Edith and Madame Frabelle had long talks next day over the little dinner-party, and the people of their intimate circle whom she had met. She was delighted with Landi, though a little frightened of him, as most people were when they first knew him, unless he really liked them immensely.
She impressed on Edith to beware of Mr. Mitchell.
Bruce, for once, had really been satisfied with his own entertainment, and declared to Edith that Madame Frabelle had made it go off splendidly.
Edith was growing to like her more and more. In a house where Bruce lived it was certainly a wonderful help to have a third person often present—if it was the right person. The absurd irritations and scenes of fault-finding that she had become inured to, but which were always trying, were now shorter, milder, or given up altogether. Bruce's temper was perennially good, and got better. Then the constant illnesses that he used to suffer from—he was unable to pass the military examination and go to the front on account of a neurotic heart—these illnesses were either omitted entirely or talked over with Madame Frabelle, whose advice turned out more successful than that of a dozen specialists.
'An extraordinary woman she is, you know, Edith,' he said. 'You know that really peculiar feeling I sometimes have?'
'Which, dear?'
'You know that sort of emptiness in the feet, and heaviness in the head, and that curious kind of twitching of the eyelids that I get?'
'Yes, I know. Well, dear?'
'Well, Madame Frabelle has given me a complete cure for it. It seems her husband (by the way, what a brute he must have been, and what a life that poor woman led! However, never mind that now) had something very much of the same kind, only not quite so bad.'
'Which, dear?'
'How do you mean "Which"? Which what?'
'Which peculiar feeling?'
'What peculiar feeling are we talking about?'
'I said, which peculiar feeling did Mr. Frabelle have?'
'What are you trying to get at, Edith?' He looked at her suspiciously.
Edith sighed.
'Was it the heaviness in the feet, or the lightness in the head, or was it the twitching of the eyelid which Mr. Frabelle used to suffer from?'
'Oh, ah! Yes, I see what you mean. It seemed he had a little of them all. But what do you think she used to do?'
'I haven't the slightest idea.'
'There's some stuff called Tisane—have you ever heard of it?' Bruce asked. 'It's a simple remedy, but a very good thing. Well, he used to use that.'
'Did he bathe his eye with it?'
'Oh, my dear Edith, you're wool-gathering. Do pull yourself together. He drank it, that's what he did, and that's what I'm going to do. Eg—Madame Frabelle would go straight down into the kitchen and show you how to make it if you like.'
'I don't mind, if cook doesn't,' said Edith.
'Oh, we'll see about that. Anyway she's going to show me how to get it made.
'Then there's another thing Madame Frabelle suggested. She's got an idea it would do me a world of good to spend a day in the country.'
'Oh, really? Sounds a good idea.'
'Yes. Say, on the river. She's not been there for years it seems. She thinks she would rather enjoy it.'
'I should think it would be a capital plan,' said Edith.
'Well, how about next Saturday?' said Bruce, thinking he was concealing his eagerness and satisfaction.
'Saturday? Oh yes, certainly. Saturday, by all means, if it's fine. What time shall we start?'
He started at once, but was silent.
'Saturday, yes,' Edith went on, after a glance at him. 'Only, I promised to take the two children to an afternoon performance.'
'Did you though?' Bruce brightened up. 'Rather hard luck on them to disappoint them. Mind you, Edith, I don't believe in spoiling children. I don't think their parents should be absolute slaves to them; but, on the other hand, I don't think it's good for them to disappoint them quite so much as that; and, after all—well, a promise to a child!' He shook his head sentimentally. 'Perhaps it's a fad of mine; I daresay it is; but I don't like the idea of breaking a promise to a child!'
'It does seem a shame. Too bad.'
'You agree with me? I knew you would. I've heard you say the same yourself. Well then, look here, Edith; suppose we do it—suppose you do it, I mean. Suppose you go with Archie and Dilly. They're to lunch with my mother, aren't they?'
'Yes, dear. But we were to have fetched them from there and then taken them on to the theatre!'
'Well, do it, then, my dear girl! Stick to your plan. Don't let me spoil your afternoon! Gracious heaven! I—I—why, I can quite well take Madame Frabelle myself.' He looked at the barometer. 'The glass is going up,' he said, giving it first a tap and then a slight shake to encourage it to go up higher and to look sharp about it. 'So that's settled, then, dear. That's fixed up. I'll take her on the river. I don't mind in the very least. I shall be only too pleased—delighted. Oh, don't thank me, my dear girl; I know one ought to put oneself out for a guest, especially a widow … under these circumstances over in England … during the war too … hang it, it's the least one can do.'… Bruce's murmurings were interrupted by the entrance of the lady in question. He made the suggestion, and explained the arrangement. She consented immediately with much graciousness.
