Lord Selsey
The mere thought of confiding in Lord Selsey was at once soothing and bracing. He was a widower with no children, and Cecil was by way of being his heir. Since the death of his wife he lived in a kind of cultured retirement in a large old house standing a little by itself in Cambridge Gate. He used to declare that this situation combined all the advantages of London and the country, also that the Park that was good enough for the Regent was good enough for him. He had a decided cult for George IV; and there was even more than a hint of Beau Brummel in his dress. The only ugly thing in the house was a large coloured print of the pavilion at Brighton.
In many ways Lord Selsey was Cecil's model; and unconsciously, in his uncle's suave presence, the young man's manner always became more expressive and his face more inscrutable.
Lord Selsey was remarkably handsome; the even profile, well-shaped head, and blond colouring were much the same in uncle and nephew, the uncle's face having, perhaps, a more idealistic cast. The twenty years' difference in age had only given the elder man a finer, fairer, more faded look, and the smooth light hair, still thick, was growing grey.
Cecil was not surprised to find his uncle sitting in his smoking-room, smoking, and not reading the morning paper. He was looking over his collection of old coins. At a glance he saw by Cecil's excessive quietness that the boy, as he called him, was perturbed, so he talked about the coins for some minutes.
Cecil made little attempt to conceal that fact that Things bored him.
'Well, what is it?' said Lord Selsey abruptly.
Cecil couldn't think of anything better by way of introducing the trouble than the vaguely pessimistic statement that everything was rather rotten.
'You don't gamble, you're not even very hard up…. It's a woman, of course,' said Lord Selsey, 'and you want to marry, I suppose, or you wouldn't come to me about it…. Who is she?'
Cecil gave a rough yet iridescent sketch of Mrs Raymond.
'Of course she's older than I am, but it doesn't make the slightest difference. She's been a widow ever since she was twenty. She's very hard up, and she doesn't care. She's refused me, but I want to make her come round…. No, she isn'tpretty, not very.'
Lord Selsey put his old coins away, and leant back in his chair.
'I should like to see her,' he said thoughtfully.
'I'm sure of one thing, uncle you could never have any vulgar, commonplace ideas about her—I mean, she's sopeculiarlydisinterested, and all that sort of thing. You mustn't fancy she's a dangerous syren, don't you know, or…. For instance, she doesn't care much for dress; she just sticks up her hair anyhow, and parts it in the middle.'
'Then it would certainly be difficult to believe anything against her,' said Lord Selsey.
'Besides, she really wants me to marry someone else.'
'Who?'
'She's always trying to persuade me to propose to Hyacinth Verney … you know, that pretty girl, old Cannon's ward…. She is awfully pretty, of course, I know.'
'I should like to see her,' said Lord Selsey.
Cecil smiled. It was well known that Lord Selsey was a collector. Though no-one could have less of the pompous, fatuous vanity of the Don Juan, beauty had always played, and always would play, a very prominent part in his life. It was, in fact, without exception, his greatest pleasure, and interest—even passion. The temperament that gave to beauty and charm a rather inordinate value had, no doubt, descended to his nephew. But Cecil was, in that as in everything else, much less of a dilettante.
'You actually want me to advise you to persuade Mrs Raymond to marry you? My dear boy, how can I?'
'How is it you don't say she's quite right not to?' asked Cecil curiously.
'From her point of view I think she's quite wrong. As you're both practically free and you would marry her tomorrow—or this afternoon for choice—if she cared for you she would probably do it. Where I think she's wrong is in not caring for you…. Who is it?'
'I don't believe it's anyone. Eugenia's peculiar; she's very independent, very fantastic. She likes to do whatever comes into her head. She's very fascinating … but I shouldn't be at all surprised if she's absolutely cold; I mean, really never could care for any man at all.'
'Ishouldlike to see her,' repeated Lord Selsey, his eyes brightening.
'It's most awfully good of you, Uncle, the way you take it. I mean to say, I'm afraid I'm not at all asking your consent, you know, or anything of that sort, as I ought.'
'You're asking my advice, and it's about the only thing most men of my age enjoy giving. Well, really, Cecil, and frankly, I think it's a dismal little story. It would be humbug if I pretended I was sorry about Mrs Raymond's—a—attitude, and I quite see its absolute genuineness But, if you'll excuse my saying so, what price the other girl?'
'What price? No price.'
'Shelikes you,' said Lord Selsey acutely.
'What makes you think that?'
'Because otherwise you wouldn't be so cool about her. You're a little too frightened of being obvious, Cecil. I was like that, too. But don't give way to it. Hyacinth Verney—what a charming name! … What would old Cannon say?'
'I don't think he seems particularly keen onme,' said Cecil frankly.
'That's odd. Then he must be very ambitious for her, or else be in love with her himself … probably both.'
'Oh, I say, Uncle Ted! Why, there's Lady Cannon! She's a very handsome, gigantic woman, and they have a daughter of their own, a girl called Ella, at school in Paris. She's pretty, too, only a flapper, you know, with a fair plait and a black bow.'
'I should like to see her; what delightful families you get yourself mixed up with, Cecil! If I were you I should certainly cultivate the Verney girl. I know it's no use telling you to do the contrary, as I should if you weren't in your present frame of mind.'
'I shouldverymuch like you to meet Eugenia,' said Cecil.
'Yes. How shall we arrange it? A dinner at the Savoy or something?'
'No. Somehow that isn't the kind of thing she'd like,' said Cecil.
'I thought not. But if I suddenly go and call on her, even with you, wouldn't it make it too much of a family affair? And I should be so afraid of having the air of trying to persuade her to give you up. I don't want to make a fool of myself, you know.'
Cecil seemed a little stung, though he smiled.
'If she knew you, perhaps it would make her more interested in me!'
'Do you think she'd come and hear some music here,' said Lord Selsey, 'if I wrote and asked her?'
'Yes, I think she might. There's no nonsense about her—about etiquette and things of that sort, I mean.'
'Then that's settled. You tell her about it, and I'll write. On Thursday afternoon. The two young pianists, George Ranger and Nevil Butt, are coming, and the little girl, the new Russian singer.'
'A juvenile party?' asked Cecil, laughing.
