CHAPTER X.

A PROBLEM.

Brenda left Mrs. Wylie at eleven o'clock, merely walking away from the door of Suffolk Mansions without wrap or luggage. She did not know whether she was being watched or no, but her plans were so simple, and yet so cunning, that the question gave her little trouble. Detection was impossible. Trist had seen to that, and his strategy had been the subject of some subdued laughter the night before, because Brenda complained that she felt like an army. He had unconsciously dictated to her, in his soft, suggestive way, and so complete were his instructions, so abject the obedience demanded, that there was some cause for her laughing dissatisfaction. With intelligence, education, experience, reading, and money it is no difficult matter to evade the closest watcher, and Trist was not at all afraid of such means as lay at Captain Huston's disposal for tracing the hiding-place of his wife.

When Mrs. Wylie found herself left alone, she proceeded placidly to await further events. She was convinced that, sooner or later, the husband of her protégée would appear. Whether this questionable honour would be conferred with bluster and righteous indignation, or with abject self-abuse, remained to be seen. Neither prospect appeared to have the power of ruffling the lady's serene humour. The morning newspaper received its usual attention, and subsequently there were some new books to be cut and glanced at. Lunch had already been ordered--lunch for two, and something rather nice, because Theo Trist had invited himself to partake of the lone widow's hospitality.

In her small way, Mrs. Wylie was likely to pass an eventful day, but the thought of it in nowise took away her interest in December's _Temple Bar_. She was one of those happy and lovable women who are not in the habit of adding to their grievances by anticipating them; for it is an undeniable fact that sorrows as well as joys are exaggerated by anticipation. Personally, I much prefer going out to get my hair cut as soon as ever I realize the necessity. It is a mistake to put off the operation, because the scissors seem to hang over one's luxuriant locks with a fiendish click during the stilly hours.

About twelve o'clock there was a knock at the door which shut off Mrs. Wylie's comfortable suite of rooms from the rest of the house.

'Ah!' murmured the occupant of the drawing-room. 'Our violent friend. Twelve o'clock: I must get him out of the house before Theo arrives.'

She leant back and tapped the pages of her magazine pensively with an ivory paper-cutter, while her eyes rested on the door.

In the course of a few moments there was audible the sound of murmuring voices, followed shortly by footsteps.

The door was thrown open, and William Hicks made a graceful _entrée_, finished, as it were, by the delicately-tinted flower he carried in his gloved fingers.

Mrs. Wylie rose at once with a most reprehensively deceitful smile of welcome. She devoutly wished William Hicks in other parts as she offered her plump white hand to his grasp.

The artist, with passable dissimulation, glanced round the room. No sign or vestige of Brenda! The rose was deftly dropped into his hat and set aside. It had cost two shillings.

'Ah! Mrs. Wylie,' he exclaimed, 'I was half afraid you would be out shopping. The wind is simply excruciating.'

'Then warm yourself at once. I am afraid I am alone.'

Hicks was, in his way, a bold man. He relied thoroughly upon a virtue of his own which he was pleased to call tact--others said its right name was 'cheek.'

'Afraid!' he said reproachfully, and with an inquiring smile.

'Yes--the girls are out.'

He laughed in a pleasant deprecating way, and held his slim hands towards the fire.

'How absurd you are!' he said. 'I merely ran in to ask if a lace handkerchief I found last night belonged to Miss Gilholme.'

He began to fumble in his pockets without any great design of finding the handkerchief. Mrs. Wylie spared him the trouble of going farther.'

'Bring it another time,' she said.

She knew the handkerchief trick well. It is very simple, my brother: pick up a lace trifle anywhere about the ballroom, and with a slight draft upon your imagination, you have a graceful excuse to call at any house you may desire the next afternoon. If there is not one to be found, one can easily buy such a thing, and it serves for years. No young man is complete without it.

For some minutes William Hicks talked airily about the soirée of the Ancient Artists, throwing in here and there, in his pleasant way, a blast upon his individual instrument, of which the note was wearily familiar to his listener.

At last, however, he let fall an observation which made Mrs. Wylie forgive him, 'à un coup,' his early call.

'I met,' he said casually, 'that fellow ... Huston this morning.'

Mrs. Wylie laid aside the paper-knife with which she had been trifling. The action scarce required a moment of time, but in that moment she had collected her faculties, and was ready for him with all the alertness of her sex.

'Ah! What news had he?' she inquired suavely.