'I dote on the river, and haven't been for years.'
'Now where would you like to go?' he asked. 'What part of the river do you like? How about Maidenhead?'
'Oh, any part. Don't ask me! Anything you suggest is sure to be right. You know far more about these things than I do. But Maidenhead—isn't it just a little commonplace? A little noisy and crowded, even now?'
'By jove, yes, you're quite right. Madame Frabelle's perfectly right,Edith, you know. Well, what about Shepperton?'
'Shepperton? Oh, charming! Dear little town. But it isn't exactly what I call the river, if you know what I mean. I mean to say—'
'Well, could you suggest a place?' said Bruce.
'Oh, I'm the worst person in the world for suggesting anything,' saidMadame Frabelle. 'And I know so little of the river. But how aboutKingston?'
'Kingston? Oh, capital. That would be charming.'
'Kyngestown, as it used to be called' (Madame Frabelle hastened to show her knowledge) 'in the days when Saxon kings were crowned there. Am I wrong or not? Oh, surely yes…. Wasn't it Kingston? Didn't great Caesar cross the river there? And the Roman legions camp upon the sloping uplands?'
Bruce gasped. 'You know everything!' he exclaimed.
'Oh no. I remember a little about the history,' she said modestly, 'Ah, poor, weak King Edwy!'
'Yes, indeed,' said Bruce, though he had no recollection of having heard the gentleman mentioned before. 'Poor chap!'
'Too bad,' murmured Edith.
'How he must have hated that place!' said Madame Frabelle.
'Rather. I should think so indeed.'
'However,youwon't,' said Edith adroitly changing the subject, seeing her husband getting deeper out of his depth.
Most of the evening Madame Frabelle read up Baedeker, to the immense astonishment of Bruce, who had never before thought of regarding the river from the historical and geographical point of view.
The next day, which was fine, if not warm, the two started off with a certain amount of bustle and a bundle of rugs, Madame Frabelle in a short skirt with a maritime touch about the collar and what she called a suitable hat and a dark blue motor veil. She carried off the whole costume to admiration.
Archie seemed rather bewildered and annoyed at this division of the party.
'But, Mother, we're going out to lunch with grandmother.'
'I know, darling. I'll come and fetch you from there.'
Conventional and restrained as Archie usually was, he sometimes said curious things.
Edith saw by his dreamy expression he was going to say one now.
He looked at her for a little while after his father's departure and then asked:
'Mother!'
'Yes, darling.'
'Is Madame Frabelle a nice little friend for father?'
Edith knew he had often heard her and the nurse or the governess discussing whether certain children were nice little friends for him or Dilly.
'Oh yes, dear, very nice.'
'Oh.'
The cook came in for orders.
'You're going to lunch all alone then, aren't you, Mother?'
'Yes, I suppose I must. I don't mind. I've got a nice book.'
Archie walked slowly to the door, then said in a tone of envious admiration which contained a note of regret:
'I suppose you'll order a delicious pudding?'
* * * * *
She went to fetch the children, who were excited at the prospect of a theatre. The elder Mrs Ottley was a pleasant woman, who understood and was utterly devoted to her daughter-in-law. Fond as she was of her son, she marvelled at Edith's patience and loved her as much as she loved Bruce. Though she had never been told, for she was the sort of woman who does not require to be told things in order to know them, she knew every detail of the sacrifice Edith had once made. She had been almost as charmed by Aylmer Ross as her daughter-in-law was, and she had considered Edith's action nearly sublime. But she had never believed Edith was at that time really in love with Aylmer. She had said, after Bruce's return: 'It mustn't happen again, you know, Edith.'
'What mustn't?'
'Don't spoil Bruce. You've made it almost too easy for him. Don't let him think he can always be running away and coming back!'
'No, never again,' Edith had answered, with a laugh.
Now they never spoke of the subject. It was a painful one to Mrs Ottley.
Today that lady seemed inclined to detain Edith, and make her—as Archie feared—late for the rising of the curtain.
'You really like Madame Frabelle so much, dear?'
'Really I do,' said Edith. 'The more I know her, the more I like her. She's the most good-natured, jolly, kind woman I've ever seen. Landi likes her too. That's a good sign.'