'No, only two or three people.'
'Two or three hundred, I suppose. Well, I'll get Mrs Raymond to come.Thanks so much.'
They shook hands with more than cordiality. As Cecil went out his uncle said—
'You've been most interesting this morning. But the other girl's the one, you know. Don't neglect her.'
He laughed, for he saw the young man was rather flattered at the notion.Evidently, Mrs Raymond was worth knowing.
The Peculiarities of Raggett
'Oh, Bruce,' said Edith, as she looked up from a Sale Catalogue, 'Idowish you would be an angel and let me have a little cash to go to Naylor and Rope's. There are some marvellous bargains—spring novelties—there, and Archie absolutelyneedsone or two things.'
Bruce frowned and sat down to breakfast, rather heavily.
'I object,' he said as he took his coffee, 'on principle—purely on principle—to spring sales. Women buy a lot of things they don't want, and ruin their husbands under the ridiculous impression they're buying bargains.'
'I won't ruin you, dear. I want to get Archie a coat—and a hat. I only want'—she watched his expression—' a sovereign—or two.' She smiled brightly, and passed him the toast.
His manner softened.
'Well, dear, you know I'm not a rich man, don't you?'
'Yes, dear.'
'But I should much prefer that you should get Archie's things at a first-rate place like Wears and Swells, where we have an account, and send me the bill. Will you do that?'
'Of course I will, if you like; but it'll cost more.'
She had often marvelled at a comparative lavishness about cheques that Bruce combined with a curious loathing to parting from any coin, however small.
'Then that's settled. And now I want to speak to you about Raggett.'
He paused, and then said seriously, 'I've absolutely decided and very nearly made up my mind to have Raggett to dinner tonight at the Savoy.'
'The Savoy?'
'Yes, yes; no doubt this little flat is very comfortable'—he looked round the room with marked disdain—'and cook, thanks to you, isn't halfbad… but one can't givedinnershere! And after all I've said to Raggett—oh, one thing and another—I fancy I've given him the impression of a rather luxurious home. It won't matter if he calls here in the afternoon some day, but for a man like that, I'd rather—yes—the Savoy. You look as if you objected. Do you?'
'Not at all. It'll be rather fun. But I'm so glad you can afford it. We haven't anaccountthere, you know.'
'I propose to make a slight sacrifice for once…. I will engage a table and telephone to Raggett. Women never understand that to do things well, once in a way, is sometimes a—a very good thing,' he finished rather lamely.
'All right. Iamgetting curious to see Raggett!'
'My dear Edith, he's nothing particular tosee, but he's a man who might be—very useful.'
'Oh, shall you take a private room?'
'I don't think so. Why? You can wear what you wore last night…. You looked quite nice in it, and you can take it from me, once for all'—he got up, looked in the glass, and said—'thatRaggett's all right. Now, tell cook we're dining out. She might have a holiday tonight. A change may do her good; and I shall hope to find the omelette less leathery tomorrow.'
Edith did not point out that Bruce, after specially ordering breakfast punctually at nine, had come down at half-past ten.
'And now I must go…. The dinner was charming last night. It was only spoilt by that empty-headed fool—what's his name—Reeve, who was obviously making up to Hyacinth. Anyone can see she only endures his attentions from politeness, of course. He knows nothing about anything. I foundthatout when we were smoking after dinner; and one can't get a word out of old Cannon.'
Edith was putting Bruce's writing-table in order when she found an open letter in the blotting-book, glanced at the signature, and saw that it was from Raggett. So she eagerly read it, hoping to get some further light on the mysterious man in whose honour Bruce was prepared to offer so extravagant a festivity.
It was written on a rough sheet of paper, with no address. The handwriting was small, compressed, and very untidy. It ran.—
'Y'rs to hand. I shall be glad to dine with you, as I have told you several times, and I would accept your invitation with pleasure if I knew when and where the dinner was to be. These two points you have always avoided mentioning.
'Y'rs truly,
It struck Edith that it was quite extraordinary, after so many descriptions from Bruce—some vivid, some sketchy, others subtly suggestive—how little she could imagine Raggett.
Notwithstanding quantities of words, nothing, somehow, had ever come out to throw the least glimmer of light either on his character, personality, or walk of life. Not bad, all right, useful, rather wonderful, but quite ordinary and nothing particular, were some of the phrases she recalled. She had never been told anything about his age, nor his appearance, nor how long Bruce had known him. She had only gathered that he wasn't athletic like Goldthorpe (Bruce's golf companion), and that he wasn't in the Foreign Office, and didn't belong to Bruce's club. Where, how, and when could he be useful?
If she seemed bored when Bruce was enthusiastic about him, he was offended; but if she seemed interested and asked leading questions, he became touchy and cautious, almost jealous. Sometimes she had begun to think that Raggett was a Mrs Harris—that there was no such person. There, evidently, she had been wrong.
At eight o'clock that evening, on arriving at the Savoy, Edith decided not to take off her cloak (on the ground of chilliness, but really because it was smarter and more becoming than her dress). Therefore she waited in the outer room while Bruce, who seemed greatly excited, and had given her various contradictory tips about how to behave to their guest, was taking off his coat. Several other people were waiting there. She saw herself in the glass—a pretty, fair, typically English-looking woman, with neatly-chiselled features, well-arrangedblond-cendréhair, a tall, slight figure, and a very thin neck. She noticed, among the other people waiting, a shabby-looking man of about thirty-five, who looked so intensely uncomfortable that she pitied him. He had a vague, rough, drab beard, colourless hair, which was very thick in front and very thin at the back, quite indefinite features, an undecided expression, and the most extraordinary clothes she had ever seen. The shirt-front was soft, and was in large bulging pleats. He wore an abnormal-looking big black tie, and the rest of the costume suggested a conjurer who had arrived at a children's party in the country and had forgotten his dress-suit, and borrowed various portions of it from different people staying in the house, who were either taller or shorter than himself. The waistcoat ended too soon, and the coat began too late; the collar reminded one of Gladstone; while the buttonhole of orchids (placed, rather eccentrically, very low down on the coat) completed the general effect of political broadmindedness, combined with acute social anxiety.
