The Black Cabinet Read Free Page B

that you are the heroine of some thrilling romance. I’m never quite sure though whether he’s the hero or the villain.” Miss Langholm was not so acute as this; she was merely rather better pleased with herself than usual.
    Presently Mr. Fossetter asked Monica to introduce him to Chloe. They danced, and Chloe found him the partner of her dreams, with a step that suited hers to a marvel.
    â€œHow beautifully you dance,” said Martin Fossetter.
    Chloe nodded.
    â€œIt’s about the only thing I can do decently. I do love it.”
    Martin’s dark eyes rested on her with admiration—and something else. So this was Chloe Dane, the girl that old Mitchell Dane was coming to Maxton to have a look at. One might gamble on his being satisfied.
    â€œDo you know, I’ve just been staying at Danesborough,” he said.
    â€œHave you?” Chloe’s tone was indifferent.
    â€œYes, that’s why I was so interested to meet you. They still remember you there, you know, and talk about you.”
    Chloe said nothing. She did not care to speak of Danesborough to a stranger. Even to Rose she hardly ever spoke of her old home—twice, or three times perhaps in their two years together; and to a stranger—no, Chloe had nothing to say about Danesborough to this stranger. He was aware at once of her withdrawal.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you might like to hear about it—to know that Mr. Dane hasn’t spoilt the place. It’s beautiful and—” The sympathy in his voice altered Chloe’s mood. She looked up at him suddenly, and he saw that her eyes were not really black after all, but a very, very dark brown. They could look soft too, as well as bright; they looked soft now.
    â€œI was only nine,” she said—her voice was like a child’s voice—“I was only nine. I did love it. There was a lily pond, and there were peacocks. I remember there was a white peacock that mewed like a cat; and I called him Henry—I don’t know why, but I did.” She laughed a little, and looked away. The sympathy in Martin Fossetter’s eyes had brought a mist to her own. Chloe was not used to sympathy, and it touched something in her warm young heart.
    â€œThe lily pond is still there,” he said. “I saw it in the summer. There was a crimson lily among the white ones. You ought to go there and see it in the spring.”
    â€œI shall never go there again,” said Chloe.
    Martin smiled.
    â€œThat’s like saying to the fountain, ‘Je ne boirai jamais de ton eau,’—you know the proverb. I think you’re tempting fate when you say that you will never go back to Danesborough any more.”
    Chloe laughed, suddenly, frankly. Her eyes were black again, and very bright.
    â€œIt’s a fate I don’t mind tempting,” she said, and dropped his arm.

Chapter IV
    Chloe went to tea with Miss Tankerville the next day.
    â€œShe always asks one such ages beforehand,” she complained to Rose; “and then it’s ten to one she forgets you’re coming. I’m bored stiff at having to go. I wonder if it’s true that she’s going to give the school up soon. I believe there are only about half a dozen girls left, so she might just as well.”
    There was certainly an air of genteel decay about the house and grounds. Chloe remembered them, if not well kept, at least in decent order. Now the whole place had an under-staffed, neglected look, and the big house echoed emptily to the feet of Miss Tankerville’s few remaining pupils.
    Chloe waited in the drawing-room, and thought how dreary the conservatory looked. Last winter there were still chrysanthemums there, but now a half-drawn curtain failed to conceal bare, discoloured staging, rusty pipes, and broken flower pots.
    The door opened, and Miss Tankerville came in, rather flustered. She still wore the tight curled fringe and tight