Lady Mallowe looked her over, feeling a sort of frenzy at the sight of her.In truth, the future was a hideous thing to contemplate if no rescue at all was in sight.It would be worse for her than for Joan, because Joan did not care what happened or did not happen, and she cared desperately.She had indeed arrived at a maddening moment.
"Yes," she snapped, fiercely.
And when Joan faintly smiled again she understood why women of the lower orders beat one another until policemen interfere.She knew perfectly well that the girl had somehow found out that Sir Moses Monaldini was to be at Broome Haughton, and that when he left there he was going abroad.She knew also that she had not been able to conceal that his indifference had of late given her some ghastly hours, and that her play for this lagging invitation had been a frantically bold one.That the most ingenious efforts and devices had ended in success only after such delay made it all the more necessary that no straw must remain unseized on.
"I can wear some of your things, with a little alteration," she said.
"Rose will do it for me.Hats and gloves and ornaments do not require altering.I shall need things you will not need in London.Where are your keys?"Lady Joan rose and got them for her.She even flushed slightly.They were often obliged to borrow each other's possessions, but for a moment she felt herself moved by a sort of hard pity.
"We are like rats in a trap," she remarked."I hope you will get out.""If I do, you will be left inside.Get out yourself! Get out yourself!" said Lady Mallowe in a fierce whisper.
Her regrets at the necessity of their leaving Temple Barholm were expressed with fluent touchingness at the dinner-table.The visit had been so delightful.Mr.Temple Barholm and Miss Alicia had been so kind.The loveliness of the whole dear place had so embraced them that they felt as if they were leaving a home instead of ending a delightful visit.It was extraordinary what an effect the house had on one.It was as if one had lived in it always--and always would.So few places gave one the same feeling.They should both look forward--greedy as it seemed--to being allowed some time to come again.She had decided from the first that it was not necessary to go to any extreme of caution or subtlety with her host and Miss Alicia.Her method of paving the way for future visits was perhaps more than a shade too elaborate.She felt, however, that it sufficed.For the most part, Lady Joan sat with lids dropped over her burning eyes.She tried to force herself not to listen.This was the kind of thing which made her sick with humiliation.Howsoever rudimentary these people were, they could not fail to comprehend that a foothold in the house was being bid for.They should at least see that she did not join in the bidding.Her own visit had been filled with feelings at war with one another.There had been hours too many in which she would have been glad--even with the dingy horrors of the closed town house before her--to have flown from the hundred things which called out to her on every side.In the long-past three months of happiness, Jem had described them all to her--the rooms, gardens, pleached walks, pictures, the very furniture itself.She could enter no room, walk in no spot she did not seem to know, and passionately love in spite of herself.She loved them so much that there were times when she yearned to stay in the place at any cost, and others when she could not endure the misery it woke in her-- the pure misery.Now it was over for the time being, and she was facing something new.There were endless varieties of wretchedness.She had been watching her mother for some months, and had understood her varying moods of temporary elation or prolonged anxiety.Each one had meant some phase of the episode of Sir Moses Monaldini.The people who lived at Broome Haughton were enormously rich Hebrews, who were related to him.They had taken the beautiful old country-seat and were filling it with huge parties of their friends.The party which Lady Mallowe was to join would no doubt offer opportunities of the most desirable kind.Among this special class of people she was a great success.Her amazingly achieved toilettes, her ripe good looks, her air of belonging to the great world, impressed themselves immensely.
T.Tembarom thought he never had seen Lady Joan look as handsome as she looked to-night.The color on her cheek burned, her eyes had a driven loneliness in them.She had a wonderfully beautiful mouth, and its curve drooped in a new way.He wished Ann could get her in a corner and sit down and talk sense to her.He remembered what he had said to the duke.Perhaps this was the time.If she was going away, and her mother meant to drag her back again when she was ready, it would make it easier for her to leave the place knowing she need not hate to come back.But the duke wasn't making any miss hit when he said it wouldn't be easy.She was not like Ann, who would feel some pity for the biggest fool on earth if she had to throw him down hard.
Lady Joan would feel neither compunctions nor relentings.He knew the way she could look at a fellow.If he couldn't make her understand what he was aiming at, they would both be worse off than they would be if he left things as they were.But--the hard line showed itself about his mouth--he wasn't going to leave things as they were.
As they passed through the hall after dinner, Lady Mallowe glanced at a side-table on which lay some letters arrived by the late post.An imposing envelope was on the top of the rest.Joan saw her face light as she took it up.
"I think this is from Broome Haughton," she said."If you will excuse me, I will go into the library and read it.It may require answering at once."She turned hot and cold, poor woman, and went away, so that she might be free from the disaster of an audience if anything had gone wrong.