He looked several times at Edith with a furtive but undisguised admiration. Then Bruce appeared, held out his hand cordially, and said, 'Ah, Raggett, here you are!'
A Musical Afternoon
Lord Selsey often said he disapproved of the ordinary subdivisions of a house, and, especially as he lived alone, he did not see why one should breakfast in a breakfast-room, dine in a dining-room, draw in a drawing-room, and so on. Nevertheless, he had one special room for music. There was a little platform at the end of it, and no curtains or draperies of any kind to obscure or stifle sound. A frieze of Greek figures playing various instruments ran round the walls, which were perfectly plain so that nothing should distract the eye from the pleasures of the ear; but he was careful to avoid that look of a concert-room given by rows of chairs (suggesting restraint and reserved guinea seats), and the music-room was furnished with comfortable lounges and led into a hall containing small Empire sofas, in which not more than two persons could be seated. Therefore the audience at his entertainments often enjoyed themselves almost as much as the performers, which is rare.
This afternoon there was the usual number of very tall women in large highly-decorated hats, smooth-haired young men in coats that went in at the waist, a very few serious amateurs with longish hair, whose appearance did not quite come up to the standard of theTailor and Cutter, and a small number of wistful professional feminine artists in no collars and pince-nez—in fact, the average fashionable, artistic crowd. The two young geniuses, George Ranger and Nevil Butt, had just given their rather electrifying performance, one playing the compositions of the other, and then both singing Fauré together, and a small band of Green Bulgarians were now playing strenuously a symphony of Richard Strauss, when Cecil and Mrs Raymond appeared together. Lord Selsey received her as if she had been an old friend. When they shook hands they felt at once, after one glance at Cecil and then at each other, that they were more than friends—they were almost accomplices.
By one of those fortunate social accidents that are always occurring in London, Lord Selsey had met Hyacinth and Anne Yeo at a party the day before, had been introduced to them, and invited them to hear Ranger and Butt. Hyacinth, aware she was to meet Mrs Raymond, wore her loveliest clothes and sweetest expression, though she could not keep out of her eyes a certain anxiety, especially when she saw that Cecil greeted her with a slight, cold embarrassment that was very different from his usual manner. He had not expected to meet Hyacinth, and resolved to avoid the introduction he knew she desired. But no man is a match for a woman in a detail of this sort. In the refreshment-room, where Cecil was pressing coffee on Mrs Raymond, Hyacinth walked in, accompanied by Anne, and stood not very far from him. He came up to her, as Hyacinth saw, at Mrs Raymond's instigation.
'Can I get you anything, Miss Vemey? Some tea?'
'Thanks, yes. Isn't that Mrs Raymond? I do wish you would introduce me to her.'
Mrs Raymond came forward. Cecil murmured their names. They shook hands.Mrs Raymond looked at her with such impulsive admiration that shedropped a piece of cake. They spoke a few words about the music, andCecil moved aside.
Anne called him back, not wishing to see him spared anything.
'You mustn't,' said Cecil, 'on any account miss the next thing. It is the wonderful new singer, don't you know—the little girl, Vera Schakoffsky.'
'Oh, very well,' said Hyacinth. 'I'll go,' and she went on with Anne. But when they had returned to the music-room she said to Anne, 'I left my handkerchief,' and went back to the refreshment-room.
A screen was by the door. Just before she had passed it she heard MrsRaymond say—
'What an angel! How can you not be at her feet? Go and talk to her at once, or I'll never speak to you again!'
'I just shan't!' said Cecil doggedly. 'You make me simply ridiculous. If you won't be nice to me yourself, you needn't throw me at the head of other people.'
Hyacinth turned back and went to the music-room again.
Some time afterwards Cecil joined her, Mrs Raymond having apparently disappeared. The new tenor was singing an old song. Cecil sat down next to Hyacinth on a little Empire sofa.
'Let me look at the programme,' he said. And as he took it from her he pressed her fingers. She snatched her hand angrily away.
'Pray don't do that,' she said in a contemptuous tone. 'Even to obey MrsRaymond, you needn't do violence to your feelings!'
'Miss Verney! I beg your pardon! But whatdoyou mean?'
'Surely you understand. And don't trouble to come and see me any more.'
He looked at her. Her suave social dexterity had vanished. Her eyes were dark with purely human instinctive jealousy. They looked at each other a moment, then Lord Selsey came up and said—
'I'm afraid my attempt at originality hasn't been quite a success. The concert's not as harmonious as I hoped. Come and have tea, Miss Verney.'
Hyacinth did not speak a word to Anne on their way home, nor did she refer to the afternoon, nor answer any remark of Anne's on the subject till that evening, when Anne came into her room to complain of the electric light and make fun of Lord Selsey's guests. Then she found Hyacinth sobbing, and saying—
'I shall get over it. I shall be all right tomorrow. I'm going to cut him out of my life!'
'He'll soon cut in again,' said Anne.
'Indeed he won't! I'm not going to be played with. Preferring an oldJapanese who doesn't evenlikehim, and then making a fool of me!'
'If she ran after him, and you begged him to stick to her, it would be the other way,' said Anne.
'What do you mean? Hasn't he any real preference?'
'Yes. He's attached to her, fond of her. She's utterly indifferent about him, so he's piqued. So he thinks that's being in love.'
'Then why does he try to deceive me and flirt with me at all?'
'He doesn't. You really attract him; you're suited to him physically and socially, perhaps mentally too. The suitability is so obvious that he doesn't like it. It's his feeling for you that he fights against, and especially because he sees you care for him.'
'I was horrid enough to him today! I told him never to call here again.'
'To show your indifference?'
'I made him understand that I wanted no more of his silly flirtation,' said Hyacinth, still tearful.
'If youreallymade him think that, everything will be all right.'
'Really, Anne, you're clever. I think I shall take your advice.'
Anne gave a queer laugh.
'I didn't know I'd given any, but I will. Whatever he does now, leave him alone!'
'I should think so! Then why did you tell me the other day to keep on hammering?'
'I was quite right the other day.'
'Didn't I look nicer than Mrs Raymond?'
