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Love at Second Sight

<h3 id="id01402" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER XX</h3> Lady Conroy had arrived home in Carlton House Terrace, complaining of a headache. She remained on the sofa in her sitting-room for about five minutes, during which time she believed she had been dozing. In reality she had been looking for her glasses, dropping her bag and ringing the bell to send a servant for a handkerchief. She was a handsome woman of thirty-eight, with black hair turning a little grey, grey Irish eyes and a wonderfully brilliant complexion. She must have been a remarkably good-looking girl, but now, to her great vexation, she was growing a little too fat. She varied between treatments, which she scarcely began before she forgot them, and utter indifference to her appearance, when she declared she was much happier, letting herself go in loose gowns, and eating everything of which she had deprived herself for a day or two for the sake of her figure. Lady Conroy had often compared herself to the old woman who lived in a shoe, because of her large family. Her friends declared she didn't remember how many children she had. She loved them, but there were certainly weeks when she didn't see the younger ones, for she was constantly absorbed in various different subjects. Besides, she spent most of her life in looking for things. She was hopelessly careless and had no memory at all. Suddenly she glanced at the watch on her wrist, compared it with the splendid Empire clock on the mantelpiece, and went with a bewildered look to the telephone on her writing-desk. Having gone through a considerable amount of torture by calling up the wrong number and absently ringing off as soon as she had got the right one, she at last found herself talking to Edith. 'Oh, is that you, dear? How lucky to catch you! Yes…. Yes…. I came back yesterday. Dying to see you. Can't you come round and see me? Oh, you've got on your hat; you were just coming? Of course, I forgot! I knew I had an appointment with someone! How soon will you be here?… In a quarter of an hour? Good! Could you tell me the time, dear?… Four o'clock, thanks. My watch is wrong, and they've never wound the clock up all the time I've been away. Good-bye. Don't be long…. How soon did you say you could come?… Oh, about a quarter of an hour! Do hurry!… I say, I've something very particular to tell you. It's about… Oh, I'm detaining you. Very well. I see. Au revoir.' As she waited for her visitor, Lady Conroy walked round the room. Nearly everything on which she cast her eye reminded her of a different train of thought, so that by the time Edith was announced by the footman she had forgotten what she wanted to tell her. 'How sweet you look, dear!' cried Lady Conroy, welcoming her most affectionately. 'How dear of you to come. You can't think how I was longing to see you. Can you tell me what day it is?' 'Why, it's Thursday,' Edith said, laughing. 'Don't you remember? You wired to me to come and see you today.' 'Of course; so I did. But, surely, I didn't ask you to come on Thursday?' 'I assure you that you did.' 'Fancy! How stupid of me! Thursday is my day at home. Dear, dear, dear. I forgot to tell Standing; there will be no proper tea. Oh, I've brought such a nice French maid—a perfect wonder. She knows everything. She always knows what I want. One moment, dear; I'll ring for her and give her orders. Wait a minute, though.' She took Edith's hand and patted it affectionately. 'Nobody knows I've come back; it'll be all right. We shan't have any visitors. I'm bursting with news to tell you.' 'And I'm longing to hear what it is.' Lady Conroy's charming, animated face became blank. She frowned slightly, and a vague look came into her eyes—the pathetic look of someone who is trying to remember. 'Wait a minute—what is it? Oh yes. You know that woman you introduced me to at Dieppe?' 'What woman?' 'Don't you know, dear? Good heavens, it was you who introduced her—you ought to know.' 'Do you mean Madame Frabelle?' asked Edith, who was accustomed to Lady Conroy, and could follow the drift of her mind. 'Capital! That's it. How wonderful of you! Yes, Madame Frabelle. How do you like her?' 'Very much. But I didn't introduce her to you. You sent her to me.' 'Did I? Well, it's very much the same. Look here, Edith dear. This is what I want to ask you. I remember now. Oh, do you mind ringing the bell for me? I must tell Marie about the tea, in case people call.' Edith obeyed. 