Sixteen

When the uneasy house-party at Lexham arose from the luncheon-table that afternoon, Maud, as usual, went upstairs for her rest, and Mottisfont took possession of the library by the simple expedient of stretching himself out in the easiest armchair and disposing himself to slumber. Paula dragged Roydon away to discuss the casting of Wormwood. Mrs Dean, in whom the events of the morning had induced a reflective mood, said that she must have a talk with dear Stephen, now that things were so mercifully altered, and suggested that they should go to the morning-room for a cosy little chat. Even Valerie seemed to feel that this was a trifle blatant, for she said frankly: ‘Oh, Mummy, you are the limit!’ Stephen said, with more presence of mind than courtesy, that he was going for a walk with Mathilda, at the same time directing such a menacing look at Mathilda that she meekly acquiesced in this arbitrary plan for her entertainment, and went upstairs to put on a pair of heavy shoes and a thick coat.

They left the house by the garden-room door, and traversing the gardens struck out into the small park. The melting snow had made the ground spongy under their feet; the sky was dull; and the bare tree-branches dripped moisture; but Mathilda drew a long breath, and said: ‘It’s good to get out into the fresh air again. I find the atmosphere in the house rather too oppressive for my taste. Do you think you are definitely in the clear, Stephen?’

‘Mrs Dean does,’ he replied. ‘Do you realise that that she-wolf was going to tie me up to Valerie again?’

‘Of course, you’re such a defenceless creature, aren’t you?’ she retorted.

‘Against battering-rams, I am.’

‘What did you do it for?’ she asked.

‘Get engaged to Valerie? I never meant to.’

‘Little gentleman! A fairly raw deal for her, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t flatter myself she’s broken-hearted.’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘You treated her pretty rough, though. You’re not everybody’s money, you know, Stephen.’

‘By no means.’ He turned his head, and looked down at her. ‘Am I yours, Mathilda?’

She did not answer for a moment or two, but strode on beside him, her hands dug into the pockets of her coat. When she thought she could trust her voice, she said: ‘Is that a declaration?’

‘Don’t come the ingénue, Mathilda, my love! Of course it is!’

‘A bit sudden, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s belated. I ought to have made it five years ago.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Took you for granted, I suppose.’

‘Just a good sort,’ she remarked.

‘You are – a damned good sort. I always looked on you as a second sister.’

‘You are a fool, Stephen,’ she said crossly.

‘Yes, I knew that as soon as I saw you beside my pretty nit-wit.’

‘Came on you in a flash, no doubt.’

‘More or less. I never realised until this hellish house-party. I don’t want to have to live without you.’