Part 3 — CHAPTER IV THE OLD BEAN

When the lights went up again in the ball-room there was a general shout of laughter, for there were several who by accident or design had changed partners in the gloom and confusion, and the sorting that ensued caused a good deal of amusement. But there was one in that crowded hall who waited in vain for his partner to return to him. When the next dance started and couples began to drift to the supper-room, Percy Hudson was still threading his way backwards and forwards in search of her. Failing to find her, he lost his temper and solaced himself with another partner for a time—the young sister of the man with whom Rosemary had danced earlier in the evening, little Cecily Raymond who was deeply flattered by his attentions. He watched covertly for the return of Rosemary meanwhile in the hope that she would reappear in time to realize that he was by no means inconsolable. But still he watched in vain.

Eventually he proposed supper to his new partner who eagerly agreed. The Boxing Night Ball under her brother's chaperonage had not till then been a great success from her point of view, and she was just beginning to enjoy herself.

She was not a critical companion, and did not notice Percy's obvious abstraction during the meal that followed, but she did say to him when they finally returned to the ball-room, "I suppose you'll have to go and dance with someone else now."

Percy glanced around him, failed to see the defaulter and, inwardly vowing vengeance upon her, made kind reply. "No, I can spare you a little longer if you like."

Cecily did like, and told him so artlessly, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. It was so nice to have found a cavalier for herself.

Curiosity, however, prompted her to enquire if his former partner—"that pretty girl in the lovely bride's dress"—had gone home.

"Very likely," said Percy nonchalantly. "I really don't know. It doesn't much matter. You're a better dancer than she is, and look quite as nice."

Cecily swelled with pride. She herself was dressed in a dainty fairy costume of spangled muslin over which she had spent much thought, and it was gratifying to meet with appreciation, especially from one from whom she had expected no notice at all.

They continued to dance together, and Percy's bad temper began to pass under the influence of his young partner's obvious enjoyment. He ceased to search the room for Rosemary and, deciding that the time had come to give her a lesson, dismissed her from his mind as not worth worrying about. He found that Cecily was more than willing to continue to fill the gap, and the time passed quite pleasantly in her society. She did not have the disturbing effect that Rosemary had had upon him, and he felt no desire to make love to her or even to flirt; but, as he expressed it to himself, she was quite amusing for a kid, and her dancing suited his.

Thus engaged, he scarcely noticed the passing of the hours, and it came as a surprise to him when Cecily's brother approached at the end of a dance and observed that they ought to be thinking of going.

Cecily uttered a moan of regret. "It has been such fun," she said.

"Oh, dash it!" Percy protested. "We can't stop yet!"

Cecily turned appealingly to her brother. "Can't we have one more go, Harry?" she said.

But he shook his head. "We really ought to get back. People are leaving. There's a deep snow, you know. Thank goodness, we haven't far to go!"

"You have!" said Cecily, turning back to Percy. "It's miles to Stapleton. How are you going to get back all that way? Or perhaps you are putting up in the town?"

"No, I'm not. I motored," said Percy, and his thoughts turned again to Rosemary. "I brought Miss Wendholme over. I wonder where she's got to. You seen her anywhere, Raymond?"

Raymond grinned. "No, she hasn't shown since supper. I've been watching out for her. She's given you the slip, what?"

Percy clenched his teeth. Rosemary certainly had behaved outrageously. "Well, she can't be far away," he said. "I can't go back without her."

"Perhaps she's gone back with someone else!" said Cecily comfortingly. "She may have left word at the door."

"There's no one to go with," said Percy.

Nevertheless he thought the idea worth following up, and was about to make his way to the entrance when she stayed him with a shy, "We shan't see you again, then?"

He turned back. "Well, I don't know. If I can't find her, I shall try and get a bed in the town and go back in the morning. It's no fun negotiating those lanes in the dark in deep snow."

At this point Cecily prodded her brother and remarked, "I don't believe you'll get a bed anywhere in the town. They say the hotels are all full."

"You'd better come with us," said Harry Raymond, responding to the prod. "We can put you up and give you a bit of breakfast."

Cecily's bright eyes were on Percy's face, and perhaps they influenced him, for he replied with some enthusiasm. "I say, that's awfully decent of you! As a matter of fact, we very nearly broke down coming, and I'm not specially keen on trusting myself to that old bus again in a snow-storm. But I must just have a look round, and see if there's any sign of Miss Wendholme."

He departed with the words, while Cecily breathed, "Oh, I do hope he won't find her!"

"Well, we can't put them both up," remarked Harry Raymond.

"Oh no! I expect she's gone," said Cecily hopefully.

Percy was beginning to think the same, though why Rosemary should have deserted him thus was beyond his understanding. Fuming somewhat, he strode through the crowd of departing revellers, but she was not among them. He reached the outer door at length and had a glimpse of the white mantle of snow which had fallen during the earlier part of the night. There was a hubbub of departing cars below him, while above was a confusion of voices that laughed and shouted incessantly.

He looked for one of the doorkeepers, but they were occupied in summoning the cars and were out of reach.

He went down the steps into the still falling snow, and there at the foot he came upon a thick-set figure in an oil-stained leather coat and motor-goggles that struck him abruptly as familiar.

"Hullo!" he said.

Sharply the figure turned, and recognition was mutual.

"Hullo!" said The Old Bean. "I thought I should find you here. I've been waiting for you."

