Cluny Brown by Margery Sharp Page B

instant dismissal, all mention of young Gary; and she imagined herself obeyed. Then arose the question of Cluny’s afternoon off—two till seven on Wednesdays. (Other maids had had till nine-thirty, but this was a special arrangement, made through Miss Postgate and Aunt Addie Trumper, on account of Cluny’s youth and inexperience.) From two till seven, what was the girl to do? Her natural occupation, a visit to Hilda’s home in the village, was barred by the presence there of Hilda’s illegitimate offspring. Cluny missed her first Wednesday because she arrived on a Tuesday, but even in nine days Mrs. Maile had not discovered an answer. The problem really bothered her. In fact, only one thing bothered Mrs. Maile more, and that was Cluny’s solution of it.
    In answer to a tentative enquiry, Cluny said she was going to the Colonel’s.
    â€œThe Colonel’s?” repeated Mrs. Maile blankly.
    â€œColonel Duff-Graham’s. To see Roderick,” explained Cluny.
    Mrs. Maile’s eyebrows rose. Had Cluny said to see Mabel, or Annie, she would still have been surprised—for how on earth had the girl made contact with them?—but approving; both Mabel and Annie were steady enough to be suitable friends. But Roderick sounded suspiciously like a chauffeur.
    â€œRoderick my dear?”
    â€œHe’s a Golden Labrador,” said Cluny. “He was in the train. The Colonel said I could come and take him out.”
    â€œWell!” said Mrs. Maile. Whether this made things better or worse she really did not know. She had never heard of such a thing; it was an evidence of social enterprise quite beyond her. And what was the Colonel thinking of? She had made it quite clear over the telephone who Cluny was, and the stationmaster repeated every word back.…
    â€œI love him!” added Cluny enthusiastically.
    Mrs. Maile asked no more. She felt it quite possible that if she asked who, Cluny might reply not “Roderick,” but “The Colonel” and the idea was altogether too unnerving to pursue.
    In her distress of mind the housekeeper mentioned this incident to Mr. Syrett, who immediately disposed of it on the hypothesis that Cluny had been telling lies. But Mrs. Maile remained uneasy. She remembered some of Mr. Andrew’s sayings—reported by Syrett himself—about cracks in civilization, the breaking-up of society, world revolution, the decay of the West; and for the first time, their meaning struck home.
    II
    So the uneasy fortnight passed; Andrew, John, and Mr. Belinski arrived. The first person to see them was Sir Henry, who happened to be looking out of the window as the car drew up; he watched the three young men get out, and at once nipped down to his wife’s drawing-room to warn her that the Professor hadn’t come. “Feller’s too young,” proclaimed Sir Henry. “Andrew’s thought better of it and brought some other chap.” He was firmly reiterating this statement as Andrew brought Belinski in.
    â€œMother—” said Andrew clearly—casting his other parent a glance of filial rebuke—“this is Mr. Belinski.”
    Lady Carmel intercepted the look, threw Sir Henry a frown on her own account, and swam benevolently to meet them.
    â€œHow nice!” she exclaimed. “My son has told me so much about you, Professor; we are so glad you could come. My husband, Professor—and now, Professor, let me give you some tea.”
    Belinski sat. Thus far he had not uttered a word, so emphatic a welcome having stopped his mouth; he could hardly shout them down. But now his chair was placed close by Lady Carmel’s, and her mild eyes encouraged him.
    â€œI cannot express,” he said gravely, “how grateful I am for your kindness. It is something that does not often happen. If your son has indeed spoken of me, you will understand all I do not say.”
    â€œHow well you speak English,”