Until that morning she had never spoken to him, nor had she any idea that such a misfortune would overtake her, until she came back through the village and turned into the little lane whence ran a footpath across Monkshall Park.
He was sitting on a stile, his long hands tightly clasped between his knees, a drooping cigarette in his mouth, gazing mournfully through his horn-rimmed spectacles into vacancy. She stood for a moment, thinking he had not seen her, and hesitating whether she should take a more round-about route in order to avoid him. At that moment he got down lazily, took off his cap with a flourish.
‘Pass, friend; all’s well,’ he said.
He had rather a delightful smile, she noticed, but at the moment she was far from being delighted.
‘If I accompany you to your ancestral home, does your revered father take a gun or loose a dog?’
She faced him squarely.
‘You’re Mr Fane, aren’t you?’
He bowed; the gesture was a little extravagant, and she went hot at his impertinence.
‘I think in the circumstances, Mr Fane, it is hardly the act of a gentleman to attempt to get into conversation with me.’
‘It may not be the act of a gentleman, but it is the act of an intelligent human being who loves all that is lovely,’ he smiled. ‘Have you ever noticed how few really pleasant-looking people there are in the world? I once stood at the corner of a street—’
‘At present you’re standing in my way,’ she interrupted him.
She was not feeling at her best that morning; her nerves were tense and on edge. She had spent a night of terror, listening to strange whispers, to sounds that made her go cold, to that booming note of a distant organ which made her head tingle. Otherwise, she might have handled the situation more commandingly. And she had seen something, too—something she had never seen before; a wild, mouthing shape that had darted across the lawn under her window and had vanished.
He was looking at her keenly, this man who swayed slightly on his feet.
‘Does your father love you?’ he asked, in a gentle, caressing tone.
She was too startled to answer.
‘If he does he can refuse you nothing, my dear Miss Redmayne. If you said to him, “Here is a young man who requires board and lodging”—’
‘Will you let me pass, please?’ She was trembling with anger.
Again he stepped aside with elaborate courtesy, and without a word she stepped over the stile, feeling singularly undignified. She was half-way across the park before she looked back. To her indignation, he was following, at a respectful distance, it was true, but undoubtedly following.
Neither saw the other unwanted visitor. He had arrived soon after Mrs Elvery and Goodman had gone out with their golf clubs to practise putting on the smooth lawn to the south of the house. He was a rough looking man, with a leather apron, and carried under his arm a number of broken umbrellas. He did not go to the kitchen, but after making a stealthy reconnaissance, had passed round to the lawn and was standing in the open doorway, watching Cotton as he gathered up the debris which the poetess had left behind.
Cotton was suddenly aware of the newcomer and jerked his head round.
‘Hallo, what do you want?’ he asked roughly.
‘Got any umbrellas or chairs to mend—any old kettles or pans?’ asked the man mechanically.
Cotton pointed in his lordliest manner. ‘Outside! Who let you in?’
‘The lodge-keeper said you wanted something mended,’ growled the tinker.
‘Couldn’t you come to the service door? Hop it.’
But the man did not move.
‘Who lives here?’ he asked.
‘Colonel Redmayne, if you want to know—and the kitchen door is round the corner. Don’t argue!’
The tinker looked over the room with approval.
‘Pretty snug place this, eh?’
Mr Cotton’s sallow face grew red.
‘Can’t you understand plain English? The kitchen door’s round the corner. If you don’t want to go there, push off!’
Instead, the man came farther into the room.
‘How long has he been living here—this feller you call Redmayne?’
‘Ten years,’ said the exasperated butler. ‘Is that all you want to know? You don’t know how near to trouble you are.’
‘Ten years, eh?’ The man nodded. ‘I want to see this colonel.’
‘I’ll give you an introduction to him,’ said Cotton sarcastically. ‘He loves tinkers!’
It was then that Mary came in breathlessly.
‘Will you send that young man away?’ She pointed to the oncoming Ferdie; for the moment she did not see the tinker.
‘Young man, miss?’ Cotton went to the window, ‘Why, it’s the gent who came yesterday—a very nice young gentleman he is, too.’
‘I don’t care who he is or what he is,’ she said angrily. ‘He is to be sent away.’
‘Can I be of any help, miss?’
She was startled to see the tinker, and looked from him to the butler.
‘No, you can’t,’ snapped Cotton.
‘Who are you?’ asked Mary.
‘Just a tinker, miss.’ He was eyeing her thoughtfully, and something in his gaze frightened her.
‘He—he came in here, and I told him to go to the kitchen,’ explained Cotton in a flurry. ‘If you hadn’t come he’d have been chucked out!’
‘I don’t care who he is—he must help you to get rid of this wretched young man,’ said Mary desperately. ‘He—’
She became suddenly dumb. Mr Ferdinand Fane was surveying her from the open window.
‘How d’ye do, everybody? Comment ça va?’
‘How dare you follow me!’ She stamped her foot in her fury, but he was unperturbed.
‘You told me to keep out of your sight, so I walked behind. It’s all perfectly clear.’
It would have been dignified to have left the room in silence—he had the curious faculty of compelling her to be undignified.
‘Don’t you understand that your presence is objectionable to me and to my father? We don’t want you here. We don’t wish to know you.’
‘You don’t know me.’ He was hurt. ‘I’ll bet you don’t even know that my Christian name is Ferdie.’
‘You’ve tried to force your acquaintance on me, and I’ve told you plainly that I have no desire to know you—’
‘I wan’ to stay here,’ he interrupted. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘You don’t need a room here—you have a room at the Red Lion, and it seems a very appropriate lodging.’
It was then that the watchful tinker took a hand.
‘Look here, governor, this lady doesn’t want you here—get out.’
But he was ignored.
‘I’m not going back to the Red Lion,’ said Mr Fane gravely. ‘I don’t like the beer—I can see through it—’
A hand dropped on his shoulder.
‘Are you going quietly?’
Mr