'And she keeps Bruce in a good temper?' said Mrs Ottley slyly.
'Well, why shouldn't she? I'm not afraid of Madame Frabelle,' Edith said, laughing. 'After all, Bruce may be thirty-seven, but she's fifty.'
'She's a wonderful woman,' admitted Mrs. Ottley, who had at first disliked her, but had come round, like everyone else. 'Very very nice; and really I do like her. But you know my old-fashioned ideas. I never approve of a third person living with a married couple.'
'Oh—living! She's only been with us about a month.'
'But you don't think she's going away before the end of the season?'
'You can't call it a season. And she can't easily settle down just now, on account of the war. Many of her relations are abroad, and some in the country. She hasn't made up her mind where to live yet. She has never had a house of her own since her husband died.'
'Yes, I see.'
'Do come, Mother!' urged Archie.
'All right, darling.'
'Will I have to take my hat off?' pouted Dilly, who had on a new hat with daisies round it, in which she looked like a baby angel. She had a great objection to removing it.
'Yes, dear. Why should you mind?'
'My hair will be all anyhow if I have to take it off in the theatre,' said Dilly.
'Don't be a silly little ass,' Archie murmured to his sister. 'Why, in some countries women would be sent to prison unless they took their hats off at a play!'
The three reached the theatre in what even Archie called good time. This meant to be alone in the dark, gloomy theatre for at least twenty minutes, no-one present as yet, except two or three people eating oranges in the gallery. He liked to be the first and the last.
Edith was fancying to herself how Madame Frabelle would lay down the law about the history of Kingston, and read portions of the guide-book aloud, while Bruce was pointing out the scenery.
The entertainment, which was all odds and ends, entertained the children, but rather bored her. Archie was learning by heart—which was a way he had—the words of a favourite song now being sung—
'Kitty, Kitty, isn't it a pity,In the city you work so hard,—With your one, two, three, four, five,Six, three, seven, five, Cerrard?
Kitty, Kitty, isn't it a pity,That you're wasting so much time?With your lips close to the telephone,When they might be close to mine_!'
When Edith's eye was suddenly attracted by the appearance of a boy in khakis, who was in a box to her right. He looked about seventeen and was tall and good-looking; but what struck her about him was his remarkable likeness in appearance and in movement to Aylmer Ross. Even his back reminded her strongly of her hero. There was something familiar in the thick, broad shoulders, in the cool ease of manner, and in the expression of the face. But could that young man—why, of course, it was three years ago when she parted with Aylmer Ross, Teddy was fourteen; these years made a great difference and of course all plans had been changed on account of the war. Aylmer, she thought, was too old to have been at the front. The boy must be in the New Army.
She watched him perpetually; she felt a longing to go and speak to him. After a while, as though attracted by her interest, he turned round and looked her straight in the face. How thrilled she felt at this likeness…. They were the very last to go out, and Edith contrived to be near the party in the box. She dropped something and the young man picked it up. She had never seen him, and yet she felt she knew him. When he smiled she could not resist speaking to him.
'Thank you. Excuse me. Are you the son of Mr. Aylmer Ross?'
'I am. And I know you quite well by your photograph,' he said in exactly Aylmer's pleasant, casual voice. 'You were a great friend of my father's, weren't you?'
'Yes. Where are you now?'
He was at Aldershot, but was in town on leave.
'And where's your father?'
'Didn't you know? My father's at the front. He's coming over on leave, too, in a fortnight.'
'Really? And are you still at Jermyn Street?'
'Oh yes. Father let his house for three years, but we've come back again. Jolly little house, isn't it?'
'Very. And I hope we shall see you both,' said Edith conventionally.
The boy bowed, smiled and walked away so quickly that Archie had no time for the salute he had prepared.
He was wonderfully like Aylmer.
Edith was curiously pleased and excited about this little incident.
Madame Frabelle and Bruce arrived at Waterloo in good time for the 11.10 train, which Bruce had discovered in the ABC.
They wished to know where it started, but nobody appeared interested in the subject. Guards and porters, of whom they inquired, seemed surprised at their questions and behaved as if they regarded them as signs of vulgar and impertinent curiosity. At Waterloo no-one seems to know when a train is going to start, where it is starting from, or where it is going to. Madame Frabelle unconsciously assumed an air of embarrassment, as though she had no responsibility for the queries and excited manner of her companion. She seemed, indeed, surprised when Bruce asked to see the station-master. Here things came to a head. There was no train for Kingston at 11.10; the one at that hour was the Southampton Express; and it was worse than useless for Bruce and Madame Frabelle.
