of the night, stole quietly along the corridor until she found Gretton’s room.

Very softly she tapped upon the door. At first there was no response, but on tapping rather more loudly, she heard a movement within, and next moment the door was opened by Gussie, in blue-striped pyjamas.

“Good heavens! Sibell! What’s the matter?” he asked. “Come inside. Somebody may see you!” he whispered.

Next moment the girl was in his room, and they stood facing each other with the door closed.

“I--I’ve come for my ring,” she managed to gasp. “Do give it back to me at once. I must fly, for Moyna is waiting for me.”

The man instantly saw by her unusual expression that the cocktails and champagne she had drunk had muddled her brain, and at once sought to take advantage of it.

“Of course I’ll give you back the ring, my dear girl. But wouldn’t you trust me with it till the morning?”

“No. Brinsley will be here before you are up. He’s coming to breakfast. So he would certainly notice that I was not wearing it.”

“You could have made an excuse that you’d left it in your room,” Gretton said with a smile, for in her pretty cap and with her nightdress showing under her fur coat she looked extremely bewitching.

“No. I--I was afraid. Do give it to me at once, and let me go,” she implored him.

“Of course I will,” he said, crossing the room to where his evening clothes were folded upon a chair, and from the waistcoat pocket he took the handsome ring.

Then, walking back to the door, he laughed, saying:

“I’ll give it to you, my dear Sibell, but only on one condition--that you give me a kiss for its return.” And he placed his hand upon her shoulder.

In an instant she shook him off, and, drawing herself up, said:

“I most certainly refuse! I’ve never kissed you, and I never will.”

“Ah! That’s the worst of it,” he sighed with a touch of sarcasm. “Otway has all your caresses nowadays!”

“You are jealous of him, I know.”

“Perhaps I am,” the man said frankly. “You know how deeply I love you, Sibell. At least, if you don’t, your aunt does. She has no use for that young doctor, I tell you.”

The girl faced him, her eyes flashing.

“And what do my affairs concern my aunt, or even you, I ask?” she cried. “You’ve told me your worn-out old story before--how you love me and all that. But I’ve never believed you. Why, my dear man, you pretend to love a dozen girls at the same time. What woman could ever trust a man with your reputation?”

“You are extremely polite, I must say,” was his angry response.

“I merely tell you to keep your hands off me, and that I desire none of your detestable love-making.”

“But why are you so intent on marrying this doctor fellow, Sibell?” he asked in a more kindly voice. “Do you really think you are suited to each other? You love life and gaiety, while he is a steady, plodding, studious fellow, who must sooner or later bore you stiff.”

“Oh, don’t argue!” she said. “Just give me back my ring and let me go. What will Moyna think if I’m down here so long?”

“Think!” he laughed. “Why, nothing! Girls don’t think nowadays; they just act as their will directs them. It is Victorian to think.”

“But do let me get back, I beg of you, Gussie,” she cried.

“Gussie!” he echoed in gratification. “I like to hear you call me by that name. You’ve always been so studiously formal and called me Mr. Gretton. Do let me have a kiss--just one--in return for your ring.”

“I refuse! It isn’t fair of you to make such a condition when you know so well the whole circumstances of my engagement,” protested the girl.

“But you look so sweet to-night that I can’t resist, even at the risk of incurring your anger,” he said, and suddenly, ere she was aware of it, he had gripped her and was raining hot kisses upon her unresponsive lips.

Suddenly, with a supreme effort, she struck him a blow full in the face, which caused him to release his hold, and then, like a tigress, she fought, until at last, breathless and overcome, she sank half-fainting into an arm-chair.

He held a glass of water to her dry lips as she lay back inert, her boudoir cap awry, her eyes half closed, dazed and semi-conscious.

A few moments later she felt him take her hand and gently slip the ring upon her finger.

Then she heard his voice, sounding as though afar off.

“Sibell,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m a brute! Forgive me! Do--I beg of you! I--I lost my head. I--I didn’t know what I was doing! I’m a damned blackguard to have kissed you against your will. I apologize. Tell me that you will forgive me and--forget to-night,” he begged of her, on his knees in supplication.

For some time she remained silent, then slowly her eyes became fixed upon his countenance in a strange, stony stare.

“You have no right to have treated me so!” she declared in a hard, bitter tone. “I came here to you in desperation to get my ring, because I feared that my fiancé might miss it. What would he have said had he discovered it in your possession?”

“Quite true,” said the man. “What indeed would Otway say if he ever knew that you had been here for over half-an-hour!”

She stood rigid. Then she cried:

“God! I never thought of that! Let me go, you swine! Let me get back at once--at this moment, before anyone sees me.” Then, turning to him suddenly, she put her arms out, and said breathlessly: “If you want my forgiveness, Gussie--let me go. Peep outside and see that no one is in the corridor.”

“Don’t be afraid, child! There’s nobody about at this hour--only the night-watchman, who carries his tell-tale clock around at every hour, which registers his tour of the hotel.” Then, as he raised her slim hand and kissed it with studied courtesy, he asked: “Am I forgiven? Say, yes.”

“You will be if you let me go. Look at the time. What will Moyna think?”

“She’ll think nothing if she’s the sport I take her to be,” he replied, with a man’s usual selfish disregard for the woman he may so easily compromise.

Without a sound he advanced to the door, drew back the bolt, and peeped out.

“Nobody!” he whispered. “Good night, my dear Sibell! When we meet again let us both forget this meeting, I beg of you.”

Next instant she was in the corridor, dishevelled, for in her excitement she had not looked at herself in the glass. Over the thick carpet she passed silently in her slippers until, just as she came to the stairs, two figures suddenly emerged from the shadows.

One man was a porter in uniform, and the other she recognized in a flash.

She heard the words, hard and hoarse:

“Sibell! Now that I have watched I know it is true! I thought they lied to me, but now I know that you do not belong to me--but to that swine!”

The speaker was Brinsley Otway!