The Second Latchkey | Page 4

contemplated having to carry out the
latter clause, however; and when she had loitered for a few seconds, the
thought rushed over her that here was a loop-hole through which to slip,
if she wanted a loop-hole.
One side of her did want it: the side she knew best and longest as
herself, Annesley Grayle, a timid girl brought up conventionally, and
taught that to rely on others older and wiser than she was the right way
for a well-born, sheltered woman to go through life. The other side, the
new, desperate side that Mrs. Ellsworth's "stuffiness" had developed,
was not looking for any means of escape; and this side had seized the
upper hand since the alarm of the burglars in the Strand.
Annesley marched into the restaurant with the air of a soldier facing his
first battle, and asked a waiter where was Mr. Smith's table.
The youth dashed off and produced a duke-like personage, his chief. A
list was consulted with care; and Annesley was respectfully informed
that no table had been engaged by a Mr. N. Smith for dinner that
evening.
"Are you sure?" persisted Annesley, bewildered and disappointed.

"Yes, miss--madame, I am sure we have not the name on our list," said
the head-waiter.
The blankness of the girl's disappointment looked out appealingly from
wistful, wide-apart eyes. The man was sorry.
"There may be some misunderstanding," he consoled her. "Perhaps Mr.
Smith has telephoned, and we have not received the message. I hope it
is not the fault of the hotel. We do not often make mistakes; yet it is
possible. We have had a few early dinners before the theatre and there
is one small table disengaged. Would madame care to take it--it is here,
close to the door--and watch for the gentleman when he comes?"
"When he comes!" The head-waiter comfortably took it for granted that
Mr. Smith had been delayed, that he would come, and that it would be
a pity to miss him. The polite person might be right, though with a
sinking heart Annesley began to suspect herself played with,
abandoned, as she deserved, for her dreadful boldness.
Perhaps Mr. Smith had been in communication with someone else
more suitable than she, and had thrown over the appointment without
troubling to let her know. Or perhaps he had been waiting in the foyer,
had inspected her as she passed, and hadn't liked her looks.
This latter supposition seemed probable; but the head-waiter was so
confident of what she ought to do that the girl could think of no excuse.
After all, it would do little harm to wait and "see what happened." As
Mr. Smith was apparently not living at the Savoy (he had merely asked
her to meet him there), he might have had an accident in train or taxi.
Annesley had made her plans to be away from home for two hours, so
she could give him the benefit of the doubt.
A moment of hesitation, and she was seating herself in a chair offered
by the head-waiter. It was one of a couple drawn up at a small table for
two. Sitting thus, Annesley could see everybody who came in,
and--what was more important--could be seen. By what struck her as an
odd coincidence, the table was decorated with a vase of white roses
whose hearts blushed faintly in the light of a pink-shaded electric lamp.

A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, dragged along, and no Mr. Smith.
Annesley could follow the passing moments on her wrist-watch in its
silver bracelet, the only present Mrs. Ellsworth had ever given her, with
the exception of cast-off clothes, and a pocket handkerchief each
Christmas.
Every nerve in the girl's body seemed to prickle with embarrassment.
She played with a dinner roll, changed the places of the flowers and the
lamp, trying to appear at ease, and not daring to look up lest she should
meet eyes curious or pitying.
"What if they make me pay for dinner after I've kept the table so long?"
she thought in her ignorance of hotel customs. "And I've got only a
shilling!"
Half an hour now, all but two minutes! There was nothing more to hope
or fear. But there was the ordeal of getting away.
"I'll sit out the two minutes," she told herself. "Then I'll go. Ought I to
tip the waiter?" Horrible doubt! And she must have been dreaming to
touch that roll! Better sneak away while the waiter was busy at a
distance.
Frightened, miserable, she was counting her chances when a man,
whose coming into the room her dilemma had caused her to miss,
marched unhesitatingly to her table.
CHAPTER II
SMITHS AND SMITHS
Annesley glanced up, her face aflame, like a fanned coal. The man was
tall, dark,