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Updated: June 7, 2025
He had said his last word concerning Stella Croyle. But Hillyard was wrong. For in the dark of the morning, when he had bestridden his donkey and given the order for his caravan to march, he was hailed by Luttrell's voice. He stopped, and Luttrell came down in his pyjamas from the door of the house to him. "Good luck," he said, and he patted the donkey's neck. "Good luck, old man.
Hillyard." "But not a great play, of course," said Martin, his lips twitching to a smile. "I have been looking for you everywhere," remarked Sir Chichester. "You must stay with us for Goodwood. My wife will never forgive me if I don't secure you." Hillyard gladly consented. It would be his first visit to the high racecourse on the downs and and he might find Stella Croyle among the company.
"Oh, and you had all that long journey back to London, the journey you had dreamt of for eleven months with your baby at your side you had now to take it alone." Stella Croyle shook her head. "No!
But she was back again in the ball-room at Harrel within a few minutes of ten o'clock. She must have left Mrs. Croyle a quarter before ten that, at the latest." "Yes," Millie Splay agreed. "Well, I have myself crossed Putney Bridge after leaving here, within ten minutes under the two hours. And that in the daytime. Stella had time enough for her purpose.
It was curious that Stella Croyle, who was speaking of her own distressful life, told her story with a quiet simplicity of tone, as if she had bent her neck in submission to the hammer strokes of her destiny; whereas Joan, who was but listening to griefs of another, was stirred to a compassion which kindled her face and made her voice shake. "Oh, they hadn't sent her away!
Croyle. Will you please, ask her maid to rouse Mrs. Croyle, and inquire whether she will join us this morning. We shall start at twelve." "Very well, my lady." There was no longer any pretence of ease amongst the people seated round the table. A queer panic passed from one to the other. They were awed by the imminence of dreadful uncomprehended things.
He leaned forward with his hands clenched, and saw pass in the bright coals glimpses of the long tale of days when endeavour was fruitless and hopes were disappointed. "Success! Lord, how I wanted it!" he whispered. Stella Croyle looked at him with a smile. "It was sure to come to you, since you wanted it enough," she said. "Yes, but in time?" exclaimed Hillyard. "In time for what?"
Joan saw them, and remembered to whom they belonged, and her thoughts took another complexion. Harry Luttrell! What share had she now in his life? She rose abruptly and pushed back her chair. "Oh, I'll stand aside," she said, "never fear! We are to talk things over to-night. I shall say 'No." She had turned again to the window, but a startled question from Stella Croyle stayed her feet.
"That one?" said Hardiman, and all the raillery faded from his face. "That is Mrs. Croyle. You will meet her to-night at my supper party." He hesitated as to what further he should say. "You might do worse than be a friend to her. She is not, I am afraid, very happy." Hillyard was surprised at the sudden gentleness of his companion's voice, and looked quickly towards him.
But since his return from Rackham Park to London his days had been passed in the examination of files of documents; and what little time he had enjoyed free from that labour had been given to quiet preparations for his departure. "You might have come to see me," Stella Croyle suggested. "You knew that I wished to see you." "Yes, but I have been very busy," he answered. "I am going away."
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