The Little Warrior | Page 8

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."
"I intend to!"
"Well, that's all, then. She lives with her uncle, a Major Selby . . ."
"Major Selby? What regiment?"

"I didn't ask him," snapped the goaded Derek. "And, in the name of
heaven, what does it matter?"
"Not the Guards?"
"I tell you I don't know."
"Probably a line regiment," said Lady Underhill with an indescribable
sniff.
"Possibly. What then?" He paused, to play his trump card. "If you are
worrying about Major Selby's social standing, I may as well tell you
that he used to know father."
"What! When? Where?"
"Years ago. In India, when father was at Simla."
"Selby? Selby? Not Christopher Selby?"
"Oh, you remember him?"
"I certainly remember him! Not that he and I ever met, but your father
often spoke of him."
Derek was relieved. It was abominable that this sort of thing should
matter, but one had to face facts, and, as far as his mother was
concerned, it did. The fact that Jill's uncle had known his dead father
would make all the difference to Lady Underhill.
"Christopher Selby!" said Lady Underhill reflectively. "Yes! I have
often heard your father speak of him. He was the man who gave your
father an I.O.U. to pay a card debt, and redeemed it with a check which
was returned by the bank!"
"What!"
"Didn't you hear what I said? I will repeat it, if you wish."

"There must have been some mistake."
"Only the one your father made when he trusted the man."
"It must have been some other fellow."
"Of course!" said Lady Underhill satirically. "No doubt your father
knew hundreds of Christopher Selbys!"
Derek bit his lip.
"Well, after all," he said doggedly, "whether it's true or not . . ."
"I see no reason why your father should not have spoken the truth."
"All right. We'll say it is true, then. But what does it matter? I am
marrying Jill, not her uncle."
"Nevertheless, it would be pleasanter if her only living relative were
not a swindler! . . . Tell me, where and how did you meet this girl?"
"I should be glad if you would not refer to her as 'this girl.' The name, if
you have forgotten it, is Mariner."
"Well, where did you meet Miss Mariner?"
"At Prince's."
"Restaurant?"
"Skating-rink,"