A Damsel in Distress

"Poor Percy!" she said. "I don't suppose he'll ever get over it. He

will have other hats, but it won't be the same." She came back to

the subject nearest her heart. "Mr. Bevan, I wonder if you would do

just a little more for me?"

"If it isn't criminal. Or, for that matter, if it is."

"Could you go to Geoffrey, and see him, and tell him all about me

and--and come back and tell me how he looks, and what he said

and--and so on?"

"Certainly. What is his name, and where do I find him?"

"I never told you. How stupid of me. His name is Geoffrey Raymond,

and he lives with his uncle, Mr. Wilbur Raymond, at 11a, Belgrave

Square."

"I'll go to him tomorrow."

"Thank you ever so much."

George got up. The movement seemed to put him in touch with the

outer world. He noticed that the rain had stopped, and that stars

had climbed into the oblong of the doorway. He had an impression

that he had been in the barn a very long time; and confirmed this

with a glance at his watch, though the watch, he felt, understated

the facts by the length of several centuries. He was abstaining

from too close an examination of his emotions from a prudent

feeling that he was going to suffer soon enough without assistance

from himself.

"I think you had better be going back," he said. "It's rather late.

They may be missing you."

Maud laughed happily.

"I don't mind now what they do. But I suppose dinners must be

dressed for, whatever happens." They moved together to the door.

"What a lovely night after all! I never thought the rain would stop

in this world. It's like when you're unhappy and think it's going

on for ever."

"Yes," said George.

Maud held out her hand.

"Good night, Mr. Bevan."

"Good night."

He wondered if there would be any allusion to the earlier passages

of their interview. There was none. Maud was of the class whose

education consists mainly of a training in the delicate ignoring of

delicate situations.

"Then you will go and see Geoffrey?"

"Tomorrow."

"Thank you ever so much."

"Not at all."

George admired her. The little touch of formality which she had

contrived to impart to the conversation struck just the right note,

created just the atmosphere which would enable them to part without

weighing too heavily on the deeper aspect of that parting.

"You're a real friend, Mr. Bevan."

"Watch me prove it."

"Well, I must rush, I suppose. Good night!"

"Good night!"

She moved off quickly across the field. Darkness covered her. The

dog in the distance had begun to howl again. He had his troubles,

too.