The Young Intruder Read Free

cut short, fitting neatly round her head in a slight natural wave, whose large grey eyes showed signs of much weeping, and whose beautiful mouth, untouched by lipstick, could not even smile now, as she greeted him.
    “You are Mr. Malliner,” she said. “I had your letter and your cable.”
    “And you must be Alison,” he said, “but I expected you to be younger. You have grown up very fast.”
    “I am nineteen,” she said, “nearly twenty.”
    “It’s hardly possible, but the years go by so quickly. I can’t say, my dear child, how very sorry I was to have your mother’s letter—and how very sorry for you.”
    “Please,” she said quickly, turning away from him, “don’t talk about it. Don’t talk about it.”
    He looked at the slender back, turned towards him, and he hardly knew how to comfort her. She looked so defenceless, so vulnerable. He said softly:
    “No. We will talk about the future, and what is the best thing for you to do.”
    She turned back to him with a wintry smile.
    “I didn’t mean to be rude,” she said. “It’s only that I’m liable to start weeping again if anybody mentions Mummy.”
    “I know,” he said. “I know.”
    She was blinking back the tears. He held out a hand to her, in sympathy. She took it, and his strong fingers were warm and comforting. He knew that she was fighting a hard battle against tears that threatened to overwhelm her, and his grip on her hand tightened.
    “Come and sit down,” he said, “and we will discuss our plans.”
    Madame’s maid came into the room with a tray. Alison could busy herself pouring out the coffee, and avail herself of this opportunity to pull herself together. She said:
    “I don’t know what was in that letter to you. I only knew I was to post it if ... if...”
    “Yes,” he said quickly. “Well, I’d better tell you about it, and we shall know where we stand.” He told her what her mother had written to him. “And you had better tell me how matters stand here. There isn’t any property to deal with, or anything like that?”
    “I’m afraid there is nothing at all. When the bill here is paid, I have just a little money, to pay my fare to anywhere I decide on, and to keep me for a while, when I am looking for a job.”
    “But your mother wanted you to come to England.”
    “I know, Mr. Malliner, but I would feel such a stranger in England. I know towns like Paris and Rome and Salzburg so well, but London I can hardly remember.”
    “I agree with your mother that it is high time you did learn to know London. Now this is what I plan for you, and you must tell me if you do not agree with it. We will fly back together. You have nothing to keep you here? Job, or friends? Any ties at all?”
    “No. I have been helping in a big house here with the children—a Countess who has five. I was teaching the two eldest English, and keeping the younger ones amused. But I have already left; and I have no other ties.”
    “Then we will go to England together, and you will come to my house to be my guest, until you have had time to look around you, and decide if you like it with us, or would prefer something different.”
    “That would be imposing on your kindness.”
    “Not at all. Your parents were my very dear friends. I’ll tell you one day what I owe to them. Meanwhile, it will be a pleasure to have their daughter in my house.”
    Alison looked at him, hesitating to say what was in her mind. He waited a moment, and then:
    “Well, what is it?” he asked.
    “Does your wife agree with you about having me?” she asked.
    “No wife,” he said, smiling gently at her.
    “Oh,” she said.
    “But I have an elderly second cousin who presides over household affairs, a n d a younger brother who lives with me.”
    “Perhaps I could help in the house? I ought to do something.”
    “It wouldn’t be necessary, or fitting,” he told her. “You must be content to be my guest, at least for a while. I am sure you need a rest after