'That's not the point. You talk as if you were rivals on the same platform. She's on a different plane. But he'll get tired in the end of her indifference and rememberyou,' added Anne sardonically.
'Then he'll find I've forgottenhim. Oh, why am I so unhappy?'
'You're too emotional, but you'll be happy through that too. Please don't make your eyes red. There are other people in the world. Cecil Reeve—'
'And yet there's something so fascinating about him. He's so unlike anybody else.'
'Bosh!' said Anne. 'He's exactly like thousands of other young men. But it just happens you've taken a fancy to him; that's the only thing that makes him different.'
'I hate him,' said Hyacinth. 'Do you dislike him, Anne?'
'Dislike him?' said Anne, turning out one of the lights. 'No, indeed! I loathe him!'
'But why?'
Anne went to the door.
'Because you're a fool about him,' she said somewhat cryptically.
Hyacinth felt somewhat soothed, and resolved to think no more of Cecil Reeve. She then turned up the light again, took her writing materials, and wrote him three long letters, each of which she tore up. She then wrote once more, saying—
'I shall be at home today at four. Do come round and see me.'
She put it under her pillow, resolving to send it by a messenger the first thing in the morning, and went to sleep.
But this letter, like the others, was never sent. By the morning light she marvelled at having written it, and threw it into the fire.
The Troubles of the Ottleys
'Bruce', said Edith, 'you won't forget we're dining with your people tonight?'
'It's a great nuisance.'
'Oh, Bruce!'
'It's such an infernally long way.'
'It's only to Kensington.'
'West Kensington. It's off the map. I'm not an explorer—I don't pretend to be.' He paused a moment, then went on, 'And it's not only the frightful distance and the expense of getting there, but when I do get there…. Do you consider that my people treat me with proper deference?'
'With properwhat?' asked Edith.
'Deference. I admit I like deference. I need it—I require it; and at my people's—well, frankly, I don't get it.'
'If you need it,' said Edith, 'I hope you will get it. But remember they are your father and mother.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'Well, I mean they know you very well, of course … and all that.'
'Do you imply…?'
'Oh, no, Bruce dear,' she answered hastily; 'of course I don't. But really I think your people are charming'
'ToyouI know they are,' said he. 'It's all very well for you. They are awfully fond ofyou. You and my mother can talk about Archie and his nurse and housekeeping and fashions, and it's very jolly for you, but where's the fun for a man of the world?'
'Your father—' began Edith.
'My father!' Bruce took a turn round the room. 'I don't mind telling you, Edith, I don't consider my father a man of the world. Why, good heavens! when we are alone together, what do you suppose he talks about? He complains! Finds fault, if you please! Says I don't work—makes out I'm extravagant! Haveyouever found me extravagant?'
'No, indeed. I'm sure you've never been extravagant—tome.'
'He's not on my level intellectually in any way. I doubt very much if he's capable of understanding me at all. Still, I suppose we might as well go and get it over. My people's dinners are a most awful bore to me.'
'How would you like it,' said Edith gently, 'if some day Archie were to call us my people, and talk about us as you do of yours?'
'Archie!' shouted Bruce. 'Good heavens! Archie!' Bruce held out his arm with a magnificent gesture. 'If Archie ever treats me with any want of proper deference, I shall cut him off with a shilling!'
'Do give me the shilling for him now,' said Edith laughing.
The elder Mrs Ottley was a sweet woman, with a resigned smile and a sense of humour. She had a great admiration for Edith, who was very fond of her. No-one else was there on this occasion. Bruce always complained equally, regarding it as a slight if they were asked alone, and a bore if it was a dinner party. The elder Mr Ottley was considerably older than his wife, and was a handsome, clean-shaven elderly man with a hooked nose and a dry manner. The conversation at dinner consisted of vague attempts on Bruce's part to talk airy generalities, which were always brought back by his father to personalities more or less unflattering to Bruce.
Edith and Mrs Ottley, fearing an explosion, which happened rather frequently when Bruce and his father were together, combined their united energy to ward it off.
'And what do you intend the boy to be when he grows up?' asked old MrOttley. 'Are you going to make him a useful member of society, or aForeign Office clerk?'
'I intend my son,' said Bruce—'(a little port, please. Thanks.)—I intend my son to be a Man of the World.'
His father gave a slight snort.
'Be very careful,' said Mrs Ottley to Edith, 'not to let the darling catch cold in his perambulator this weather. Spring is so treacherous!'
'Does he seem to show any particular bent for anything? I suppose hardly—yet?'
'Well, he's very fond of soldiers,' said Edith.
'Ah!' said Mr Ottley approvingly; 'what we want for empire-building is conscription. Every fellow ought to be a soldier some time in his life. It makes men of them '—he glanced round rather contemptuously—'it teaches them discipline.'
'I don't mean,' said Edith hastily, 'that he wants tobea soldier. But he likes playing with them. He takes them to bed with him. It is as much as I can do to keep him from eating them.'
'The angel!' said Mrs Ottley.
'You must be careful about that, Edith,' said Bruce solemnly. 'I understand red paint is poisonous.'
'It won't hurt him,' said old Mr Ottley, purely from a spirit of contradiction.
'But he's just as fond of animals,' said Edith quickly, to avert a storm. 'That Noah's Ark you gave him is his greatest pleasure. He's always putting the animals in and taking them out again.'
'Oh, the clever darling!' cried Mrs Ottley. 'You'd hardly believe it, Edith, but Bruce was like that when he was a little boy too. He used to—'
'Oh mother, do shut up!' said Bruce shame-facedly.
'Well, he was very clever,' said Mrs Ottley defiantly. 'You'd hardly think so now perhaps, but the things that child used to say!'
'Don't spoil Archie as his mother spoilt Bruce,' said Mr. Ottley.
'Have you seen the new play at His Majesty's?' asked Bruce.
'No, I haven't. I went to the theatrelastyear,' said old Mr Ottley. 'Ihaven't heaps of money to spend on superfluous amusements.'
'Bruce, you're not eating anything,' said Mrs Ottley anxiously. 'Do try some of these almonds and raisins. They're so good! I always get almonds and raisins at Harrod's now.'
Edith seemed much interested, and warmly assented to the simple proposition that they were the best almonds and raisins in the world.
