VII
A silence fell between them which endured for a long time, such an understanding silence as is only possible in rare friendships. Paul began to fill his pipe, and Don almost regretfully broke the spell. “My real mission,” he said, “is to release you from a bargain into which you entered blindfolded, without realising that you had to deal with an utterly unprincipled partner.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I owe a debt to the late Michael Duveen, Paul, which you generously offered to assist me in liquidating——”
Paul reached over and grasped Don’s arm. “Stop there!” he cried, “and hear me. You are going to say that my enthusiasm has cooled——”
“I am going to say nothing of the kind.”
“Ah, but you think it is so. Yet you know me so well, Don, that you should understand me better. I handed the whole affair over to Nevin, and to you that seems like ennui, I know. But it does not mean that; it simply means that as a hopeless man of business I appoint another to do what I know myself incapable of doing. Once I am committed to the production of a book, Don, I cease to exist outside its pages. I live and move and have my being in it. But please don’t misunderstand. Anything within my power to do for Flamby I will do gladly. I only learned to-day of her second bereavement. Don, we must protect her from the fate which so often befalls girls in such circumstances.”
“My dear Paul, in accusing me of misjudging you, you are misjudging me. If I don’t understand you nobody does. My offer to release you from the bargain is not to be understood as a reproach; it is a confession. I am a man utterly devoid of common sense, one to whom reason is a stranger and moderation an enemy. I am a funny joke. I should be obliged if you would sell me to Punch.”
“You puzzle me.”
“I puzzle myself. Don Courtier is a conundrum with which I struggle night and morning. In brief, Paul, I have been shopping with Flamby.”
“With Flamby? Then she is in London?”
“She arrived yesterday morning, a most pathetic little picture in black. I wish you could have seen her, Paul; then you might understand and condone.”
The vertical wrinkle between Paul’s brows grew darker. His mind was a playground of conflicting thoughts. When he spoke he did so almost automatically. “She has never had a chance, Don. God knows I am eager to help her.”
“But I cannot permit it. To put the matter in a nutshell, I have already spent roughly a hundred and twenty pounds in this worthy cause!”
Paul laughed outright. “My dear fellow, what are a hundred and twenty pounds in the scale against your life? You are worth more to me than sixty pounds!”
“This is only the beginning. Having beguiled her into an extravagant mode of expenditure, from motives of self-protection I have been forced to plunge deeper into the mire of deception. I have informed her that she is to refer all tradespeople to Nevin. Quite innocently she may let us in for any amount of money!”
Paul put his hands upon Don’s shoulders, laughing more loudly than ever. “I don’t know to what extent your service has depleted your exchequer, and how far you can afford to pursue the Quixotic, but for my own part all I have is at your disposal—and at Flamby’s.”
“I shall see that no such demand is made upon you. But you must come and visit her, Paul. She has few friends.”
“Poor little girl. I will come when you like, Don. To-night I am going to Thessaly’s, and I wish you could join the party. He would welcome you, I know.”
“Impossible, unfortunately. I am dining with a man who was attached to us for a time.”
“Don’t fill up your entire programme, Don, and leave no room for me. Give me at least one whole day.”
“To-morrow, then.”
“Splendid. Thessaly will be joining us in the evening, too, and I am anxious for you to renew your acquaintance. We had projected a ramble around London’s Bohemian haunts. I must keep in touch with the ideas of contemporary writers, painters and composers, for these it is who make opinion. Then I propose to plumb the depths of our modern dissipations, Don. The physician’s diagnosis is based upon symptoms of sickness.”
“Certainly. A nation is known not by its virtues, but by its vices. In the haversack of the fallen Frenchman it is true that we may find a silk stocking, or a dainty high-heeled shoe, but in that of the German we find a liver sausage. Most illuminating, I think. To-morrow, then. Shall I call here for you? Yvonne might like to lunch with us. The wife of a genius must often be very lonely.”