One of these-Mrs. Todhunter-hid her impatience under a pose of nonchalance. Wherever she went, she attracted notice and she also excited feminine envy by her special atmosphere of romance. Apparently she had everything that a woman could want-beauty, poise, exquisite clothes, and a wealthy, distinguished bridegroom.
In reality she was feverishly eager to get back to her husband.
He was a stout middle-aged building-contractor, named Cecil Parmiter. When at home Mrs. Laura Parmiter lived in a super-fine new house, with all those modern improvements which her husband introduced into the blocks of flats he built for others-and with none of their short-comings. She had a comfortable income, a generous allowance, competent servants, leisure, a trusting affectionate husband and two large children.
She had the additional detail of respectability.
Although she was the social queen of her set, she was secretly ambitious and discontented. During the rehearsals of a local pageant, when class-distinctions were levelled, she met a certain rising barrister-a visitor to the district, who had been roped into taking a part. He was a king and she was a queen-and the royal atmosphere lent a glamour to their meetings.
He was infatuated-temporarily-by her statuesque beauty and the facility with which she could quote passages from Swinburne and Browning, culled from her Oxford Book of Verse. After a few meetings in London, under the seal of the apple, he swept her away with him on a passionate adventure.
Although she lost her footing, Mrs. Laura's brain still functioned. She had a definite ulterior motive for her surrender. During a session of Browning lectures, she had read "The Statue and the Bust" and had imbibed its spirit. She determined, therefore, to risk her counter on a bold fling-the chance of a double divorce.
After the preliminary patch of mud was crossed, she would take her rightful place in Society as the beautiful wife of a distinguished barrister. The world soon forgets-while she was confident that she could compel her husband to admit her moral claim to the children.
She lost. And Browning could have been proud of the spirit in which she took her toss.
The barrister was married to a sour elderly wife; but she possessed both a title and wealth. When Mrs. Laura discovered that he had not the slightest intention of making their adventure a prelude to matrimony, her pride forbade her to show any disappointment.
Perhaps her nonchalance was easier to assume by reason of her own disillusionment. The passionate adventure had not matured according to its promise. It taught her that a professional man did not differ so greatly from a tradesman in essentials and that they looked much the same before shaving and without their collars.
Moreover, the barrister had a handicap from which the builder was immune. He was a hard snorer.
To make matters worse, while he was careless of his own failings, his standard for women was so fastidious that she found it a strain to live up to it. She could never relax, or be natural, without being conscious of his criticism or impatience.
Being practical, she determined to cut short the holiday and get back to her husband while the going was good. Fortunately, she had not burned any bridges. Her husband had bought her return ticket to Turin, and she had told him to expect no mail, since he was going on a sea trip to the Shetlands.
Her plan was to leave the barrister at Turin, where he had joined her on the outward journey, and to stay there, for a night, so that her luggage could display the hotel labels.
The end of it all would be a happy domestic reunion and a better understanding, for-by contrast-she had learnt to appreciate her husband's solidity. Thus one more matrimonial shipwreck had been averted by a trial-venture and a smashed code of morality.
As the Todhunters sat in their coupé, waiting for the second dinner to be served, they were a spectacle which attracted the interest of the tourists who straggled past the window. They must still be known by the name in which they had registered, since the barrister was too cautious to sign his own name.
It was "Brown."
However, his parents had done their best for him, and his title of "Sir Peveril Brown" was sufficiently well-known to be dangerous-in addition to a striking profile which had been reproduced often in the pictorial press.
True to her character of Browning's good loser, Mrs. Laura continued to play her part. Although her acquired drawl was replaced sometimes by her natural accent she still looked choice and aloof as a beautiful princess-remote from the rabble. But her fingers kept tapping the greasy old-gold plush seat, while she glanced continuously at her watch.
"Still hours and hours," she said impatiently. "It seems as though we'd never make Trieste-let alone Turin."
"Anxious to drop me?" asked Todhunter incredulously.
"I'm not thinking of you. But children get measles-and deserted husbands prove unfaithful. The world is full of pretty typists."
"In that case, he'd have nothing on you, if it came to a show-up."
She started at the word.
"Show-up? Don't give me the jitters," she cried sharply.
"There's no chance of it, is there?"
He stroked his lip.
"I should say we are reasonably secure," he told her. "Still I've handled some queer cases in my career. One never knows what will break. It was unfortunate that there were any English visitors at the hotel. And you are entirely too beautiful to remain anonymous."
Mrs. Laura shook off his hand. She wanted reassurance, not compliments.
"You told me there was no risk," she said. Forgetting that her original scheme had been to force her husband to take action, she added bitterly, "What a fool I've been."
"Why are you suddenly so anxious to get back to your husband?" asked Todhunter.
"Well, to be brutally frank, we are all of us out for what we can get. And he can give me more than you can."
"Haven't I given you a memory you'll never forget?"
Mrs. Laura's eyes flashed angrily, and Todhunter laughed. He had grown rather bored by the languid beauty and her synthetic culture; but now that she had suddenly become alive, he was aware of the fact that she was slipping from him.
"I was only teasing you," he said. "Of course, no one will ever know about us. I could risk nothing like that. But we might have been in a jam if I had not thought a jump ahead when that girl asked me about the peeping woman."
"Why," asked Laura, who had only grasped the fact that Todhunter would never go an inch out of his way to champion an unattractive middle-aged woman.
"Why? Because she's disappeared. If I had not repudiated her, I should have to make a statement at Trieste," Todhunter laughed. "Can't you see the headlines? 'Englishwoman lost on Continental express.' Photograph of Mr. Todhunter who was on his honeymoon, when. And thus and thus. It wouldn't be long before the English press got on to my identity. One of the penalties of fame-however limited."
Mrs. Laura did not look as impressed as he wished, for his words had raised a new issue.
Perhaps, after all, the game was not lost, because it was not yet ended. Although Todhunter had no intention of risking a scandal when he lured her away on this trip, she saw a chance to engineer one and so force his hand.
If she went to the professor and assured him of Miss Froy's existence the result was bound to be future complications. There could be no doubt of the professor's probity and public spirit, which would enforce an investigation-whatever the cost to his personal convenience.
Her violet eyes suddenly glittered. As the beautiful bride of the alleged Todhunter, she was an important detail in the picture, and one that reporters would not overlook or suppress. She always made such an appealing photograph.
Afterwards there would be a sensational divorce case, and Sir Peveril-in honour bound-would be obliged to make her the second Lady Brown.
At the thought she drew a deep breath, for the wheel was still spinning.
Her counter was not yet lost.
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