The ladies retired.
'Most trying Mr Ottley's been lately,' said Mrs Ottley. 'Extremely worrying. Do you suppose I have had a single instant to go and order a new bonnet? Not a second! Has Bruce been tiresome at all?'
'Oh, no, he doesn't mean to be,' said Edith.
Mrs Ottley pressed her hand. 'Darling Iknowwhat it is. What a sweet dress! You have the most perfect taste. I don't care what people say, those Empire dresses are most trying. I think you're so right not to give in to it as so many young women are doing. Fashion indeed! Hiding your waist under a bushel instead of being humbly thankful that you've got one! Archie is the sweetest darling. I see very little likeness to Bruce, or his father. I think he takes aftermyfamily, with a great look of you, dear. Most unfortunately, his father thinks Bruce is a little selfish … too fond of pleasure. But he's a great deal at home, isn't he, dear?'
'Yes, indeed,' said Edith, with a slight sigh. 'I think it's only that he's always been a little bit spoilt. No wonder, the only son! But he's a great dear, really.'
His mother shook her head. 'Dear loyal girl! I used to be like that too. May I give you a slight hint? Never contradict. Never oppose him. Agree with him, then he'll change his mind; or if he doesn't, say you'll do as he wishes, and act afterwards in the matter as your own judgement dictates. He'll never find it out. What's that?'
A door banged, hasty steps were heard. Bruce came into the drawing-room alone, looking slightly flushed and agitated.
'Where's your father?' asked Mrs Ottley.
'Gone to his study…. We'd better be getting home, Edith.'
Edith and Mrs Ottley exchanged glances. They had not been able to prevent the explosion after all.
At the National Gallery
It was with considerable difficulty and self-restraint that Cecil succeeded in waiting till the next day to see Mrs Raymond after his uncle's party. He was of an age and of a temperament that made his love affairs seem to him supremely urgent and of more importance than anything else in his life.
He called on Mrs Raymond at eleven in the morning on the pretext of having something important to tell her. He found her sitting at her writing-table in a kind of red kimono. Her hair was brushed straight off her forehead, her eyes were sly and bright, and she looked more Japanese than ever.
Cecil told her what Hyacinth had said to him.
'Now, you see, Ican'tgo on making up to her any more. She doesn't care a straw about me, and she sees through it, of course. I've done what you asked me. Won't you be nice to me now?'
'Certainly not! She's quite devoted to you. Telling you not to go and see her again! I never heard of anything so encouraging in my life. Now, Cecil,' she spoke seriously, 'that girl is a rare treasure. It's not only that she's a perfect beauty, but I read her soul yesterday. She has a beautiful nature, and she's in love with you. You don't appreciate her. If you take what she said literally, you're much stupider than I gave you credit for being. I—I simply shan't see you again till you've made it up. When you know her better youmustcare for her. Besides, I insist upon it. If you don't—well, you'll have to turn your attention somewhere else. For I seriously mean it. I won't see you.'
He looked obstinate.
'It's a fad of yours, Eugenia.'
'It's not a fad of mine. It's an opportunity of yours—one that you're throwing away in the most foolish way, that you might regret all your life. At any rate,I'mnot going to be the cause of giving that poor darling another moment's annoyance or uneasiness. The idea of the angelic creature being worried about me! Why, it's preposterous! I'm sure she heard what I said to you when she came in behind the screen. I can't bear it, and I won't have it. Now go and see her, and you're not to come back till you have. I mean it.'
'I don't suppose for a moment—'
'Rubbish! A woman knows. She went home and cried; I know she did, and she's counting the minutes till you see her again. Now, I've lots to do, and you're frightfully in the way. Good-bye.' She held out her hand.
He rose.
'You send me away definitely?'
'Definitely, Your liking for me is pure perverseness.'
'It's pure adoration,' said Cecil.
'I don't think so. It's imagination. However, whatever it is I don't want it.'
'Good-bye, then,' said Cecil.
He went to the door.
'You can let me know when you've seen her.'
'I don't suppose she'll see me.'
'Yes, she will now. It's the psychological moment.'
'You shan't be bothered with me any more, anyhow,' said Cecil in a low voice.
'Good. And do what I tell you.'
He shut the shabby door of the little house with a loud bang, and went out with a great longing to do something vaguely desperate.
Lunch produced a different mood. He said to himself that he wouldn't think of Mrs Raymond any more, and went to call on Hyacinth.
The servant told him she was out.
He was just turning away when Anne Yeo came out. She glanced at him with malicious satisfaction.
'Hyacinth's gone to the National Gallery,' she volunteered. 'Did you want to see her? You will find her there.'
Cecil walked a few steps with her.
'I'm going to the greengrocer's,' continued Anne, 'to complain.' She held a little book in her hand, and he noticed that she wore a golf cap, thick boots, and a mackintosh, although it was a beautiful day.
'I always dress like this,' she said, 'when I'm going to complain of prices. Isn't it a glorious day? The sort of day when everyone feels happy and hopeful.'
'I don't feel either,' said Cecil candidly.
'No, you don't look it. Why not go and see some pictures?'
He smiled. They parted at the corner.
Then Cecil, without leaving any message for Hyacinth, jumped into a hansom, giving the man the address of his club in Pall Mall. On the way he changed his mind, and drove to the National Gallery. As he went up the steps his spirits rose. He thought he recognised Miss Verney's motor waiting outside. There was something of an adventure in following her here. He would pretend it was an accident, and not let her know yet that he had called.
He wandered through the rooms, which were very empty, and came uponHyacinth seated on a red velvet seat opposite a Botticelli.
She looked more dejected than he could have thought possible, her type being specially formed to express the joy of life. It was impossible to help feeling a thrill of flattered vanity when he saw the sudden change in her expression and her deep blush when she recognised him.
'I didn't know you ever came here,' she said, as they shook hands.
'It's a curious coincidence I should meet you when, for once in my life,I come to study the Primitives,' said Cecil.
He then seated himself beside her.
'Don't you think all that '—he waved his hand towards the pictures—'is rather a superstition?'
'Perhaps; but it's glorious, I think. These are the only pictures that give me perfect satisfaction. All others, however good they are, have the effect of making me restless,' said Hyacinth.
