“A little more,” she said tensely, “and I should have struck those unspeakable young men with my umbrella. One of the things I have never been able to understand, Derek, is why you should have selected that imbecile Rooke as your closest friend.”
Derek smiled tolerantly.
“It was more a case of him selecting me. But Freddie is quite a good fellow really. He’s a man you’ve got to know.”
“I have not got to know him, and I thank heaven for it!”
“He’s a very good-natured fellow. It was decent of him to put me up at the Albany while our house was let. By the way, he has some seats for the first night of a new piece this evening. He suggested that we might all dine at the Albany and go on to the theatre.” He hesitated a moment. “Jill will be there,” he said, and felt easier now that her name had at last come into the talk. “She’s longing to meet you.”
“Then why didn’t she meet me?”
“Here, do you mean? At the station? Well, I—I wanted you to see her for the first time in pleasanter surroundings.”
“Oh!” said Lady Underhill shortly.
It is a disturbing thought that we suffer in this world just as much by being prudent and taking precautions as we do by being rash and impulsive and acting as the spirit moves us. If Jill had been permitted by her wary fiancé to come with him to the station to meet his mother, it is certain that much trouble would have been avoided. True, Lady Underhill would probably have been rude to her in the opening stages of the interview, but she would not have been alarmed and suspicious; or, rather, the vague suspicion which she had been feeling would not have solidified, as, it did now, into definite certainty of the worst. All that Derek had effected by his careful diplomacy had been to convince his mother that he considered his bride-elect something to be broken gently to her.
She stopped and faced him.
“Who is she?” she demanded. “Who is this girl?”
Derek flushed.
“I thought I made everything clear in my letter.”
“You made nothing clear at all.”
“By your leave!” chanted a porter behind them, and a baggage-truck clove them apart.
“We can’t talk in a crowded station,” said Derek irritably. “Let me get you to the taxi and take you to the hotel. — What do you want to know about Jill?”
“Everything. Where does she come from? Who are her people? I don’t know any Mariners.”
“I haven’t cross-examined her,” said Derek stiffly. “But I do know that her parents are dead. Her father was an American.”
“American!”
“Americans frequently have daughters, I believe.”
“There is nothing to be gained by losing your temper,” said Lady Underhill with steely calm.
“There is nothing to be gained, as far as I can see, by all this talk,” retorted Derek. He wondered vexedly why his mother always had this power of making him lose control of himself. He hated to lose control of himself. It upset him, and blurred that vision which he liked to have of himself as a calm, important man superior to ordinary weaknesses. “Jill and I are engaged, and there is an end of it.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Lady Underhill, and was driven away by another baggage-truck. “You know perfectly well,” she resumed, returning to the attack, “that your marriage is a matter of the greatest concern to me and to the whole of the family.”
“Listen, mother!” Derek’s long wait on the draughty platform had generated an irritability which overcame the deep-seated awe of his mother which was the result of years of defeat in battles of the will. “Let me tell you in a few words all that I know of Jill, and then we’ll drop the subject. In the first place, she is a lady. Secondly, she has plenty of money —”
“The Underhills do not need to marry for money.”
“I am not marrying for money!”
“Well, go on.”
“I have already described to you in my letter—very inadequately, but I did my best—what she looks like. Her sweetness, her loveableness, all the subtle things about her which go to make her what she is, you will have to judge for yourself.”