'He used to be always so well dressed!' said Mrs. Rushmore to Margaret
in an audible whisper.
Lushington winced visibly, but as he was not supposed to hear the words
he said nothing. William had worked down to the knees of his trousers,
which he grasped firmly in one hand while he vigorously brushed the
cloth with the other.
'That will do, thank you,' said Lushington, trying to draw back one
captive leg.
But William was inexorable and there was no escape from his hold. He
was an Englishman, and was therefore thorough; he was a servant, and he
therefore thoroughly enjoyed the humour of seeing his betters in a
pickle.
'And now, my dear,' said Mrs. Rushmore to Margaret, 'get in and I'll
take you home. You can explain everything on the way. That's enough,
William. Put away your brush.' Margaret had no choice, since fate had intervened.
'I'm very much obliged to you,' she said, nodding to Logotheti; 'and I
hope you'll be none the worse,' she added, smiling at Lushington.
Mrs. Rushmore bent her head with dignified disapproval, first to one
and then to the other, and got into the carriage as if she were
mounting the steps of a throne. She further manifested her displeasure
at the whole affair by looking straight before her at the buttons on
the back of the coachman's coat after she had taken her seat. Margaret
got in lightly after her and she scarcely glanced at Logotheti as the
carriage turned; but her eyes lingered a little with an expression that
was almost sad as she met Lushington's. She was conscious of a reaction
of feeling; she was sorry that she had helped to make him suffer, that
she had been amused by his damaged condition and by his general
discomfiture. He had made her respect him in spite of herself, just
when she had thought that she could never respect him again; and
suddenly the deep sympathy for him welled up, which she had taken for
love, and which was as near to love as anything her heart had yet felt
for a man.
She knew, too, that it was really her heart, and nothing else, where he
was concerned. She was human, she was young, she was more alive than
ordinary women, as great singers generally are, and Logotheti's
ruthless masculine vitality stirred her and drew her to him in a way
she did not quite like. His presence disturbed her oddly and she was a
little ashamed of liking the sensation, for she knew quite well that
such feelings had nothing to do with what she called her real self. She
might have hated him and even despised him, but she could never have
been indifferent when he was close to her. Sometimes the mere touch of
his hand at meeting or parting thrilled her and made her feel as if she
were going to blush. But she was never really in sympathy with him as
she was with Lushington.