Shortly before Whitsuntide Minna went to Brighton. Her excuse to Hugh
was the prospect of a colossal male dinner party, given to half the
Hebrew bucket-shop keepers in London. If she remained in town she would
have to play Herodias’ daughter at this orgie. As the only condition on
which she would consent to do this--that she should receive Goldberg’s
head on a charger--was incapable of fulfilment, she was withdrawing from
the scene altogether. But she did not go without Hugh’s promise to join
her during the Whitsuntide recess.
As soon as the courts rose, he went down. It was lovely weather. Minna
looked radiant with youth and happiness. On the evening of his arrival
she sat with him on the same seat on the Parade as had witnessed
the beginning of her escapade with the young guardsman. She thought
thrillingly of the difference between the two experiences. The dusk of
the warm evening was closing round them. From the head of the pier came
the faint, languorous strains of a waltz. She edged nearer to him, laid
her hand on his knee.
“Are you happy that you are here?” The touch and the voice, the perfume
of her hair so close to his face, the distant music, the charm of the
evening, produced their intoxication.
“Minna!” he whispered.
“Yes?”
The girl’s heart throbbed tumultuously. She had waited weeks and weeks
in patience for that note of passion. She hung breathlessly on his lips
for their next utterance.
“I give up the waiting. I might strive till Doomsday. I don’t care.
Anything you wish. Only, soon.”
“Yes, very soon,” she murmured, with an adorable catch in her voice. “At
a registrar’s--almost at once.”
“I’ll give notice to-morrow--Tuesday will be the day.”
He had yielded. There was only one Irene in the world. She was beyond
his reach. The only other woman he desired lay ready to his arms. And
she had money, money, money--the only talisman for happiness in this
world. Yet it was a hateful thought.
Even at this moment he cursed the temptation, fiercely fooled himself
into the conviction that it did not enter into his plans. He loved her.
It was a love match, pure and simple.
“Would you be willing, Minna,” he asked, in a low voice, “to let the
marriage be a secret, until I can put my affairs in order?”
This bramble seemed to catch his honour on its slippery path down hill.
He made the proposal, however, diffidently, lest it might hurt the
sensitive susceptibilities of race and social station. But she broke
into deep, cooing laughter.
“You dear, wise stupid,” she said. “That’s the very plan I have been
dreaming over, night and day, for weeks. And I wouldn’t tell you until I
felt you would agree. I have worked out every little detail.”
“Expound them all to me.”
She brushed his ear quickly with her lips.
“On Tuesday,” she whispered.
Then she rose quickly from the seat and turned gaily, facing him.
“Let us walk about and be proud of ourselves.”
CHAPTER V