STEP IN THE DARK. Ethel Lina White
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space. If she had fallen, even from the first floor, she might have broken her back or neck.
"I wish I knew the truth," she thought desperately. Unfortunately there was no means of testing any theory, since she had already destroyed any proof. The light in the bathroom had been too poor for her to notice whether her hands or the soles of her feet were smutted, while her black satin pyjamas could reveal no grime.
Since a definite solution of the mystery eluded her, commonsense advised her to dismiss the matter from her mind as too improbable for acceptance. But that open window, with its suggestion of familiarity, persistently lured her further to the ghastly revelation behind the curtain.
As she shivered, the hoot of a motor-horn drew her across to the other window. Drawn up beside the pavement was a long and powerful touring-car piled with luggage. It was surrounded by the liveried small-fry of the hotel, each hopeful of pennies from heaven. The Professor and Clair were already seated inside, but Georgia was in time to witness the departure of the Count and his aunt.
As she watched the dignity with which Mrs. Vanderpant received the deferential bows of the management, the spectre of a face corroded with vulpine greed faded away. Below was a great lady whose patronage was an honour prized by the hotel.
Her heart beat faster as the Count looked up and surprised her at the window. He kissed his fingers in farewell, while the sun lit up his blue eyes, too clear for a night's debauchery.
Georgia waved her hand and went back to her neglected breakfast.
"Thank heaven it was only a dream," she told herself as she poured out her coffee. "Of course, when he was a child, he was probably a cruel little devil, like those children in the picture. His generation was not trained in kindness to animals. Now, the children instruct us."
She smiled at the recollection of her children's first puppy. Before she could deliver her little lecture on kindness to animals she was forestalled by Mavis, who had been previously coached by her governess.
"You must never be cruel to dumb creatures," she said, sternly, suspiciously regarding her parent as a specimen of adult cruelty. "Miss Jones says that you must remember that the puppy feels like you, although it doesn't look exactly like you."
"And remember," added Merle, skipping a connecting sequence, "you must never pick him up and squeeze him, or he'll have kittens."
Another hoot told her that the Count was passing out of Brussels and out of her life. She could hear the car rolling over the cobbles, and knew that he was accompanied by the wraith of a lady who had only lived in a novelist's imagination.
The Count, and the Countess, were leaving town.
CHAPTER FOUR. SIGNATURE
When Georgia Yeo went abroad for the first time, she went as a duty, to stretch her mental horizon. She was indifferent to any special country, but some one who was both travel-conscious and superior had advised her "to start with Belgium and work upward."
In spite of its implicit condescension, that choice was of vital importance to her future. If she had not gone there she would have missed the chance meeting with her agent, who was responsible for her visit to Bruges.
On the other hand, it' might be argued that she met the Count in Brussels; but the probability was that she was bound to meet him—or rather, his type—wherever she went, since nature and circumstance had marked her out as assailable.
Harvey Torch was not enthusiastic when he ran into Georgia and the Count as he was crossing the Grand Place. Although he had come over to the continent on business, he was combining it with pleasure, and he did not want to be reminded of clients, even although Georgia was also an old friend.
His feelings changed when he noticed her happy confusion and connected it with her companion. He was a small man himself, with a thin bright face which looked intellectual, although he was merely acute. His own insignificance made him exaggerate the importance of a fine physique, and was an additional reason why he made a hero of his elder brother, Osbert.
Osbert had all the gifts and graces—both mental and physical—denied to himself; but he had failed to commercialise his brain successfully and was ill-fated with a junior mastership in a public school. He made no secret of his devotion to Georgia, but had lacked the confidence to propose to her, since he feared that she regarded him only as a friend.
Torch's wish was to secure a happy married future for them both. He liked Georgia personally and had the greatest admiration for her as a writer. Her energy and competence was amazing, and also her flair for the ingredients of commercial success. Devoid alike of artistic scruple or affectation, she had an imp in her brain which enabled her to give the necessary twist to safe and unoriginal plots.
In his opinion her only flaw was her shrinking from publicity and her persistent refusal to allow press-agents to capitalise her romantic life-history.
His affection for her and his loyalty to his brother made him see the red light when she introduced her companion. Therefore her revelation of the trust at the dinner-party had not only raised his hopes again, but had also sharpened his curiosity.
When Georgia joined him in the hotel lounge he was struck by her youthful appearance. She wore a cream flannel sports frock, while her silver-blonde hair was uncovered. Her figure was slim as a schoolgirl's and the dim light showed no lines in her small-featured face.
"Need I wear gloves?" she asked plaintively before he could speak.
"That sounds as though you'd been moving in exalted circles recently," he said. "I should imagine the Count's standard was high."
She pretended not to hear him as she made another appeal.
"Must we go to Bruges?"
"No. Suggest another place."
"Oh...Bruges. It's all I can think of. I'm feeling vague."
Torch realised that she was unhappy and was trying to forget the fact, so he talked of trifles on their way to the station. It was not until the train was steaming through flat fields and willow-hung ditches that he asked her a direct question.
"Georgia, is it true about the trust?"
"Perfectly true," she replied. "I acted on advice."
"Whose?"
"Your brother's. Osbert knew that I was worried about the children's future, because he guessed my dread of mental domination. It has always haunted me. Perhaps it is because I'm used to inventing thrilling plots that I can imagine how fatally easy it would be to give in to some one you had grown to trust implicitly. So I had to make Merle and Mavis safe, in case of my own weakness."
"All the same, big brother Osbert seems to have rather overdone his good deed."
In spite of his criticism, Torch's face glowed with pride at this proof of his brother's unworldly nobility. At the same time he regretted the loss of the tennis-court and car which he had mentally bequeathed to Osbert, as part of his marriage inheritance from a best-selling novelist.
"You don't mind my consulting him instead of you?" asked Georgia quickly. "I was afraid you would be ultra businesslike. But Osbert was wonderful. As things are arranged now there is no more financial worry. No more insecurity or fear of the future. We can all live quietly together on the interest."
She added with a forced laugh. "Of course, it would go no way if we spent our income on the Vanderpant scale."
"Um. When the girls come of age they can bag the lot and throw you out on your ear."
"They won't inherit until they are twenty-five. If they are going to turn out like the two elder Lears, I shall see the signs and save up in readiness. But they won't. One is safe with one's own."
"Exactly. Besides, you are overlooking an important fact. You are still under thirty.