'Then the ABC and Bradshaw must both be wrong,' said Bruce reproachfully to Madame Frabelle.
An idea occurred to that resourceful lady. 'Perhaps the 11.10 was only to start on other days, not on Saturdays.'
She turned out to be right. However, they discovered a train at twenty minutes to twelve, which would take them where they wanted, though it was not mentioned, apparently, in any timetable, and could only be discovered by accident by someone who was looking for something else.
They hung about the station until it arrived, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, as people do when they have arrived too early for a train. Meanwhile they abused Bradshaw, and discussed the weather. Bruce said how wonderful it was how some people always knew what sort of weather it was going to be. Madame Frabelle, who was getting sufficiently irritable to be epigrammatic, said that she never cared to know what the weather was going to be; the weather in England was generally bad enough when it came without the added misery of knowing about it beforehand.
Bruce complained that she was too Continental. He very nearly said that if she didn't like England he wondered she hadn't remained in France, but he stopped himself.
At last the train arrived. Bruce had settled his companion with her back to the engine in a corner of a first-class carriage, and placed her rugs in the rack above. As they will on certain days, every little thing went wrong, and the bundle promptly fell off. As she moved to catch it, it tumbled on to her hat, nearly crushing the crown. Unconsciously assuming the expression of a Christian martyr, Madame Frabelle said it didn't matter. Bruce had given herThe Gentlewoman,The World,The Field,Punch, andThe London Mailto occupy the twenty-five minutes or so while they waited for the train to start. The journey itself was much shorter than this interval. Knowing her varied interests, he felt sure that these journals would pretty well cover the ground, but he was rather surprised, as he took the seat opposite her, to see that she read first, in fact instantly started, with apparent interest, onThe London Mail. With a quick glance he saw that she was enjoying 'What Everybody Wants to Know'—'Why the Earl of Blank looked so surprised when he met the pretty little blonde lady who had been said to be the friend of his wife walking in Bond Street with a certain dark gentleman who until now he had always understood to be herbête noire,' and so forth.
As an example to her he took upThe New Statistand read a serious article.
When they arrived it was fine and sunny, and they looked at once for a boat.
It had not occurred to him before that there would be any difficulty in getting one. He imagined a smart new boat all ready for him, with fresh, gay cushions, and everything complete and suitable to himself and his companion. He was rather irritated when he found instead that the best they could do for him was to give him a broken-down, battered-looking thing like an old chest, which was to be charged rather heavily for the time they meant to spend on the river. It looked far from safe, but it was all they could do. So they got in. Bruce meant to show his powers as an oarsman. He said Madame Frabelle must steer and asked her to trim the boat.
In obedience to his order she sat down with a bang, so heavily that Bruce was nearly shot up into the air. Amiable as she always was, and respectfully devoted as Bruce was to her, he found that being on the river has a mysterious power of bringing out any defects of temper that people have concealed when on dry ground. He said to her:
'Don't do that again. Do you mind?' as politely as he could.
She looked up, surprised.
'I beg your pardon, Mr Ottley?'
'Don't do that again.'
'Don't do what? What did I do?'
'Why, I asked you to trim the boat.'
'What did I do? I merely sat down.'
He didn't like to say that she shouldn't sit down with a bump, and took his place.
'If you like,' she said graciously, 'I'll relieve you there, presently.'
'How do you mean—relieve me?'
'I mean I'll row—I'll sit in the stern—row!'
'Perhaps you've forgotten the names of the different parts of a boat.Madame Frabelle?'
'Oh, I think not, Mr Ottley. It's a good while since I was on the river, but it's not the sort of thing one forgets, and I'm supposed to have rather a good memory.'
'I'm sure you have—a wonderful memory—still, where I'm sitting is not the stern.'
There was a somewhat sulky silence. They admired the scenery of the river. Madame Frabelle said she loved the distant glimpses of the grey old palace of the Tudors, and asked him if he could imagine what it was like when it was gay all day with the clanking of steel and prancing horses and things.
'How I love Hampton Court!' she said. 'It looks so quiet and peaceful. I think I should like to live there. Think of the evenings in that wonderful old place, with its panelled walls, and the echo of feet that are no longer there, down the cold, stone corridors—'
Bruce gave a slight laugh.
