The Dawn of Reckoning Read Online Free

others, and a most reliable friend in
the smaller matters of friendship. In the larger ones he was prone to
embarrass by his partisanship. If, however, he made a promise, he kept to it.
So also if he made a mistake he kept to it—by defend ing himself, or
apologising unnecessarily, or in some way advertising the matter to those who
might never have heard about it.
    Into this somewhat unusual family the advent of Stella was as a breath of
fresh air into a darkened room. Within a few months of Mrs. Monsell’s arrival
in England, rumour and exaggeration had done their utmost. People were saying
across dining-tables: “My dear, have you heard of Mrs. Monsell’s latest?
She’s kidnapped some girl from Roumania or Turkey or somewhere and brought
her to Chassingford—and a most fascinating little thing she is
too—the girl, I mean…”
    Certainly Stella had caused something of a commotion during the journey
home. There had been customs and frontier difficulties, and her smiles had
helped to smooth them over. In every city they passed through men had stared
at her—in Innsbruck, Zurich, Basle, Paris, and now London…
II
    Venner, for nearly half a century butler at Chassingford,
met Philip at the door of the library one bright October morning. “Miss
Stella has been up early to-day,” he said suggestively.
    Philip looked puzzled. “Really?—Oh, well, it’s a nice morning for
early rising, eh?”
    Venner stared severely at the ground. “I’m afraid, Mr. Philip, you will
find she has been meddling with a good many of your things. Not knowing
the—er language, sir, I did not know quite how to—to
interfere.”
    “Oh, that’s all right, Venner…I’ll settle matters.”
    He laughed, but really he was rather cross, and when he entered the
library and took a look round he was crosser still. For the library was his
own special preserve, his private and intimate sanctum, where all his books
and papers were arranged in neat and orderly fashion. Even his mother would
hardly have dared to upset any of those arrangements, much less to create the
appearance of utter confusion that now awaited him. To begin with, his desk
was heaped up with a miscellany of odd articles—an umbrella, a sporting
gun, a thermos flask, a bicycle pump, and what seemed to him the contents of
a dressing-table drawer from one of the bedrooms. A similar medley of
unclassifiable articles was heaped up round his chair and on the
settee…What on earth had she been doing? Was it a practical joke? If so, he
must somehow or other take steps to show her that such jokes were neither
appreciated nor allowed. If these were Hungarian manners, the sooner they
were eradicated the better.
    At last she danced into the room, brimful of that triumphant vitality that
was somehow more fascinating than her beauty. Even amidst his clear
determination to rebuke her, he could not help noticing how the gloomy
book-lined library seemed to grow lighter and less funereal as she romped
into it. But he did not smile. He wanted her to see that he was angry.
    She sat down quickly, laughing and looking about as if proud of her
handiwork. Then she held up the thing nearest her (a button-hook) and cried:
“Feelip, what—is—zees?”
    Then it became clear to him. She had organised this medley in order to
learn new words. It had been his earliest way of teaching—holding up
something and telling her the name of it. Recently they had come to the
somewhat duller business of grammar, and this was no doubt her way of showing
preference for the earlier method of tuition. He was amused, but all the same
he must still show her that no reason could justify her taking such liberties
with his possessions.
    “Stella!” he said severely, ignoring the button hook. He stood up so that
his tallness should have its full effect. How could he express
disapproval?
    She stood before him quite demurely, looking perfectly unconscious that
she had done