'Oh, nothing much. We scarcely spoke--indeed, I don't believe he recognised me at first.'

Mrs. Wylie raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

'He came yesterday,' she said, 'to get his wife; and Brenda has gone away, too, so I am all alone for a few days.'

This was artistic, and the good lady was mentally patting herself on the back as she met Hicks's glance, in which disappointment and utter amazement were struggling for mastery.

'I do not think,' continued she calmly, 'that I shall stay in town much longer. I am expecting a houseful of quiet people--waifs and strays--at Wyl's Hall at Christmas, so must really think of going home. But I will call on your mother before going. Give her my love and tell her so.'

William Hicks was not the man to make a social blunder. He rose at once, and said 'Good-morning,' with his sweetest smile. Then he bowed himself out of the room, taking the two-shilling rose with him.

Mrs. Wylie reseated herself, and withheld her sigh of relief until the door had closed. She then took up her book again, but presently closed its pages over her fingers, and lapsed into thought.

'That young man,' she reflected, 'is finding his own level. He may give trouble yet; but Brenda goes serenely on her way, quite unconscious of all these little games at cross-purposes of which she is the centre.'

The good lady's reflections continued in this vein. She leant back with that pleasant sense of comfort which was almost feline in its supple grace. Her eyes contracted at times with a vague far-off anxiety--the reflex, as it were, of the sorrows of others upon her own placid life, from which all direct emotions were weeded now.

When, at length, the sound of a bell awoke her from these day-dreams, she rose and arranged the cheery fireplace with a sudden access of energy.

'I wonder,' she murmured, without emotion, 'who is coming now.'

With a glance round the room to see that her stage was prepared, she reseated herself.

Again the door opened, and this time the new arrival did not hurry into the room, but stood upon the threshold waiting. Mrs. Wylie looked up with a pleasant expectancy. It was Captain Huston.

The soldier glanced round the room uneasily, and then he advanced towards the fire without attempting any sort of greeting. Mrs. Wylie remained in her deep chair, and as the Captain came towards her, she watched him. His unsteady hands gave his hat no rest. Taking his stand on the hearthrug, he began at once in a husky voice.

'I have come to you, Mrs. Wylie,' he said, 'because I suspect that you know where Alice is to be found. This game of hide-and-seek to which she is treating me is hardly dignified, and it is distinctly senseless. If I choose to take decided steps in the matter, I can, of course, have her hunted down like a common malefactor.'

He spread his gaitered feet apart, and waited with confidence the result of this shot.

'In the meantime,' suggested Mrs. Wylie, with unruffled sweetness, 'it is really, perhaps, wiser that you should remain apart. I sincerely trust that this is a mere temporary misunderstanding. You are both young, and, I suppose, both hasty. Think over it, Captain Huston, and do not press matters too much. If, in a short time, you approach Alice with a few kind little apologies, I believe she would relent. You must really be less hard on us women--make some allowance for our more tender nerves and silly susceptibilities.'

By way of reply, he laughed in a rasping way, without, however, being actually rude.

'I have an indistinct recollection of having heard that before,' he observed, with forced cynicism, 'or something of a similar nature. The kind little apologies you mention are due to me as much as they are to Alice. Of course, she has omitted to draw your attention to sundry little flirtations...'

The widow stopped him with a quick gesture of disgust.

'I refuse,' she said deliberately, 'to listen to details. Alice will tell you that I treated her in the same way. These matters, Captain Huston, should be sacred between husband and wife.'

'Well, I suppose you have Alice's story through Brenda? It comes to the same thing. I can see you are prejudiced against me.'

Mrs. Wylie smiled patiently, with a suggestion of sympathy, which her companion seemed to appreciate.

'The world,' she said, 'is sure to be prejudiced against you in the present case. You must remember that the moral code is different for a pretty woman than for the rest of us. Moreover, the husband is blamed in preference, because people attribute the original mistake of marrying to him. I don't say that men are always to blame for mistaken marriages, but the initiative is popularly supposed to lie in their hands.'

Captain Huston tugged at his drooping moustache pensively. He walked to the window, with the assurance of one who knew his way amidst the furniture, and stood for some time looking down into the street. Presently he returned, avoiding Mrs. Wylie's eyes; but she saw his face, and her own grew suddenly very sympathetic.