'Echo of feet that are no longer there? But how could that be? Dear me, how poetical you are, Madame Frabelle!'
'I mean the imaginary echo.'
'Imaginary—ah, yes. You're very imaginative, aren't you, Madame Frabelle? Well, I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but, do you know, I fancy that queer feeling of mine seems to be coming on again.'
'What queer feeling?'
'I told you about it, and you were very sympathetic the other night, before dinner. A kind of emptiness in the feet, and a hollowness in the head, the feeling almost, but not quite, of faintness.'
'It's nearly two o'clock. Perhaps you're hungry,' said Madame Frabelle.
Bruce thought this was not fair, putting all the hunger on to him, as if she had never felt anything so prosaic. Madame Frabelle always behaved as if she were superior to the weaknesses of hunger or sleep, and denied ever suffering from either.
'It may be. I had no breakfast,' said Bruce untruthfully, as though it were necessary to apologise for requiring food to sustain life.
'Nor did I,' said Madame Frabelle hastily.
'Well, don't you feel that you would like a little lunch?'
'Oh no—oh dear, no. Still, I dare say some food would do you good, MrOttley—keep you up. I'll come and watch you.'
'But you must have something too.'
'Must I? Oh, very well, just to keep you company.'
They got out very briskly, and, leaving their battered-looking coffin (called ironically theBelle of the River), they walked with quick steps to the nearest hotel. Here they found a selection of large, raw-looking cold beef, damp, tired-looking ham, bread, cheese, celery, and dessert in the form of dry apples, oranges, and Brazil nuts that had long left their native land.
Bruce decided that the right thing to drink was shandy-gaff, but, to keep up her Continental reputation, Madame Frabelle said she would like a little light wine of the country.
'Red, white, or blue?' asked Bruce, whose spirits were rising.
She laughed very heartily, and decided on a little red.
They had an adequate, if not exquisite, lunch, then Madame Frabelle said she would like to go over Hampton Court. A tedious guide offered to go with them, but Madame Frabelle said she knew all about the place better than he did, so they wandered through the beautiful old palace.
'Oh, to think of King Charles II's beauties living there—those lovely, languid ladies—how charming they were!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle.
'They wore very low dresses,' said Bruce, who felt rather sleepy and stupid, and as if he didn't quite know what he was saying.
Madame Frabelle modestly looked away from the pictures.
'How exquisite the garden is.'
He agreed, and they went out and sat, somewhat awkwardly, on an uncomfortable stone seat.
There was a delicious half-hour of real summer sun—'One of those April days that seem a forecast of June,' as Madame Frabelle said.
'How much better it is to be here in the beautiful fresh air than squeezed into a stuffy theatre,' remarked Bruce, who was really feeling a shade jealous of Edith for seeing the revue that he had wished to see.
'Yes, indeed. There's nothing like England, I think,' she said rather irrelevantly.
'How exactly our tastes agree.'
'Do they?'
Her hand was on the edge of the seat. Somehow or other Bruce's had gone over it. She didn't appear to notice it.
'What small hands you have!' he remarked.
'Oh no! I take sixes,' said the lady, whose size was really three-quarters more than that.
He insisted on looking at the grey suède glove, and then examined her rings.
'I suppose these rings have—er—associations for you, Madame Frabelle?'
'Ah!' she said, shaking her head. 'This one—yes, this one—the sapphire recalls old memories.' She sighed; she had bought it in the Brompton Road.
'A present from your husband, I suppose?' said Bruce, with a tinge of bitterness.
'Ah!' she answered.
She thought he was getting a little sentimental, too early in the day, and, with an effort at energy, she said:
'Let's go back to the river.'
They went back, and now Bruce began to show off his rowing powers. Hehad not practised for a long time, and didn't get along very quickly.She admired his athletic talents, as though he had been a winner of theDiamond Sculls.
'If I'd stuck to it, you know,' he said, rather apologetically, 'I'd have done well in the rowing line. At one time—a good while ago—I thought of going in for Henley, in the Regatta, you know. But with that beastly Foreign Office one can't keep up anything of that sort.'
'I suppose not.'
'My muscle,' said Bruce, sticking out his arm, and hitting it rather hard, 'is fairly good, you know. Not bad for a London man who never has any practice.'
'No indeed.'
'My arm was about seventeen inches round just below the elbow at one time,' Bruce said, 'a few years ago.'
'Just fancy! Splendid!' said Madame Frabelle, who remembered that her waist was not much more a good while ago.