"What on earth for?" said Percy.

He spoke irritably, resentfully aware of a humiliating sense of guilt.

The Old Bean pushed up his goggles. People were jostling him on all sides, but he paid no attention to them. His green eyes looked steadily into Percy's.

"I just thought I'd come along on the old bike," he said. "Had a devil of a journey—only just managed to kick her along. Where's Rosemary?"

Percy's irritation increased. He had an urgent desire to turn on his heel and leave The Old Bean to his own devices. Convention, however, constrained him to make surly reply. "How should I know where she is?"

"Didn't you bring her here?" asked The Old Bean.

There was no evading the steady searching of his eyes or the perfectly reasonable insistence of his voice. Percy found himself compelled to make reply.

"Yes, she came with me certainly. But I lost sight of her ages ago. I haven't a notion where she is now."

"But aren't you going to take her back again?" questioned The Old Bean.

He spoke with absolute moderation, yet Percy turned on him with sudden savagery. "Yes, if I can find her. I can't if I can't, can I? I don't know what you wanted to turn up for anyhow."

"I'll tell you if you like," said The Old Bean still temperately. "Just because I was a bit doubtful whether you were quite up to looking after her, and so on. Apparently you weren't, since she's given you the slip. How did you manage to lose sight of her?"

It was not often that Percy responded to the voice of authority without any effort at self-assertion, but on this occasion curiously he found himself compelled.

"We got separated—dancing," he growled. "It's hours ago now. She probably went off with another fellow. You know what she is."

"Oh yes, I know." The Old Bean spoke almost soothingly. "It's just what I expected. And haven't you done anything about finding her since?"

"No, I haven't," said Percy. "I didn't come here to play hide-and-seek. I came to dance."

"Oh, quite," said The Old Bean. "But I suppose you've finished now."

"Yes, and I'm going!" declared Percy defiantly. "She's no affair of mine. I tried to keep her with me and she wouldn't stay. She can jolly well look after herself, now, and get herself home again. I'm not going to hang about any longer."

"What are you going to do?" asked The Old Bean mildly.

Percy hesitated a moment during which shame and anger struggled for the mastery. Then anger triumphed.

"I'm going to look after myself," he said. "And I advise you to do the same. It was a pity you took the trouble to come on this wild-goose chase, for it's ten to one against your getting back again to-night in this snow, and there isn't a bed to be had in the place."

"I don't want one, thanks," said The Old Bean. "I only want my car. Do you mind telling me where it is?"

Percy's flare of wrath died down again. "It's in the garage at The King's Head," he said. "You'll probably have to sleep in it. I'm going to the Raymonds' for the night."

"Have you got the ticket?" asked The Old Bean practically.

Percy produced it sullenly.

"Thanks!" said The Old Bean. "Well now, don't you worry any more about me! You'll find your old bike up against the market-cross. I don't suppose anyone will bother to pinch it, and you may want it to get home on in the morning. I'm just going to make sure she isn't still here, and after that I shall go round to The King's Head."

"You won't get in there," said Percy. "We had the greatest difficulty even in getting a room for her to change in. Someone had to lend it."

"Oh, really!" said The Old Bean, looking interested. "Do you know who?"

"How should I know?" growled Percy again. The Old Bean had never been so polite to him before, and for some reason he did not like it.

"All right," said The Old Bean equably. "One more thing, though. What was she wearing?"

For some reason Percy's anger flared forth afresh. "I don't see what business it is of yours. She isn't here now, so you are not likely to see her. She may have gone back and changed by this time."

"So she may," said The Old Bean mildly. "That's what I'm going to find out. How did you say she was dressed?"

"I said it was no damn' business of yours," fumed Percy.

"Yes, I heard you say that." Suddenly the politeness left The Old Bean's voice. His broad unromantic figure in the oil-stained coat seemed to grow taller. "But it doesn't matter what you say, because it is my business and I mean to know. So if you don't want to be rolled in the gutter you'd better answer."

Percy gave a gasp of utter astonishment. To be hectored by The Old Bean—of all people The Old Bean!—was an experience so novel that he felt as if some part of his mental adjustment must have turned turtle. He stared at him, too amazed to be angry.

"Go on!" commanded The Old Bean. "How was she dressed? Anything special?"

His face seemed to have changed also, to have grown older and harder. He looked at Percy with grim determination.

And Percy abandoned the contest, he could not have said wherefore. "She was dressed as a bride if you must know," he said. "But I don't know what you've got to lose your rag about. She's nothing to you."

"There you make a mistake," said The Old Bean sternly. "But it doesn't matter, as I said before. You can get along now to your friends, and go to bed in comfort."

The words were a dismissal. Percy turned and went up the steps, wondering why he had allowed himself thus tamely to be overridden. He also wondered what The Old Bean had got to be angry about. It wasn't his fault that Rosemary had elected to leave him in the lurch, and even if it had been he could not see that The Old Bean had any right to be indignant with him. He felt in fact that he had been very badly treated, and vowed viciously as he went to rejoin the Raymonds that he would never again act the part of a cavalier to a girl of Rosemary's flighty tendencies. Cecily would certainly never have behaved like that.

As for The Old Bean, he abandoned his fruitless quest at the Town Hall forthwith, since it was quite obvious that the object thereof must eventually return to The King's Head, and thither he now turned his steps through the trampled snow with the dour resolve to spend every ounce of his substance if need be in finding her.