do trust,” said Mr. Prodger, more seriously still, “that my inquiry didn’t give you too much pain.”
“No, no. It’s quite all right,” said the gentle voice.
But Mr. Prodger insisted. “You’re sure? You’re positive?”
At that Mother raised her head and gave him one of her still, bright, exalted glances that Milly knew so well. “I’m not in the least hurt,” she said, as one might say it from the midst of the fiery furnace.
Mr. Prodger looked relieved. He changed his attitude and continued. “I hope this regrettable circumstance will not deprive me of your — —”
“Oh, certainly not. We shall be delighted. We are always so pleased to know any one who — —” Mother gave a little bound, a little flutter. She flew from her shadowy branch on to a sunny one. “Is this your first visit to the Riviera?”
“It is,” said Mr. Prodger. “The fact is I was in Florence until recently. But I took a heavy cold there — —”
“Florence so damp,” cooed Mother.
“And the doctor recommended I should come here for the sunshine before I started for home.”
“The sun is so very lovely here,” agreed Mother, enthusiastically.
“Well, I don’t think we get too much of it,” said Mr. Prodger, dubiously, and two lines showed at his lips. “I seem to have been sitting around in my hotel more days than I care to count.”
“Ah, hotels are so very trying,” said Mother, and she drooped sympathetically at the thought of a lonely man in an hotel... “You are alone here?” she asked, gently, just in case... one never knew... it was better to be on the safe, the tactful side.
But her fears were groundless.
“Oh, yes, I’m alone,” cried Mr. Prodger, more heartily than he had spoken yet, and he took a speck of thread off his immaculate trouser leg. Something in his voice puzzled Milly. What was it?
“Still, the scenery is so very beautiful,” said Mother, “that one really does not feel the need of friends. I was only saying to my daughter yesterday I could live here for years without going outside the garden gate. It is all so beautiful.”
“Is that so?” said Mr. Prodger, soberly. He added, “You have a very charming villa.” And he glanced round the salon. “Is all this antique furniture genuine, may I ask?”
“I believe so,” said Mother. “I was certainly given to understand it was. Yes, we love our villa. But of course it is very large for two, that is to say three, ladies. My companion, Miss Anderson, is with us. But unfortunately she is a Roman Catholic, and so she is out most of the time.”
Mr. Prodger bowed as one who agreed that Roman Catholics were very seldom in.
“But I am so fond of space,” continued Mother, “and so is my daughter. We both love large rooms and plenty of them — don’t we, Milly?”
This time Mr. Prodger looked at Milly quite cordially and remarked, “Yes, young people like plenty of room to run about.”
He got up, put one hand behind his back, slapped the other upon it and went over to the balcony.
“You’ve a view of the sea from here,” he observed.
The ladies might well have noticed it; the whole Mediterranean swung before the windows.
“We are so fond of the sea,” said Mother, getting up, too.
Mr. Prodger looked towards Milly. “Do you see those yachts, Miss Fawcett?”
Milly saw them.
“Do you happen to know what they’re doing?” asked Mr. Prodger.
What they were doing? What a funny question! Milly stared and bit her lip.
“They’re racing!” said Mr. Prodger, and this time he did actually smile at her.
“Oh, yes, of course,” stammered Milly. “Of course they are.” She knew that.
“Well, they’re not always at it,” said Mr. Prodger, good-humouredly. And he turned to Mother and began to take a ceremonious farewell.
“I wonder,” hesitated Mother, folding her little hands and eyeing him, “if you would care to lunch with us — if you would not be too dull with two ladies. We should be so very pleased.”
Mr. Prodger became intensely serious again. He seemed to brace himself to meet the luncheon invitation. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Fawcett. I should be delighted.”
“That will be very nice,” said Mother, warmly. “Let me see. To-day is Monday — isn’t it, Milly? Would Wednesday suit you?”
“Mr. Prodger replied,” It would suit me excellently to lunch with you on Wednesday, Mrs. Fawcett. At mee-dee, I presume, as they call it here.”
“Oh, no! We keep our English times. At one o’clock,” said Mother.
And that being arranged, Mr. Prodger became more and more ceremonious and bowed himself out of the room.
Mother rang for Marie to look after him, and a moment later the big, glass hall-door shut.
“Well!” said Mother. She was all smiles. Little smiles like butterflies, alighting on her lips and gone again. “That was an adventure, Milly, wasn’t it, dear? And I thought he was such a very charming man, didn’t you?”
Milly made a little face at Mother and rubbed her eye.
“Of course you did. You must have, dear. And his appearance was so satisfactory — wasn’t it?” Mother was obviously enraptured. “I mean he looked so very well kept. Did you notice his hands? Every nail shone like a diamond. I must say I do like to see...”
She broke off. She came over to Milly and patted her big collar straight.
“You do think it was right of me to ask him to lunch — don’t you, dear?” said Mother pathetically.
Mother made her feel so big, so tall. But she was tall. She could pick Mother up in her arms. Sometimes, rare moods came when she did. Swooped on Mother who squeaked like a mouse and even kicked. But not lately. Very seldom now...
“It was so strange,” said Mother. There was the still, bright, exalted glance again. “I suddenly seemed to hear Father say to me ‘Ask him to lunch.’ And then there was some — warning... I think it was about the wine. But that I didn’t catch — very unfortunately,” she added, mournfully. She put her hand on her breast; she bowed her head. “Father is still so near,” she whispered.
Milly looked out of the window. She hated Mother going on like this. But of course she couldn’t say anything. Out of the window there was the sea and the sunlight silver on the palms, like water dripping from silver oars. Milly felt a yearning — what was it? — it was like a yearning to fly.
But Mother’s
