CHAPTER XIIJIM LASCELLES TAKES A DECISIVE STEP
CAROLINE CREWKERNE’S “Wednesdays” had not been so thronged for many years past. They had been in their heyday twenty years earlier in the world’s history, when the spacious mansion in Hill Street was the fount of the most malicious gossip to be obtained in London. But the passing of the years had bereft Caroline of something of her vigor and of even more of hersavoir faire. She had grown difficult and rather out of date.
However, it had recently been decreed in the interests of human nature that Caroline Crewkerne should come into vogue again. People were to be seen at her “Wednesdays” who had not been seen there for years.
There was George Betterton for one. And the worldly wise, of course, were very quick to account for his presence, and to turn it to pleasure and profit. Cheriton and he were both popular men; and about the third week in May two to one against George and three to one against Cheriton were taken and offered.
“Cheriton is the prettier sparrer,” said students of form, “but Gobo, of course, has the weight.”
“I assure you, my dear,” said a decidedly influential section of the public, “the creature is a perfectsimpleton. I assure you she couldn’t say ‘Bo!’ to a goose. It is inconceivable that two men as old as they are and in their position should make themselves so supremely ridiculous. And both of them old enough to be her father.”
“Caroline Crewkerne is behind it all,” said the philosophical. “Her hand has lost nothing of its cunning. Really it is odious to aid and abet them to make such an exhibition of themselves.”
It is regrettable, all the same, to have to state that the exhibition was enjoyed hugely. And when theMorning Postannounced that on a certain evening the Countess of Crewkerne would give a dance for Miss Perry, there was some little competition to receive a card.
Cards were liberally dispensed, but when they came to hand many persons of the quieter and less ostentatious sort found that a little fly had crept into the ointment. “Fancy dress” was to be seen written at the top in a style of caligraphy not unworthy of Miss Pinkerton’s academy for young ladies. Miss Burden had been commanded to do this at the eleventh hour.
“That man Cheriton is responsible for this,” complained those who desired neither the expense nor the inconvenience of habiting themselves in the garb of another age, “because he thinks he looks well in breeches.”
That may have been partly the reason; but in justice to Cheriton it is only right to state that, unless he had found a weightier pretext to advance,Caroline Crewkerne would never have assented to this somewhat eccentric condition. Indeed, it was only after a heated argument between them that Cheriton contrived to get his way.
“You must always be flamboyant and theatrical,” grunted Caroline, “at every opportunity. All the world knows you look well in breeches.”
“I protest, my dear Caroline,” said the mellifluous Cheriton; “it is merely my desire to put another plume in your helmet. The creature will look ravishing as Araminta, Duchess of Dorset. Pelissier shall come this afternoon to copy the picturede haut en bas.”
“It has been copied once already.”
“Ah, no! It supplied an idea or two merely. When you see it in every detail precisely as Gainsborough saw it, you will observe the difference.”
“People must be as sick of the picture as I am by this time.”
“Nonsense! They are only just beginning to realize that you’ve got a picture.”
Let it not be thought an injustice to Cheriton if one other motive is advanced for his insistence upon a somewhat singular course. When the cards of invitation had been duly issued he rather let the cat out of his bag.
“Of course, Caroline, you would be obstinate,” said he, “and have your own way about that fellow George Betterton, but you know as well as I do that in any kind of fancy clothes he looks like a boa-constrictor.”
At first Cheriton professed himself unable to decide whether he should appear as Charles II. or as John Wesley. In the end, however, he decided in favor of the former. Miss Burden had not been so excited for years. The subject filled her thoughts day and night for a whole week after the momentous decision was taken. She then submitted one day to his lordship at luncheon a peculiarly difficult problem.
“Not a problem at all,” said he. “Simplest thing in the world, my dear lady. There is only one possible person you can go as.”
“I had been thinking of Mary Queen of Scots,” said Miss Burden, hardly daring to hope that Lord Cheriton would give his sanction.
“Mary Queen of who!” snarled Caroline.
“No, my dear Miss Burden,” said the eminent authority, “the only possible person you can go as is Katharine of Aragon.”
“Nonsense, Cheriton!” said Caroline. “I shall not permit Burden to appear in any such character. A Jane Austen spinster will be far more appropriate and far less expensive.”
“My dear Caroline,” said Cheriton, “how it would help everybody if you did not insist on airing your views upon matters of art! Do you wish Miss Burden to forfeit entirely her natural distinction?”
Miss Burden blushed most becomingly at his lordship’s remark.
“I was not aware that she had any,” said the ruthless Caroline.
“Upon my word, Caroline, even I begin to despairof you. I assure you Miss Burden is quite one of the most distinguished-looking women of my acquaintance.”
Miss Burden looked almost as startled as a fawn. Cheriton had never seen her display so much color as when he made her a little bow to attest hisbona fides. It was rather a pity that his smile unconsciously resembled that of a satyr; not, however, that it really mattered, for although the ever-observant Caroline duly noted it Miss Burden did not.
“It is twenty-five minutes past two, Lord Cheriton,” said Miss Perry, putting a sugar-plum in her mouth, “and you have promised to take me to the circus.”
“Cheriton,” said the old lady, “I forbid you to do anything of the kind. To spend three afternoons a week at a circus is outrageous.”
“They are so educational,” said Cheriton. “Develop the mind. Show how intelligence can be inculcated into the most unlikely things. Horses good at arithmetic, dogs playing whist, cats indulging in spiritualism. Very educational indeed. Clown imitating monkey in lifelike manner. Illustration of the origin of species. One more sugar-plum, my dear Miss Araminta, and then Marchbanks will summon a taximeter, if possible, with a tonneau painted pink.”
“Gobo is going to take me to the Horse Show to-morrow,” Miss Perry announced.