He told her a good many anecdotes of his prowess in the past, until tea-time.
Madame Frabelle depended greatly on tea; anything else she could do without. But a cup of tea in the afternoon was necessary to her well-being, and her animation. She became rather drowsy and absent by four o'clock.
Bruce again suggested their landing and leaving theBelle of theRiver, as they had not thought of bringing a tea-basket.
After tea, which was a great success, they became very cheery and jolly.They went for a walk and then back to their boat.
This was the happiest time of the day.
When they reached the station, about half-past six, they found a disagreeable crowd, pushing, screaming, and singing martial songs. As they got into their first-class carriage about a dozen third-class passengers sprang in, just as the train started. Bruce was furious, but nothing could be done, and the journey back to town was taken with Madame Frabelle very nearly pushed on to his knee by a rude young man who practically sat on hers, smoking a bad cigarette in her face.
They tacitly agreed to say nothing about this, and got home in time for dinner, declaring the day to have been a great success.
Bruce had really enjoyed it. Madame Frabelle said she had; though she had a certain little tenderness, half of a motherly kind, for Bruce, she far preferred his society in a comfortable house. She didn't really think he was the ideal companion for the open air. And he was struck, as he had often been before, by her curious way of contradicting herself in conversation. She took any side and argued in favour of it so long as it was striking or romantic. At one moment she would say with the greatest earnestness, for instance, that divorce should not be allowed. Marriage should be for ever, or not at all. At another moment she would argue in favour of that absurd contradiction in terms known as free love,forgettingthat she had completely changed round since earlier in the conversation. This was irritating, but he was still impressed with her infallibility, and Edith remarked more every day how curious that infallibility was, and how safe it was to trust. Whenever Madame Frabelle knew that something was going to happen, it didn't, and whenever she had an intuition that something was going to occur,thenit was pretty safe. It never would. In the same way she had only to look at a person to see them as they were not. This was so invariable it was really very convenient to have her in the house, for whatever she said was always wrong. One hadmerelyto go by contraries and her prophecies were most useful.
'It's been jolly for you,' Bruce said to Edith, 'having a ripping time in town while I'm taking your visitors about to show them England.'
'You wouldn't have cared for the theatre,' she said. 'But, fancy, I met Aylmer's son there—Aylmer Ross, you know. Aylmer himself is at the front. They have taken their old house again. He means to come back there.'
'Well, I really can't help it,' said Bruce rather fretfully. 'Ishould be at the front if it weren't for my neurotic heart. The doctor wouldn't hear of passing me—at least one wouldn't. Any fellow who would have done so would be—not a careful man. However, I don't know that it wouldn't have been just as good to die for my country, and get some glory, as to die of heart trouble here.' He sighed.
'Oh no, you won't,' said Edith reassuringly; 'you look the picture of health.'
'I've got a bit of sunburn, I think,' said Bruce, popping up to look in the glass. 'Funny how I do catch the sun. I asked Dr Pollock about it one day.'
'Really—did you consult him about your sunburn?'
'Yes. What are you smiling at, He said it's caused by the extreme delicacy of the mucous membrane; nothing to be anxious about.'
'I don't think I am anxious; not particularly. And don't worry, my dear boy; it's very becoming,' said Edith.
Bruce patted her head, and gave her a kiss, smiling.
'We're lunching with the Mitchells today,' said Edith.
'Oh yes. I remember. I'm looking forward to it,' graciously said Madame Frabelle. 'It's a pity your husband can't come, isn't it? Ah, you naughty girl, I don't believe you think so!' Madame Frabelle, archly shook her finger at Edith.
'Eglantine, have you really seriously talked yourself into thinking thatMr Mitchell is anything to me?'
'I don't say, dear,' said Madame Frabelle, sitting down comfortably, and bringing out her knitting, 'that you yourself are aware of it. I don't say that you're in love with him, but that he is devoted to you anyone with half-an-eye can see. And some day,' she shook her head, 'some day your interest in him may take you by surprise.'
'It isyourinterest in him that surprises me,' said Edith. 'He's a good friend, and we like him very much. But for anything else!—'
'If so, it's really rather wonderful,' mused Eglantine, 'that you've never had a thought, even the merest dream, beyond your husband; that it has never even occurred to you that anyone else might have suited your temperament better.'
Edith dropped her book, and picked it up again. Her friend thought she saw, whether through stooping or what not, an increase of colour in her face.
