The Lighted Way | Page 7

has to wear them. Some day, when you've got

your seat in Parliament, you'll wear them yourself. Good night!"
He paused before closing the door. Ruth's kiss came wafted to him
from the shadows where her great eyes were burning like stars. Her
uncle had turned his back upon him. The word he muttered sounded
like a malediction, but Arnold Chetwode went down the stone steps
blithely. It was an untrodden land, this, into which he was to pass.


CHAPTER III
ARNOLD SCENTS MYSTERY
From the first, nothing about that evening was as Arnold had expected.
He took the tube to Hampstead station, and, the night being dry, he
walked to Pelham Lodge without detriment to his carefully polished
patent shoes. The neighborhood was entirely strange to him and he was
surprised to find that the house which was pointed out to him by a
policeman was situated in grounds of not inconsiderable extent, and
approached by a short drive. Directly he rang the bell he was admitted
not by a flamboyant parlormaid but by a quiet, sad-faced butler in plain,
dark livery, who might have been major-domo to a duke. The house
was even larger than he had expected, and was handsomely furnished
in an extremely subdued style. It was dimly, almost insufficiently lit,
and there was a faint but not unpleasant odor in the drawing-room
which reminded him of incense. The room itself almost took his breath
away. It was entirely French. The hangings, carpet and upholstery were
all of a subdued rose color and white. Arnold, who was, for a young
man, exceedingly susceptible to impressions, looked around him with
an air almost of wonder. It was fortunate, perhaps, that the room was
empty.
"Mr. and Mrs. Weatherley will be downstairs in one moment, sir," the
man announced. "Mr. Weatherley was a little late home from the city."

Arnold nodded and stood upon the hearthrug, looking around him. He
was quite content to spend a few moments alone, to admire the
drooping clusters of roses, the elegance with which every article of
furniture and appointment of the room seemed to fit into its place.
Somehow or other, too, nothing appeared new. Everything seemed
subdued by time into its proper tone. He began to wonder what sort of
woman the presiding genius over such perfection could be. Then, with
a quaint transition of thought, he remembered the little counting-house
in Tooley Street, the smell of cheeses, and Mr. Weatherley's
half-nervous invitation. His lips twitched and he began to smile. These
things seemed to belong to a world so far away.
Presently he heard footsteps outside and voices. The door was opened
but the person outside did not immediately enter. Apparently she had
turned round to listen to the man who was still some distance behind.
Arnold recognized his employer's voice.
"I am sorry that you are displeased, my dear Fenella, but I assure you
that I did the best I could. It is true that the young man is in my office,
but I am convinced that you will find him presentable."
A peal of the softest and most musical laughter that Arnold had ever
heard in his life effectually stopped Mr. Weatherley's protestations. Yet,
for all its softness and for all its music, there was a different note
underneath, something a little bitter, unutterably scornful.
"My dear Samuel, it is true, without doubt, that you did your best. I do
not blame you at all. It was I who was foolish to leave such a matter in
your hands. It was not likely that among your acquaintances there was
one whom I would have cared to welcome to my house. But that you
should have gone to your employees--that, indeed, is funny! You do
amuse me very much. Come."
The door was pushed fully open now and a woman entered, at the sight
of whom Arnold forgot all his feelings of mingled annoyance and
amusement. She was of little over the medium height, exceedingly
slim--a slimness which was accentuated by the fashion of the gown she
wore. Her face was absolutely devoid of color, but her features were

almost cameo-like in their sensitive perfection. Her eyes were large and
soft and brown, her hair a Titian red, worn low and without ornament.
Her dress was of pale blue satin, which somehow had the effect of
being made in a single piece, without seam or joining. Her neck and
throat, exquisitely white, were bare except for a single necklace of
pearls which reached almost to her knees. The look in Arnold's face, as
she came slowly into the room, was one of frank and boyish admiration.
The woman came towards him with a soft smile about her lips, but she
was evidently puzzled. It was Mr. Weatherley who spoke.