“Who, pray, is Gobo?” Aunt Caroline and Lord Cheriton demanded in one breath.
“He asked me to call him Gobo,” said Miss Perry,helping herself calmly to sugar-plums, “and I asked him to call me Goose.”
Cheriton’s countenance was unmistakably a study. The same might be said of that of Aunt Caroline.
“My dear young lady,” said Cheriton, “this cannot be. One of the most dangerous men in London. Really, Caroline, you must forbid that old ruffian the house. As for the Horse Show to-morrow, it is clearly out of the question.”
“I promised Gobo,” said Miss Perry, “and I don’t like to break a promise; do you?”
“My dear young lady, you are much too young and inexperienced to make a promise, let alone to keep one. I speak as I feel sure your papa would do were he in my place, and as I know I should do were I in the place of your papa. Your aunt is quite of that opinion; I speak for her also. You must not call that man Gobo, he must not call you Goose, and as for the Horse Show, it is out of the question.”
“But everybody calls me Goose,” said Miss Perry, “because I amrathera silly.”
“Caroline,” said Cheriton, with much gravity, “if you will take the advice of your oldest friend you will forbid that man the house. My dear Miss Araminta, let us try to obliterate a very disagreeable impression by spending a quietly educational afternoon at the circus.”
When on the morning of the great day of the fancy ball Miss Perry entered the presence of Jim Lascelles as the faithful embodiment, down to the minutest particular, of Gainsborough’s masterpiece,that assiduous young fellow was seized with despair. It took the form of a gasp.
“Goose Girl,” said he, “I shall have to give up coming here. I paint you all the morning, I think of you all the afternoon and evening, and I dream of you all night. You know you have rather knocked a hole in my little world.”
“There will be ices to-night,” said Miss Perry. “Lord Cheritonalmostthinks pink ices are nicest.”
“Confound Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, with unpardonable bluntness, “and confound pink ices!”
“I thought I would just put on my new frock,” said Miss Perry, “to see if you think it is as nice as you think the lilac is.”
“I have no thoughts at all this morning,” said Jim Lascelles, “about your new frock or about anything else. My mind is a chaos, my wretched brain goes round and round, and what do you suppose it is because of?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Perry.
“It is because of you,” said Jim Lascelles. “Look at that canvas you’ve ruined. Yellow hair—Gainsborough hat—lilac frock—full-fledged cream-bun appearance. You will lose me my commission, which means a cool hundred pounds out of my pocket, and my mamma has denied herself common necessaries to pay for my education. Goose Girl,” Jim Lascelles concluded a little hoarsely, “I am growing afraid of you. You are a sorceress. Something tells me that you will be my ruin.”
“I wish you had seen Muffin’s mauve,” said Miss Perry, who showed very little concern for Jim’s ruin.
“I have not the least desire to see Muffin’s mauve,” said Jim Lascelles. “In fact, I thank the God who looks after poor painters—if there is such a Deity, which I take leave to doubt—that I have not seen it. But I intend to ask you this question: What right have you, Goose Girl, to grow so extravagantly perfect, to get yourself up in this ravishing and entrancing manner, and then to come to ask a poor wight of a painting chap, who is daubing away for dear bread and butter, whether he thinks your new frock is as nice as the lilac was?”
“Muffin’s mauve——” said Miss Perry.
“Answer me,” said Jim, sternly. “You can’t. You are a sorceress. You are a weaver of spells. Well, it so happens that I am susceptible to them. I am going to take a decisive step. Goose Girl, it is my intention to kiss you.”
Without further preface or ado Jim Lascelles stepped towards Miss Perry with extended arms and eyes of menace. He hugged her literally, new frock and all, in the open light of the morning; and further, he gave her one of the most resounding busses that was ever heard in that dignified apartment.
“Get rid of that if you are able,” said he, brazenly. “And now sit there, as good as pie, while I put that new gown upon canvas.”
Miss Perry did as she was told in a manner that rather implied that she approved decidedly of the whole proceedings.
“Goose Girl,” said Jim, attacking the canvas, “you will either make me or mar me. Sometimes I feel it might be the former, but more often I am convinced it will be the latter.”
“Muffin’s mauve cost a lot of money,” said Miss Perry.
“Paws down,” said Jim. “The question now for gods and men is, can that hair and that frock live together?”
Jim took up a little looking-glass and turned his back upon the canvas. He sighed with relief.
“Yes, they can by a miracle,” said he. “And yet they out-Gillet Gillet.”
“What will you be to-night, Jim?” asked Miss Perry.
“Achilles, sulking in my tent.”
“Where will you put your tent?” said Miss Perry. “One can’t dance in a tent. And what will you do when you are sulky?”
“Gnash my teeth and curse my luck.”
“I will dance with you twice if you would like me to,” said Miss Perry with charming friendliness.
“I shall not be there,” said Jim, whose studied unconcern was rather a failure.
“Not be there!” said Miss Perry, with consternation.
“Aunt Caroline has not axed me.”
It was some kind of solace to Jim Lascelles that dismay and incredulity contended upon the usually calm and unruffled countenance of Miss Perry.
“Miss Burden has forgotten you,” said she. “I must speak to her.”
Miss Perry rose for that purpose.
“Sit down, you Goose,” Jim commanded her. “Don’t speak a word about it to anybody, unless you want to get me sacked from the house. I am here on sufferance, a poor painting chap, copying a picture to get bread and cheese; and this ball to-night is being given by the Countess of Crewkerne, for her niece Miss Perry.”
“But, Jim——”
“Goose Girl,” said Jim, “keep Mouth Piece immovable. Move not the Chin Piece, the Young Man said. Think of cream buns.”
“But, Jim——” said Miss Perry.