'I haven't had a moment's rest,' said Cecil, 'since I saw you yesterday afternoon. Why were you so unkind?'
'Was it unkind?' she asked. Her face was illuminated.
They spent an hour together; had horrible tea in the dismal refreshment-room, and having agreed that it seemed a shame to spend a lovely day within these walls, he said—
'I don't think I've ever met you out of doors—in the open air, I mean.'
'It would be nice,' said Hyacinth.
He proposed that they should do something unconventional and delightful, and meet the next day in Kensington Gardens, which he assured her was just as good as the country just now. She agreed, and they made an appointment.
'How is Mrs Raymond?' she then asked abruptly.
'I don't know. Mrs Raymond—she's charming, and a great friend of mine, of course; but we've quarrelled. At least I'm not going to see her again.'
'Poor Mrs Raymond!' exclaimed Hyacinth. 'Or perhaps I ought to be sorry for you?'
'No, not if you let me sec you sometimes.' He looked at her radiant face and felt the soothing, rather intoxicating, effect of her admiration after Eugenia's coldness…. He took her hand and held it for a minute, and then they parted with the prospect of meeting the next day.
Hyacinth went home too happy even to speak to Anne about it. She was filled with hope. Hemustcare for her.
And Cecil felt as if he were a strange, newly-invented kind of criminal. Either, he said to himself, he was playing with the feelings of this dear, beautiful creature, or he was drifting into amariage de convenance, a vulgar and mercenary speculation, while all the time he was madly devoted to someone else. He felt guilty, anxious, and furious with Eugenia. But she had really meant what she said that morning; she wouldn't see him again. But the thought of seeing Hyacinth under the trees the next morning—a secret appointment, too!—was certainly consoling.
With a sudden sensation of being utterly sick of himself and his feelings, tired of both Hyacinth and Eugenia, and bored to death at the idea of all women, Cecil went to see Lord Selsey.
More of the Little Ottleys
'Fancy!' said Edith.
'Fancy what?'
'Somehow I never should have thought it,' said Edith thoughtfully.
'Never should have thought what? You have a way of assuming I know the end of your story before I've heard the beginning. It's an annoying method,' said Bruce.
'I shouldn't have been so surprised if they had been anywhere else. But justthere,' continued Edith.
'Who? and where?'
'Perhaps I'd better not tell you,' Edith said.
They had just finished dinner, and she got up as if to ring the bell for coffee.
He stopped her.
'No! Don't ring; I don't wish Bennett to be present at a painful scene.'
Edith looked at him. 'I didn't know there was going to be a painful scene. What's the matter?'
'Naturally, I'm distressed and hurt at your conduct.'
'Conduct!'
'Don't echo my words, Edith.'
She saw he looked really distressed.
'Naturally,' he continued, 'I'm hurt at your keeping things from me.Your own husband! I may have my faults—'
She nodded.
'But I've not deserved this from you.'
'Oh dear, Bruce, I was only thinking. I'm sorry if I was irritating. I will tell you.'
'Go on.'
'When Nurse and Archie were out in the Gardens this morning, who do you think they met?'
'This is not a game. I'm not going to guess. You seem to take me for a child.'
'Well, you won't tell anybody, will you?'
'That depends. I'm not going to make any promises beforehand. I shall act on my own judgement.'
'Oh, you might promise. Well, I'll trust you.'
'Thanks! I should think so!'
'They met Hyacinth, walking with Cecil Reeve alone in a quiet part of the Gardens. They weren't walking.'
'Then why did you say they were?' asked Bruce severely.
'It's the same thing. They were sitting down.'
'Howcanit be the same thing?'
'Oh, don't worry, Bruce! They were sitting down under a tree and Nurse saw them holding hands.'
Bruce looked horrified.
'Holding hands,' continued Edith; 'and I can't help thinking they must be engaged. Isn't it extraordinary Hyacinth hasn't told me? What do you think?'
Bruce got up from the table, lighted a cigarette, and walked round the little room.
'I don't know. I must consider. I must think it over.' He paused a minute. 'I am pained. Pained and surprised. A girl like Hyacinth, a friend of yours, behaving like a housemaid out with a soldier in the open street!'
'It wasn't the street, Bruce.'
'It's the same idea.'
'Quite a quiet part of the Gardens.'
'That makes their conduct worse. I scarcely think, after what you have told me, that I can allow you to go out with Hyacinth tomorrow.'
'How can you be so absurd? I must go; I want to hear about it.'
'Have I ever made any objection till now at your great intimacy withHyacinth Verney? Of course not. Because I was deceived in her.'
'Deceived?'
'Don't repeat my words, Edith. I won't have it! Certainly I was deceived. I thought she was a fitting companion for you—Ithoughtso.'
'Oh, Bruce, really! Where's the harm? Perhaps they're engaged; and if they are I think it is charming. Cecil is such a nice, amusing, good-looking boy, and—'
'I formed my opinion of Reeve some time ago.'
'You only met him once.'
'Once is more than enough for me to form a judgement of anyone. He is absolutely unworthy of her. But her conduct I regard as infinitely worse. I always imagined she was respectably brought up—a lady!'
'Good gracious! Anyone can see that! She's the most charming girl in the world.'
'Outwardly, no doubt, she seems all right. But now you see what she is.'
He paused to relight his cigarette, which had gone out, and continued: 'Such behaviour would be dreadful enough in private, but in public! Do you think of the example?'
'The example to Archie, do you mean?'
'Don't laugh, Edith. This is no matter for laughing. Certainly toArchie—to anyone. Now I've only one thing to say.'
'Do say it.'
'That I never wish to hear Hyacinth Verney's name mentioned again. You are never to speak of her to me. Do you hear?'
'Yes, Bruce.'
'It is such a disillusion. I'm so shocked, so horrified, finding her a snake in the grass.'
'Oh, I'm sure she didn't look a bit like a snake, Bruce. She wore that lovely grey dress and a hat with roses.'
'How do you know? DidArchietell you? No; you lowered yourself to question Nurse. A nice opinion Nurse must have of your friends now! No;that'sover. I won't blameyou, dear, but I must never hear anything more about Hyacinth.'
