Presently there arrived a
German lady with whom Coutts was
slightly acquainted. At about half-past seven came Winifred Varley. Courts heard the courtly old gentleman welcoming her in the hall, heard her low voice in answer.
When she entered, and saw him, he knew it was a shock to her, though she hid it as well as she could. He suffered too. After hesitating for a second in the doorway, she came forward,
shook hands without speaking, only looking at him with rather frightened blue eyes. She was of medium height, sturdy in build. Her
face was white and impassive, without the least trace of a smile. She was a
blonde of twenty-eight, dressed in a [b]white gown [/Qb]just short enough not to touch the ground. Her throat was solid and strong, her arms heavy and white and beautiful, her
blue eyes heavy with unacknowledged passion. When she had turned away from Coutts, she
flushed vividly. He could see the pink in her arms and throat, and
he flushed in answer.
"That blush would hurt her," he said to himself, wincing.
"I did not expect to see you," she said, with a
reedy timbre of voice, as if her throat were half-closed. It
made his nerves tingle.
"No--nor I you. At least . . ." He ended indefinitely.
"You have come down from Yorkshire?" she asked. Apparently she was cold and self-possessed.
Yorkshire meant the Rectory where his fiancée lived; he felt the
sting of sarcasm.
"No," he answered. "I am on my way there."
There was a moment's pause.
Unable to resolve the situation
, she turned abruptly to her hostess.
"Shall we play, then?"
They adjourned to the drawing-room. It was a large room upholstered in
dull yellow. The
chimney-piece took Coutts' attention. He
knew it perfectly well, but this evening it had a new, lustrous fascination. Over the
mellow marble of the mantel rose an immense mirror, very translucent and deep, like deep grey water. Before this
mirror, shining white as moons on a soft grey sky, was a pair of statues in alabaster, two feet high. Both were nude figures. They
glistened under the side lamps, rose clean and distinct from their pedestals.
The Venus leaned slightly forward, as if anticipating someone's coming. Her
attitude of suspense made the
young man stiffen. He could see the
clean suavity of her shoulders and waist reflected white on the deep mirror.
She shone, catching, as she leaned forward, the
glow of the lamp on her lustrous marble loins.
Laura played Brahms; the delicate, winsome German lady played Chopin; Winifred played on her violin a Grieg sonata, to Laura's accompaniment. After having sung twice, Coutts listened to the music. Unable to criticise,
he listened till he was intoxicated. Winifred, as she played,
swayed slightly. He watched the
strong forward thrust of her neck, the
powerful and angry striking of her arm. He could see the
outline of her figure; she wore no corsets; and he found her of
resolute independent build. Again he glanced at the
Venus bending in suspense. Winifred was
blonde with a solid whiteness, an
isolated woman.
All the evening,
little was said, save by Laura. Miss Syfurt exclaimed continually: "Oh, that is fine! You play gra-and, Miss Varley, don't you know. If I could play the violin--ah! the violin!"
It was not later than ten o'clock when Winifred and Miss Syfurt rose to go, the former to Croydon, the latter to Ewell.
"We can go by car together to West Croydon," said the German lady,
gleefully, as if she were a child. She was a
frail, excitable little woman of forty, naïve and innocent. She gazed with
bright brown eyes of admiration on Coutts.
"Yes, I am glad," he answered.
He took up Winifred's violin, and the three proceeded downhill to the tram-terminus. There a car was on the point of departure. They hurried forward. Miss Syfurt mounted the step. Coutts waited for Winifred. The conductor called:
"Come along, please, if you're going."
"No," said Winifred. "I prefer to walk this stage."
"We can walk from West Croydon," said Coutts.
The conductor rang the bell.
"Aren't you coming?" cried the frail, excitable little lady, from the footboard. "Aren't you coming?--Oh!"
"I walk from West Croydon every day; I prefer to walk here, in the quiet," said Winifred.
"Aw! aren't you coming with me?" cried the little lady, quite frightened. She stepped back, in supplication, towards the footboard. The conductor impatiently buzzed the bell. The car started forward, Miss Syfurt staggered, was caught by the conductor.
"Aw!" she cried, holding her hand out to the two who stood on the road, and breaking almost into tears of disappointment. As the tram darted forward she clutched at her hat. In a moment she was out of sight.
Coutts stood wounded to the quick by this pain given to the frail, child-like lady.