Adrian was drawing circles with a fork; he looked up.
‘Speaking for oneself, yes. I don’t suppose it made any difference to the Army people, Navy people, big business people, or even to a large section of Society, political and otherwise. They all knew that if war came we were practically committed to France. But to simple folk like myself and some two-thirds of the population not in the know, to the working classes, in fact, generally, it made all the difference. It was like seeing What’s-his-name – the Man Mountain – advancing on the smallest Flyweight in the ring, who was standing firm and squaring up like a man.’
‘Mighty well put, Mr Curator.’
Dinny flushed. Was there generosity in this man? Then, as if conscious of treachery to Hubert, she said acidly:
‘I’ve read that the sight even ruffled Roosevelt.’
‘It ruffled quite a few of us, Miss Cherrell; but we’re a long way off over there, and things have to be near before they stir the imagination.’
‘Yes, and after all, as you said just now, you did come in at the end.’
Hallorsen looked fixedly at her ingenuous face, bowed and was silent.
But when, at the end of that peculiar evening, he was saying good night, he added:
‘I fear you’ve gotten a grouch against me, Miss Cherrell.’
Dinny smiled, without reply.
‘All the same, I hope I may meet you again.’
‘Oh! But why?’
‘Well, I kind of have the feeling that I might change the view you have of me.’
‘I am very fond of my brother, Professor Hallorsen.’
‘I still think I’ve more against your brother than he has against me.’
‘I hope you may be right before long.’
‘That sounds like trouble.’
Dinny tilted her head.
She went up to bed, biting her lip with vexation. She had neither charmed nor assailed the enemy; and instead of clean-cut animosity, she had confused feelings about him.
His inches gave him a disconcerting domination. ‘He’s like those creatures in hairy trousers on the films,’ she thought, ‘carrying off the semi-distressed cow-girls – looks at one as if he thought one was on his pillion.’ Primitive Force in swallowtails and a white waistcoat! A strong but not a silent man.
Her room looked over the street, and from her window she could see the plane trees on the Embankment, the river, and the wide expanse of starry night.
‘Perhaps,’ she said to herself, aloud, ‘you won’t leave England so soon as you thought.’
‘Can I come in?’
She turned to see Diana in the doorway.
‘Well, Dinny, what think you of our friend the enemy?’
‘Tom Mix, mixed with the Giant that Jack killed.’
‘Adrian likes him.’
‘Uncle Adrian lives too much with bones. The sight of red blood goes to his head.’
‘Yes; this is the sort of “he-man” women are supposed to fall for. But you behaved well, Dinny, though your eyes looked very green at first.’
‘They feel greener now I’ve let him go without a scratch.’
‘Never mind! You’ll have other chances. Adrian’s got him asked to Lippinghall tomorrow.’
‘What!’
‘You’ve only to embroil him with Saxenden there, and Hubert’s trick is done. Adrian didn’t tell you, for fear your joy might show itself. The Professor wants to sample British “hunting”. The poor man doesn’t in the least realize that he’s walking into a lioness’s den. Your Aunt Em will be delicious with him.’
‘Hallorsen!’ murmured Dinny: ‘He must have Scandinavian blood.’
‘He says his mother was old New England, but married out of the direct succession. Wyoming’s his State. Delightful word, Wyoming.’
‘ “The great open spaces.” What is there about the expression “he-man” which infuriates me, Diana?’
‘Well, it’s like being in a room with a burst of sunflowers. But “he-men” aren’t confined to the great open spaces; you’ll find Saxenden one.’
‘Really!’
‘Yes. Good night, my dear. And may no “he-men” come to you in dreams!’
When Dinny had disrobed, she again took out the diary and re-read a passage she had turned down. It ran thus: ‘Feel very low tonight – as if all my sap had run out. Can only keep my pecker up by thinking of Condaford. Wonder what old Fox-ham would say if he could see me doctoring the mules! The stuff I’ve invented for their colic would raise hair on a billiard ball, but it stops the thing all right. God was in luck when He planned the inside of a mule. Dreamed last night I was standing at the end of the home spinney with pheasants coming over in a stream, and for the life of me I couldn’t pull my trigger; ghastly sort of paralysis. Keep thinking of old Haddon and his: “Go it, Master Bertie. Stick your ’eels in and take ’old of ’is ’ead!” Good old Haddon! He was a character. The rain’s stopped. Dry – first time for ten days. And the stars are out.