He played nervously with the ornaments upon the mantelpiece for some moments, deeply immersed in thought. There was a chair drawn forward to the fire, at the opposite end of the fur hearthrug to that occupied by Mrs. Wylie. This he took, sitting hopelessly with his idle hands hanging at either side.

'What am I to do?' he asked, half cynically.

Before replying, the widow looked at him--gauging him.

'Do you really mean that?'

'Of course--I am helpless. A man is no match for three women.'

'To begin with, you must have more faith in other people. In myself ... Brenda ... Theo Trist.'

The last name was uttered with some significance. Its effect was startling. Huston's bloodshot eyes flashed angrily, his limp fingers clenched and writhed until the skin gave forth a creaking sound as of dry leather.

'D--n Trist!' he exclaimed. 'I will shoot him if he comes across my path!'

Mrs. Wylie did not shriek or faint, as ladies are usually supposed to do when men give way to violent language in their presence. But there came into her eyes a slight passing shade of anxiety, which she suppressed with an effort.

'But first of all,' she said, 'you must learn to restrain yourself. You must understand that bluster of any description is quite useless against myself or Theo. Alice may be afraid, but Brenda is not; and with Alice fear is closely linked with disgust. Do not forget that.'

She spoke quite calmly, with a force which a casual observer would not have anticipated. In her eagerness she leant forward, with a warning hand outstretched.

'And,' he muttered, 'I suppose I am to suppress all my feelings, and go about the world like a marble statue. It seems to me that that fellow Trist leaves his impression on you all. His doctrine is imperturbability at any price. It isn't mine!'

'Nor mine, Captain Huston. All I preach is a little more restraint. Theo goes too far, and his reticence leads to mistakes. You have been misled. You think that ... your wife and Theo Trist ... love each other.'

The soldier looked at her steadily, his weak nether lip quivering with excitement. Then he slowly nodded his head.

'That--is my impression.'

Mrs. Wylie evinced no hurry, no eagerness now. She had difficult cards, and her full attention was given to playing them skilfully. She leant back again in her comfortable chair, and crossed her hands upon her lap.

'Using primary argument,' she said concisely, 'and meeting opinion with opinion, I contend that you are mistaken. I will be perfectly frank with you, Captain Huston, because you have a certain claim upon my honesty. In some ways Alice is a weak woman. It has been her misfortune to be brought up and launched upon society as a beauty; a man who marries such a woman is assuming a responsibility which demands special qualifications. Judging from what I have observed, I am very much afraid that you possess these qualifications in but a small degree. Do you follow me?'

The man smiled in an awkward way.

'Yes. You were going to say, "I told you so."'

'That,' returned the widow, 'is a remark I never make, because it is profitless. Moreover, it would not be true, because I never told you so. Circumstances have in a measure been against you. You could scarcely have chosen a more dangerous part of the world in which to begin your married life than Ceylon. As it happens, you did not choose, but it was forced upon you. In England we live differently. A young married woman is thrown more exclusively upon the society of her husband; there is less temptation. You will find it less difficult...'

'Is married life to be described as a difficulty?' he interrupted.

Mr. Wylie did not reply at once. She sat with placidly crossed hands gazing into the fire. There was a slight tension in the lines of her mouth.

'Life,' she replied, 'in any form, in any sphere, in any circumstances, _is_ a difficulty.'

After a moment she resumed in a more practical tone:

'Again, Alice is scarcely the woman to make a soldier's wife in times of peace. War ... would bring out her good points.'

Huston moved restlessly. Mrs. Wylie turned her soft gray eyes towards his face, and across her sympathetic features there passed an expression of real pain. She had divined his next words before his lips framed them.

'I am not a soldier, Mrs. Wylie.'

'Resigned...?' she whispered.

'No; turned out.'

Unconsciously she was swaying backwards and forwards a little, as if in lamentation, while she rubbed one hand over the other.

'Drink,' continued Huston harshly; '... drink, and Alice drove me to it.'

There was a long silence in the room after this. The glowing fire creaked and crackled at times; occasionally a cinder fell with considerable clatter into the fender, but neither of these people moved. At last Mrs. Wylie looked up.

'Captain Huston,' she said pleadingly.

'Yes.'

He looked across, and saw the tears quivering on her lashes.

'Come back to me to-morrow morning,' was her prayer. 'I cannot ... I cannot advise you yet ... because I do not quite understand. Theo Trist is coming to lunch to-day. Will you come back to-morrow?'

'I will,' he answered simply, and left the room.