'It isn't everyone,' continued Madame Frabelle, 'who would appreciate your husband as you do. To me he is a very charming man. I can understand his inspiring a feeling almost of motherly interest. I even feel sometimes,' she laughed, 'as if it would be a pleasure to look after him, take care of him. I think it would not have been a bad thing for him to have married a woman a little older than himself. But you, Edith, you're so young. You see, you might have made a mistake when you married him. You were a mere girl, and I could imagine some of his ways might irritate a very young woman.'
After a moment she went on: 'I suppose Bruce was very handsome when you married him?'
'Yes, he was. But he hasn't altered much.'
'Yet, as I told you before, Edith, though I think you an ideal wife, you don't give me the impression of being in love with him. I hope you don't take this as an impertinence, my dear?'
'Not at all. And I'm not sure that I am.'
'Yet your mother-in-law told me the other day that you had been such a marvellous wife to him. That you had even made sacrifices. You have never had anything to forgive, surely?'
'Oh no, never,' hastily said Edith, fearing that Mrs Ottley was a little inclined to be indiscreet.
'She told me that Bruce had been occasionally attracted—only very slightly—by other women, but that you were the only person he really cared for.'
'Oh, I doubt if he ever thinks much of anyone else,' said Edith.
* * * * *
A characteristic of the Mitchells' entertainments was that one always met there the people they had met, even for the first time, at one's own house. Here were the Conistons, and Landi, whom Edith was always delighted to see.
It was a large and gay lunch. Edith was placed some distance from Mr Mitchell. Of course there was also a novelty—some lion or other was always at the Mitchells'. Today it consisted of a certain clergyman, called the Rev. Byrne Fraser, of whom Mrs Mitchell and her circle were making much. He was a handsome, weary-looking man of whom more was supposed than could conveniently be said. His wife, who adored him, admitted that though he was an excellent husband, he suffered from rheumatism and religious doubts, which made him occasionally rather trying. There had been some story about him—nobody knew what it was. Madame Frabelle instantly took his side, and said she was sure he had been ill-treated, though she knew nothing whatever about it. She was placed next to him at table and began immediately on what she thought was his special subject.
'I understand that you're very modern in your views,' she said, smiling.
'I!' he exclaimed in some surprise. 'Really you are quite mistaken. I don't think I am at all.'
'Really? Oh, I'm so glad—I've such a worship myself for tradition. I'm so thankful that you have, too.'
'I don't know that I have,' he said.
'It's true, then, what I heard—I felt it was the moment I looked at you, Mr Fraser—I mean, that you're an atheist.'
'Awhat?' he exclaimed, turning pale with horror. 'Good heavens,Madame, do you know what my profession is?'
He seemed utterly puzzled by her. She managed, all the same, somehow or other to lure him into a conversation in which sheheartilytook his side. By the end of lunch they were getting on splendidly, though neither of them knew what they were talking about.
And this was one of the curious characteristics of Madame Frabelle. Nobody made so many gaffes, yet no-one got out of them so well. To use the lawyer's phrase, she used so many words that she managed to engulf her own and her interlocutor's ideas. No-one, perhaps, had ever talked so much nonsense seriously as she did that day, but the Rev. Byrne Fraser said she was a remarkable woman, who had read and thought deeply. Also he was enchanted with her interest in him, as everybody always was.
Edith thought she had heard Mr Mitchell saying something to the others that interested her. She managed to get near him when the gentlemen joined them in the studio, as they called the large room where there was a stage, a piano, a parquet floor, and every possible arrangement for amusement. Madame Frabelle moved quickly away, supposing that Edith wished to speak to him for his sake, whereas really it was in order to have repeated something she thought she had heard at lunch.
'Did I hear you saying anything about your old friend, Aylmer Ross?' she asked.
'Yes, indeed. Haven't you heard? The poor fellow has been wounded. He was taken into hospital at once, fortunately, and he's getting better, and is going to be brought home almost immediately, to the same old house in Jermyn Street. I think his son is to meet him at the station today. We must all go and see him. Capital chap, Aylmer. I always liked him. He's travelled so much that—even before the war—I hadn't seen him for three years.'
'Was the wound serious?' asked Edith, who had turned pale.
'They were anxious at first. Now he's out of danger. But, poor chap, I'm afraid he won't be able to move for a good while. His leg is broken. I hear he's got to be kept lying down two or three months.'
'Qu'est ce qu'il y a, Edith?' asked Landi, who joined her.
'I've just heard some bad news,' she said, 'but don't speak about it.'
