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. Plenty of time to scoop in another little fortune."
Georgia bit her lip as she looked through the window at a herd of black-and-white cattle grazing in a field. She noticed mechanically that the wood of the farm-buildings was painted an unfamiliar shade of bright blue. A girl with a cropped head and a faultless profile waded through the mud of the yard.
There was a perceptible pause before she spoke.
"Harvey, you know what my output has been. I've taken more out of myself than I can put back. I feel I am due for a very long holiday."
The news was not unexpected to Torch. Although Georgia's store of lurid adventure had seemed an inexhaustible gold-mine, he was not blind to the fact that she had dynamited the rich vein too ruthlessly. In her drive for financial security she had rammed the work of years into a comparatively small section of the calendar.
Reminding himself that the future would probably readjust itself, he accepted the blow with philosophy.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, "I think a rest would be good for you—and for your work. Lady, this is Ghent. You remember the poem you learned in the schoolroom: 'How they brought the good news.' But I shall always connect Ghent with news which was not so good."
Apparently she did not hear him, while Ghent was ignored as a murky collection of chimneys and roofs.
"Harvey," she said suddenly, "so many people marry strangers. Girls go out to winter sports and come back engaged. You met Sybil on a cruise."
His keen face grew fatuous at the reference to his wife. She was a strong and radiant sportswoman with unsporting methods of courtship, since she had potted him while he was sitting; but he was still too deeply in love to realise that his marriage had not
