Free The Chinese Shawl by Patricia Wentworth Page A

about.”
    She and Alistair were over by the piano at the north end of the room. She threw him a queer look and said,
    “I was just going to sing.”
    Carey said nothing. His eyes, angry and determined, held hers.
    She said with a laugh, “I suppose the house won’t fall down if you have to wait.”
    “It might. Come along—you can sing afterwards.”
    They went out together. Alistair stared gloomily after them. Agnes Fane watched them go and turned to Miss Silver with an approving smile.
    “A handsome couple, Maud.”
    Miss Silver gave a slight deprecating cough.
    “Very handsome,” she said in a dry little voice.
    “And just what do you mean by that?”
    Miss Silver’s needles clicked above a cloud of pale pink wool.
    “Oh, nothing.”
    “Maud!”
    Miss Silver looked up placidly.
    “Well, I would not call them a couple.”
    “And pray, why not?”
    “Because I see no signs of their being in love with one another.”
    Miss Fane smiled in a superior manner.
    “Perhaps, my dear Maud, you will allow me to know a little more about that than you do.”
    Miss Silver smiled too.
    “I do not think so. You are too much interested—wishes are apt to be misleading. Let us change the subject. My niece Milly Rogers is expecting another baby. I was most fortunate in finding this pretty pink wool in Ledlington.”
    Miss Fane surveyed it with disfavour.
    “You should be knitting comforts for the troops.”
    Miss Silver’s needles clicked.
    “Babies must have vests,” she remarked in a mild but stubborn tone.
    Tanis Lyle led the way into the charming small sitting-room which had been her own from the time she had left school. The walls were panelled in some pale modern wood. The furniture was modern too—couch and chairs wide-armed cubes; pale green curtains; green cushions; pale coverings to match the walls; a clever use of ice-green glass for the fireplace and the pelmets—the whole thing an admirable setting for Miss Tanis Lyle.
    She had switched on the light in a heavy block of glass beside the couch, but Carey, following her, pulled down another switch. A bowl in the ceiling sprang into brilliance and flooded the room with light. She looked over her shoulder as if she were going to speak, but she said nothing, only turned, held out both her hands, and smiled. It was the smile which had enchanted many men. It had enchanted Carey once, but it would never enchant him again. She said, still smiling,
    “Well, darling—what is it? Don’t you want to kiss me?”
    Carey smiled too. He had an extraordinary sense of freedom, of release. Laura had set him free. He was completely and satisfyingly immune. He had no more desire to kiss Tanis than he had to kiss Lucy Adams—impossible to put it more strongly than that. He could say in quite a friendly tone,
    “I want to talk to you.”
    There was a green gleam between the black lashes. She went over to the couch, leaned against one of the wide ends, and said,
    “A bit cave-man, aren’t you, dragging me out of the drawing-room like this? What is it all about? My idea was that you wanted to make love to me and simply couldn’t wait another moment. Obviously a mistake. Now it’s your turn.”
    “Tanis, I want to talk to you.”
    “Yes—you said that before. You’ll end by boring me.”
    He came and stood over her, his eyes grimly amused.
    “Oh, no, I’m not going to bore you—you’ll be quite interested. Look here, Miss Fane seems to be under the impression that we’re engaged.”
    She looked up at him.
    “And aren’t we, darling?”
    “No, darling, we are not. You made yourself particularly clear on that point when I came out of hospital.”
    She shook her head.
    “I don’t remember about that.” She laughed. “Who told you what Aunt Agnes thought—Laura?”
    Carey blundered.
    “She told her we were engaged.”
    “Meaning that Aunt Agnes told Laura, and that Laura told you. Quick worker, aren’t you, Carey? Well, where do we go from there? Do I tell