A Damsel in Distress

"The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish . . ."

She broke off. "Oh, well. . ."

There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play the

piano. Then a man's voice began to sing.

"That's Edwin Plummer," said Maud. "How badly he sings."

George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the

tension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a sombre commentary on

the situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing that

particular song, was chanting Tosti's "Good-bye". He was giving to

its never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dog

in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came a

curious soothing of George's nerves. He might feel broken-hearted

later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it was

impossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeper

emotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him to

earth. He felt calm and practical.

"We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly," he said. "There's

certain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to Lord

Marshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp

of his subject."

"I could," said Maud, "but, just at present, I feel as if I'd

rather do anything else in the world. You don't realize what it

must have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever

since I was old enough to notice anything, I've seen how she

dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this

trouble. If it had only been father, I could have coaxed him to let

me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you would

think of some other solution."

"I haven't had an opportunity of telling you," said George, "that I

called at Belgrave Square, as you asked me to do. I went there

directly I had seen Reggie Byng safely married."

"Did you see him married?"

"I was best man."

"Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy."

"He will. Don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I called

at Belgrave Square, and found the house shut up. I couldn't get any

answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at a

time. I think they must have gone abroad again."

"No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His

uncle died of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a business

trip." She paused. "He left Geoffrey all his money," she went on.

"Every penny."

The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the

castle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. To

George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the

ghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realized

that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as he

recognized the hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man.

That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitable

sub-conscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news

ended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this man

apart was removed. There was nothing to prevent them marrying.

George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the

rope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean of

desolation.