VI
Or course Lady Marjory was quite right. She really might do verv well for herself if she took a little trouble. Without undue complacency, she was perfectly aware of the graces of person with which a kindly Providence had endowed her, and Lady Marjory’s amorous relatives were but two of a long list of “incidents” of the same kind.
Not that the thought of “doing well for herself” in that particular way had ever held the least attraction for her. Without any trace of prudishness, she Possessed all the shrewd honesty of the London girl of her class—her father was a police sergeant—and, besides, her position had given her the opportunity of inspecting at close quarters the progress of sundry pilgrims—high and lowly—along the primrose path of naughtiness. And on the whole the game had not seemed to her anything like worth the candle.
But there had been some who, with that little trouble, might, she rather thought, have been induced to a more secure and legitimate dénouement; some, even, who had been quite desper- ate when they had realized the existence of a preferred and inexplicably obscure rival.
And it was to one of these that Miss Barker’s mind turned and returned per- sistently as she smoked an inferior cigarette over a very small fire in her very small bedroom.
He was a very well-known young man, an intimate friend of Lady Mar- jory’s and of her before-mentioned brother, good-looking, amiable, not un- usually stupid, and the possessor of an income, rapidly diminishing, but still expressed 1n five figures. His name was Arbuthnot—John Wilmhurst Cecil Arbuthnot.
Everybody, except his own relatives, thought a lot of Mr. Arbuthnot; he thought a good deal of himself—though no one ever guessed that; and he had on several occasions manifested a com- paratively respectful admiration for Lady Marjory’s maid. He also wrote verse—very, very passionate and cyn- ical and sad—which he published in lit- tle slim volumes at his own expense and distributed to his friends, as Lady Mar- jory put it, at theirs. These, however, were comparatively unimportant details, His chief interest for Miss Barker lay in the fact that he had recently joined the Royal Flying Corps.
He was a fairly frequent visitor at the Langs’ housc; in point of fact, on that particular Saturday he was dining with them. Very often when he ran up from Farnborough for the week-end he stayed a might or portion of a night, usually on these occasions, returning with “Bulgie,” Lady Marjory’s wicked little brother, in the small hours of the morning in an extremely confidential and affectionate condition. It would certainly involve taking a little trouble; it would probably involve some very wearisome experiences; it might possi- bly even involve very unpleasant con- sequences for Miss Barker.
But I regret to say that after some prolonged and abstracted poking of her little fire, she decided to concentrate upon Mr. Arbuthnot, and having con- sidered herself in her glass attentively for a little while, lit a second cigarette and proceeded to evolve a detailed plan of campaign.
VII
SHORTLY before two o'clock Lady Marjory returned from—well, it does not matter in the least where Lady Mar- jory had been. She was very sleepy, but quite amiable. Miss Barker put her to bed with all due ceremony and departed once more to her own little room.
“Good night, Barker,” were Lady Marjory’s last words as she nestled down into her pillows. “I left some letters in papa’s study. 1 was too lazy to open them. Bring them up in the morning, will you?”
Miss Barker smiled a curious little smile as st e closed the door softly; the luck was .wvith her, it seemed.