Edith sat down and took up a book.
'Why is there no coffee?' asked Bruce rather loudly.
'Oh, you said I wasn't to ring.'
She rang.
While the parlourmaid was bringing in the coffee, Bruce said in a high, condescending voice—
'Have you seen that interesting article in the evening paper, dear, about the Solicitor-General?'
'Which do you mean? "Silk and Stuff"?'
'Yes. Read it—read it and improve your mind. Far better for a woman to occupy her mind with general subjects, and make herself intellectually a companion for her husband—are you listening?—than to be always gossiping and thinking about people and their paltry private affairs. Do you hear?'
'Yes, dear.'
He took his coffee and then said—
'In what direction did you say they were going?'
'Oh, I thought you didn't want me to speak of her again. They were going in the opposite direction.'
'Opposite to what? Now that's the curious difference between a woman's intellect and a man's. You can't be logical! What do you mean by "opposite"?'.
'Why, Bruce, I mean just opposite. The other way.'
'Do you mean they walked off separately?'
'Oh, no! They were going away together, and looking so happy. But really, Bruce, I'm sorry I bothered you, telling you about it. I had no idea you would feel it so much.'
'What do you mean? Feel it? Of course, I'm terribly distressed to find that a wife of mine is intimate with such people—where are you going?'
'I was going to write to Hyacinth and tell her I can't go out with her tomorrow.'
'Why can't you go out with her?'
'You said I was never to see her again.'
'Yes; but don't be in a hurry. Never be impulsive.' He waited a minute; she stood by the door. 'On the whole, since you wish it so much, I will permit you to go out with her this once—for the last time, of course—so that you can find out if she really is engaged to be married to that young ass. What a mercenary scoundrel he must be!'
'I don't think that. Anyone would admire her, and he is very well off himself.'
'Well off! Do you consider that to his credit. So should I be well off if I had relations that died and left me a lot of money. Don't defend him, Edith; his conduct is simply disgraceful. What right has he to expect to marry a beautiful girl in Hyacinth's position? Good gracious, does he want everything?'
'I suppose—he likes her.'
'That's not particularly clever of him. So would any man. What I object to so much about that empty-headed cad, is that he's never satisfied. He wants the earth, it seems to me!'
'Really, Bruce, one would think you were quite—'
'What?'
'Well, quite jealous of him, to hear you talk. If one didn't know that—of course you can't be,' she added quickly.
'This incident is now closed,' said Bruce. 'We will never discuss the subject again.'
'Very well, dear.'
She then went into the little drawing-room and looked longingly at the telephone. She feared there would be no chance of communicating with her friend that evening.
Five minutes later Bruce came in and said—
'And what can old Cannon be about to allow his ward to be tearing about all over London with a man of Reeve's antecedents?'
'What's the matter with his antecedents? I didn't know he had any.'
'Don't interrupt. And Miss Yeo? Where was Miss Yeo, I should like to know?'
'I can'tthink.'
'A nice way she does her duty as chaperone!'
'Dear, Hyacinth's twenty-three, not a child. Miss Yeo's her companion; but she can't insist, even if she wants to, on following Hyacinth about if she doesn't wish it.'
'She should wish it. Seriously, do you think Sir Charles knows of these goings-on—I mean of this conduct?'
'I shouldn't think he knew the details.'
'Then isn't it my duty as a married man and father of a family—'
Edith concealed a smile by moving the screen.
'To communicate with him on the subject?'
Edith had a moment's terror. It struck her that if she opposed him, Bruce was capable of doing it. He often wrote letters beginning, 'Sir, I feel it my duty,' to people on subjects that were no earthly concern of his. If he really did anything of this sort, Hyacinth would never forgive her.
After a second's concentration of mind, she said mildly—
'Perhaps you had better, if you really feel it your duty. Of course, I'd rather you didn't, personally. But if that's how you feel about it—'
Bruce wheeled round at once.
'Indeed! Well, I shall not do anything of the sort. Is it my business to open her guardian's eyes? Why should I? No; I won't interfere in the matter at all. Let them go their own way. Do you hear, Edith? Let them do just whatever they like.'
'Yes; I was going to.'
'Mind you, they'll be wretched,' he added rather vindictively. 'If I only saw a chance of happiness for them I shouldn't mind so much.'
'Why do you think they will be miserable if they are married?'
'Of course they will. People who behave in that unprincipled way before—'
'Why, we used to sit in the garden,' said Edith timidly.
'Oh, yes, of course; after your father had given his consent.'
'And once or twice before.'
Bruce smiled rather fatuously. 'Don't compare the two cases. I was a man of the world…. I was very firm, wasn't I Edith? Somehow at first your father didn't seem to like me, but I reasoned with him. I always reason calmly with people. And then he came round. Do you remember how pleased you were that day?' He patted Edith's hair.
'Then why be so severe?'
'Perhaps I am a little bit too severe,' he acknowledged. 'But you don't quite understand how it jars on me to think of any friend of yours behaving in a manner that's—are you sure they're engaged?'
'No; I don't know anything about it.'
'Well, of course, if they don't marry after what Archie has seen, it will be a public scandal, that's all I can say. On the other hand, of course, it would be far better not.'
'What do you propose?' said Edith.
'I don't quite know; I'll think it over. Look here, Edith, if you don't mind, I think I'll go for a little stroll. The flat seems so hot and airless tonight'
Edith glanced at the telephone.
'Oh, don't go,' she said.
He went into the hall and put on his coat. 'I must go, dear. I feel the need of air. I shan't be long.'
'You will only go for a little walk, won't you?'
'I might go to the club for half an hour. I shall see. Good night, dear.'
'Good night.'
He came back to say, in a rather mysterious voice—
'What were Nurse's exact words?'
'Oh, she said, "Miss Verney seemed to be carrying on anyhow with a young gentleman in Kensington Gardens," and then she said it was Mr Reeve, that's all.'
'Disgusting! Horrible!'
He went out and banged the door.
Edith went to the telephone.
