Part 5 (1/2)
Mrs. Roche stands watching helplessly, her lips curving into smiles.
”You are very kind,” she murmurs, as his eyegla.s.s falls amongst her chiffons. ”The cat was hungry, and now he won't get anything. Philip will not stay and----”
She breaks off shortly, for her husband has turned and discovered the youth on his knees before Eleanor, who, as he rises, slips his card into her hand.
”I will see the cat is fed,” he whispers.
She gives him a grateful glance, and explaining the incident to Philip, hurries away, with the stranger's card hidden in her pale kid glove.
When she is back in the hotel, Eleanor looks at the name.
HERBERT DALLISON.
_Junior Conservative Club._
”I don't suppose we shall ever meet again,” she says to herself reflectively. ”But he must so kindhearted, or he wouldn't have troubled about my dress or the cat.”
Though Eleanor Roche is so in love with her own l.u.s.trous eyes, she does not yet realise how much goodwill they can win her. She has yet to learn that the dangerous gift of a subtle charm may make or mar its owner's life.
”We have only one more day here,” says Philip, who had mapped out their tour, ”and I want you to see 'Waterloo,' dearest.”
”Is it amusing?” asks Eleanor.
”Well, interesting is more the word,”
”Then I probably shall not care for it. The places you call interesting are so dull!”
However, Philip carries out his plan, and takes her to the little straggling village of Brane l'Alleud. The churchyard full of English graves and monuments quite distresses Eleanor.
”To think of all these brave men dying n.o.bly for their country, and then being buried in this out-of-the-way place!” she exclaims.
”I suppose it is all the same to them,” replies Philip.
”But I don't like the idea, nor am I fond of the sight of graves, and the thought of death. Oh, Philip! what is that fat old man saying to you?”
”He wants to show us a grave over the Marquis of Anglesea's leg, and is the proud possessor of the house where it was amputated. It was buried in a polished coffin, and has a monument erected to its memory. But who are you eyeing so intently, Eleanor?” turning as he speaks. ”Why!
If it isn't that impudent young puppy again, who mopped up the milk!”
”Cream, Philip, cream.”
”Well! don't look at him, darling,” putting his arm through hers to draw her gently away. ”We will escape from the voluble Belgian with the leg story. He wants to show us the boot that once cased the foot.
Such a fuss about nothing!”
Eleanor returns to the carriage, but, as they drive to the huge mound with the Belgic Lion on the summit, she is conscious that Herbert Dallison is following.
For the rest of the day he always seems only a yard from her, as they examine the red walls pitted by bullets, and wander round the Museum.
He has a party of friends with him--Eleanor can hear them chaffing the guide, and ridiculing everything. Their absurd remarks amuse her, from time to time she laughs for no apparent reason.
At last she owns to fatigue, and Philip leaves her, while he goes in search of their carriage.