'You see, dear,' went on her hostess, 'I've undertaken a terrific number of things—Belgian refugees, weekly knitting, hundreds of societies—all sorts of war work. Well, you know how busy I am, even without all that, don't you? Thank heaven the boys are at school, but there are the children in the nursery, and I don't leave them—at least hardly ever—to their nurse. I look after them myself—when I think of it. Oh, they've grown such heavenly angels—too sweet! And how's your pet, Dilly?' 'Very well. But do go on.' 'How right of you to keep me to the point, darling. That's where you're such a comfort always. Do you mind passing me my glasses? Thanks.' She put them on and immediately took them off. She only needed them for reading. 'Oh yes. I wanted to consult you about something, Edith.' The footman came in. 'Oh, Standing, send Marie to me at once…. Bother the man, how he keeps worrying! Well, Edith dear, as I've got all this tremendous lot of work to do, I've made up my mind, for the sake of my health, I simply must have a sort of secretary or companion. You see?' 'I quite see. You spoke of it before.' 'Well, how do you think that woman you introduced to me, Madame Frabelle—how do you think she would—? Oh, Marie, today's my day at home; isn't it, Edith?' 'Today is Thursday,' said Edith. 'Thursday! Oh, my dear. Thursday's not my day at home. Well, anyhow, never mind about that. What was I saying, Marie?' Marie remained respectfully waiting, with a tight French smile on her intelligent face. 'Oh, I know what it was. Marie, I want you to look after certain things for me here—anyhow, at present. I want you to tell the cook that I want tea at four o'clock. Oh no, it's half-past four—well, at five. And there's something I particularly want for tea. What is it?' she asked, looking at Edith. Immediately answering herself she said: 'I know, I want muffins.' 'Madame want "nuffing"?' said Marie. 'No, no, no! Don't be so stupid. It's an English thing, Marie; you wouldn't understand. Something I've forgotten to tell the cook about. It's so cosy I always think in the winter in London. It always cheers me up. You know, what is it?… I know—muffins—muffins!' she said the word carefully to the French maid. Edith came to the rescue. 'Tell the cook,' she said, 'for madame, that she wants some muffins for tea.' 'Oh, oui. Ah, oui, bien, madame. Merci, madame.' As the maid was going away Lady Conroy called out: 'Oh, tell the cook it doesn't matter. I won't have them today.' 'Bien, madame.' Edith was already in a somewhat hilarious mood. Lady Conroy didn't irritate her; she amused her almost more than any friend she had. Besides, once she could be got to concentrate on any one subject, nobody was more entertaining. Edith's English humour delighted in her friend's Irish wit. There was something singularly Irish in the way Lady Conroy managed to make a kind of muddle and untidiness all round her, when she had been in a room a minute or two. When she had entered the room, it was a fine-looking apartment, rather sparsely furnished, with very little in it, all severest First Empire style. There were a few old portraits on striped pale green walls, and one large basket of hot-house flowers on a small table. Yet, since her entrance, the room already looked as if several people had been spending the week in it without tidying it up. Almost mechanically Edith picked up her bag, books, newspaper, cigarettes and the glasses. 'Well, then, you don't think Madame Frabelle would do?' said Lady Conroy. 'My dear Lady Conroy, Madame Frabelle wouldn't dream of going as a companion or secretary. You want a young girl. She's about fifteen years older than you are and she's staying with me as my guest. I shouldn't even suggest such a thing.' 'Why not? It wouldn't be at all a hard place.' 'No, I know. But she doesn't want a place. She's very well off, remember.' 'Good heavens, she can't have much to do then if she's only staying with you,' said Lady Conroy. 'Oh, she has plenty of engagements. No, I shouldn't advise Madame Frabelle. But I do know of someone.' 'Do you? Oh, darling Edith, how sweet of you. Oh, just ring the bell for me, will you?' Edith rang. 'I want to send for Marie, my maid, and tell her to order some muffins for tea. I forgot to tell the cook.' 'But you have already ordered and countermanded them.' 