Lady Cannon's Visit
Lady Cannon got up one morning earlier than usual and tried on a dress of last season, which she found was a little too tight. For this, naturally, she blamed her maid with some severity. She then dressed rather hurriedly and went all over the house, touching little ornaments with the tip of her finger, saying that the pictures in the drawing-room were crooked, and that nothing had been properly dusted. Having sent for the housemaid and scolded her, and given the second footman notice, she felt better, but was still sufficiently in what is expressively called a bad temper to feel an inclination to do disagreeable duties, so she made up her mind to call and see her husband's ward, and tell her something she would not like to hear. For Hyacinth she always felt a curious mixture of chronic anger, family pride, and admiring disapproval, which combination she had never yet discovered to be a common form of vague jealousy.
Lady Cannon arrived about three o'clock, pompously dressed in tight purple velvet and furs. She thought she saw two heads appear at the studio window and then vanish, but was told that Miss Verney was out.
Prompted by a determination not to be baffled, she said she would get out and write a note, and was shown to the drawing-room.
Anne, in a peculiarly hideous and unnecessary apron of black alpaca, came in, bringing a little writing-case.
'Oh! Miss Yeo, as you're there, I needn't write the letter. You can giveHyacinth a message for me.'
'Certainly, Lady Cannon.'
'How is it that she is out at this extraordinary hour?'
'Is there anything extraordinary about the hour?' asked Anne, looking at the clock. 'It's three; somehow I always regard three as a particularly ordinary hour.'
'I differ from you, Miss Yeo.'
'Anyhow, it happens every day,' murmured Anne.
'Was Hyacinth out to lunch?' said Lady Cannon.
'No—no. She lunched at home.'
'Do you think she'll be long?'
'Oh, no; I shouldn't think she would be many minutes.'
'Then I think I'll wait.'
'Do,' said Anne cordially.
'I wanted to speak to her. Considering she's my husband's ward, I see very, very little of Hyacinth, Miss Yeo.'
'Yes, she was saying the other day that you hardly ever called now,'Anne said conciliatingly.
'Has she been quite well lately?'
'Oh, do you know, she's been so well,' said Anne, in a high, affected voice, which she knew was intensely irritating. 'So very, very well!'
Anne then stood up.
'Would you like a cup of tea, or coffee, while you're waiting?'
'Tea? At three o'clock in the afternoon! I never heard of such a thing. You seem to have strangely Bohemian ideas in this house, Miss Yeo!'
'Do you think tea Bohemian? Well, coffee then?'
Lady Cannon hesitated, but wishing for an excuse to wait, she said—
'Thank you, if it isn't giving any trouble; perhaps I'll take a cup of coffee. I didn't have any after lunch.'
'Oh, yes, do. I'll go and order it at once.'
Anne walked with slow, languid dignity to the door, and when she had shut it, flew like a hunted hare to the studio, where Cecil Reeve and Hyacinth were sitting together.
'Hyacinth,' she said sharply, 'run upstairs at once, put on your hat, go to the hall door and bang it, and come into the drawing-room. Lady Cannon's going to stop the whole afternoon. She's in an appalling temper.'
'She won't wait long,' exclaimed Hyacinth, 'surely?'
'Won't she? She's ordered coffee. She'll be smoking a cigarette before you know where you are.'
'Oh, I'll go,' said Cecil. 'Let me go.'
'Of course you must go,' said Anne. 'You can come back in an hour.'
'But, good heavens, Anne,' said Hyacinth, 'why on earth should we make a secret of Mr Reeve being here?'
'Why, because I said you were out.'
'Well, I'll go and explain,' said Hyacinth.
'Indeed you won't. You're not to go and give me away. Besides, I won't be baffled by that old cat. She's suspicious already. Out you go!'
Cecil took his hat and stick, and went out of the front door.
Anne ran upstairs, brought down Hyacinth's hat, veil, and gloves, and pushed her towards the drawing-room.
'Don't you see?—she'll think you've just come in,' said Anne.
'What about the coachman and footman?'
'Oh, good heavens, do you think they're going to call on her and tell her all about it?'
Just as Hyacinth, laughing, was going into the drawing-room, Anne clutched her, and said—
'I don't know that you'd better be at home after all! Charles will be calling directly. Oh, I forgot, he won't come in when he sees the carriage.'
Anne relaxed her clasp and went to order coffee.
Lady Cannon was looking angrily in the glass when Hyacinth came in.
'Oh, here you are, my dear. I'm glad I didn't miss you. I wanted to speak to you about something.'
'Yes, Auntie.'
Lady Cannon coughed, and said rather portentously, 'You must not be offended with me, dear. You know, in a sense I'm, as it were, in the place of your mother—or, at any rate, your stepmother.'
'Yes.'
'Of course you're perfectly free to do exactly as you like, but I heard in a roundabout way something that rather surprised me about you.'
'What is it?'
'We were dining with some friends last night' (it was characteristic of Lady Cannon not to mention their names), 'where we happened to meet that young couple, the Ottleys. You know Mrs Ottley very well, I believe?'
'Edith is my greatest friend,' said Hyacinth.
'Quite so; she seems a very nice young woman. Very devoted to her husband. And I think him a most superior man! He sat next to me at dinner, and I had quite a long talk with him. We spoke of you. He told me something that surprised me so much. He said that you had been seen very frequently lately about alone with a young man. Is this a fact?'
'What did he say about it?'
'Well, he seemed to regret it—he seemed to think it was a pity. Living alone as you do, it certainly is not the right thing for you to be seen anywhere without Miss Yeo.'
Hyacinth became crimson. 'On what grounds did Mr Ottley find fault with anything I do?'
'Merely general grounds, my dear. A very proper dislike to the flighty behaviour of the girls of the present day. As he tells me, he feels it as a father—'
'Father! He has only a little boy of two. I think it's very impertinent of him to talk of me like that at all.'
'On the contrary, I thought it exceedingly nice of him. He sincerely wishes you well, Hyacinth. Oh,howwell that young man wishes you! Make no mistake about it. By the way, I promised him not to mention his name in the matter. So of course you won't repeat it. But I was really rather upset at what he said. I haven't said anything to Sir Charles yet, as I thought you might give me some explanation.'
'I have no explanation to give. I suppose you know who it is I was walking with?'