'Oh, have I?—so I have! Never mind, don't ring. It doesn't matter. Who do you know, dear?' Standing appeared in answer to the bell. 'What do you want, Standing? You mustn't keep bothering and interrupting me like this. Oh, tea? Yes, bring tea. And tell Marie I shan't want her after all.' Lady Conroy leant back against her cushions and with a sigh went on: 'You see, I'm in the most terrible muddle, dear Edith. I don't know where to turn.' She turned to her writing-table and opened it. 'Look at this, now,' she said rather triumphantly. 'This is all about my war work. Oh no, it isn't. It's an advertisement from a washer-woman. Gracious, ought I to keep it, do you think? No, I don't think I need.' She folded it up and put it carefully away again. 'Don't you think yourself I need someone?' 'Yes, I do. I think it would be very convenient for you to have a nice girl with a good memory to keep your things in order.' 'That's it,' cried Lady Conroy, delighted, as she lit a cigarette. 'That's it—someone who will prevent me dropping cigarette ash all over the room and remember my engagements and help me with my war work and write my letters and do the telephoning. That's all I shall want. Of course, if she could do a little needlework—No, no, that wouldn't do. You couldn't expect her to do brainwork as well as needlework.' Edith broke in. 'Do you remember mentioning to me a girl you met at Boulogne—a nurse called Dulcie Clay?' 'Perfectly well,' answered Lady Conroy, puffing away at her cigarette, and obviously not speaking the truth. Edith laughed. 'No, my dear, you don't. But it doesn't matter. Well, this girl has been nursing Mr Aylmer Ross, and he doesn't need her any more—at least he won't after next week. Would you see her and judge for yourself? You might try her.' 'I'm sure I shall if I take her. I'm afraid I'm a trying person. I try everyone dreadfully. Oh, by the way, Edith, I met such a perfect angel coming over. He was a wounded soldier. He belongs to the Black Watch. Doesn't the name Black Watch thrill you? He's in the Irish Guards, so, of course, my heart went out to him.' 'The Irish Guards as well?' 'Oh no. That was another man.' She put her hand to her forehead. 'I'm worrying you, dear, with my bad memory. I'm so sorry. Well, then, you'll see Madame Frabelle for me?' 'I will if you like, but not as a companion. It's Miss Clay.' 'Miss Clay,' repeated Lady Conroy. 'Ah, here's tea. Do you take milk and sugar. Edith?' 'Let me pour it out,' said Edith, to whom it was maddening to see the curious things Lady Conroy did with the tea-tray. She was pouring tea into the sugar basin, looking up at Edith with the sweetest smile. 'I can't stay long,' Edith went on. 'I'm very sorry, dear, but you remember I told you I'm in a hurry…. I've an appointment at Landi's studio.' 'Landi? And who is that?' 'You know him—the composer—Sir Tito.' 'Oh, darling Sir Tito! Of course I do know him!' She smiled reminiscently. 'Won't you have anything to eat, dear? Do have a muffin! Oh, bother, there are none. I wonder how it is cook always forgets? Then you're going to send Madame Frabelle to see me the day after tomorrow?' Edith took both her hands and shook them, laughing, as she stood up. 'I will arrange to send Miss Clay to see you, and if you like her, if you don't mind waiting about ten days or a fortnight, you might engage her. It would be doing her a great kindness. She's not happy at home.' 'Oh, poor girl!' 'And she went as a nurse,' continued Edith, 'chiefly because she couldn't think of anything else to do. She isn't really strong enough for nursing.' 'Isn't she? How sad, poor girl. It reminds me of a girl I met at Boulogne. So pretty and nice. In very much the same position really. She also wasn't happy at home—' 'This is the same girl,' said Edith. 'You wrote to me about her.' 'Did I? Good heavens, how extraordinary! What a memory you've got, Edith. Well, then, she's sure to do.' 'Still, you'd better have an interview,' said Edith. 'Don't trouble to ring. I must fly, dear. We'll soon meet again.' Lady Conroy followed her to the door into the hall, pouring forth questions, sympathy and cheerful communications about the charming young man in the Black Watch. Just before Edith escaped her friend said: 'Oh, by the by, I meant to ask you something. Who is Madame Frabelle?' <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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