She told him.
'Bien. Du calme, mon enfant; du calme!'
'But, I'm anxious, Landi.'
'Ca se voit!'
'Do you think—'
'Ce ne sera rien. It's the best thing that could happen to him. He'll be all right…. I suppose you want to see him, Edith?'
'He may not wish to see me,' said Edith.
'Oh yes, he will. You were the first person he thought of,' answeredLandi. 'Why, my dear, you forget you treated him badly!'
'Then, if he'd treatedmebadly he wouldn't care to see me again, you mean?'
'C'est probable,' said Landi, selecting with care a very large cigar from a box that was being handed round. 'Now, be quite tranquil. I shall go and see him directly I leave here, and I'll let you hear every detail. Will that do?'
'Thanks, dear Landi!… But even if he wishes to see me, ought I to go?'
'That I don't know. But you will.'
He lighted the long cigar.
Next morning Edith, who always came down to breakfast, though somewhat late, found on her plate a letter from Lady Conroy, that most vague and forgetful of all charming Irishwomen. It said:
'My DEAR MRS OTTLEY,
Do excuse my troubling you, but could you give me a little information? Someone has asked me about Madame Frabelle. I know that she is a friend of yours, and is staying with you, and I said so; also I have a sort of idea that she was, in some way, connected with you by marriage or relationship, but of that I was not quite sure. I fancy that it is due to you that I have the pleasure of knowing her, anyhow.
'Could you tell me who she was before she married? What her husband was, and anything else about her? That she is most charming and a very clever woman I know, of course, already. To say she is a friend of yours is enough to say that, but the rest I forget.
'Hoping you will forgive my troubling you, and that you are all very well, I remain, yours most sincerely.
'P.S.—I began to take some lessons in nursing when I came across a most charming and delightful girl, called Dulcie Clay. Do you happen to know her at all? Her father married again and she was not happy at home, and, having no money, she went in for nursing, seriously (not as I did), but I'm afraid she is not strong enough for the profession. Remember me to Madame Frabelle.'
Edith passed the letter to Bruce.
'Isn't this too delightful?' she said; 'and exactly like her? She sends Madame Frabelle to me with a letter of introduction, and then asks me who she is!'
'Well,' said Bruce, who saw nothing of the absurdity of the situation, 'Lady Conroy is a most charming person. It looks almost as if she wanted to decline responsibility. I wouldn't annoy her for the world. You must give her all the information she wants, of course.'
'But all I know I only know from her.'
'Exactly. Well, tell her what she told you. Madame Frabelle told us candidly she made her acquaintance at the hotel! But it's absurd to tell Lady Conroy that back! We can't!'
Edith found the original letter of introduction, after some searching, and wrote to Lady Conroy to say that she understood Madame Frabelle, who was no connection of hers, was a clever, interesting woman, who wished to study English life in her native land. She was 'of good family; she had been a Miss Eglantine Pollard, and was the widow of a well-to-do French wine merchant.' (This was word for word what Lady Conroy had told her.) She went on to say that she 'believed Madame Frabelle had several friends and connections in London.'
'The Mitchells, for instance,' suggested Bruce.
'Yes, that's a good idea. "She knows the Mitchells very well,"' Edith went on writing. '"I think you know them also; they are very great friends of ours. Mr Mitchell is in the Foreign Office."'
'And the Conistons?' suggested Bruce.
'Yes. "She knows the Conistons; the nice young brother and sister we are so fond of. She has other friends in London, I believe, but she has not troubled to look them up. The more one sees of her the more one likes her. She is most charming and amiable and makes friends wherever she goes. I don't think I know anything more than this, dear Lady Conroy. Yours very sincerely, Edith Ottley. P.S.—I have not met Miss Dulcie Clay."'
Bruce was satisfied with this letter. Edith herself thought it the most amusing letter she had ever written.
'The clergyman whom she met at lunch yesterday, by the way,' said Bruce, 'wouldn't it sound well to mention him?'
Edith good-naturedly laughed, and added to the letter: '"The Rev. ByrneFraser knows our friend also, and seems to like her."'
'The only thing is,' said Bruce, after a moment's pause, 'perhaps that might do her harm with Lady Conroy, although he's a clergyman. There have been some funny stories about the Rev. Byrne Fraser.'
'He certainly liked her,' said Edith. 'He wrote her a long letter last night, after meeting her at lunch, to go on with their argument, or conversation, or whatever it was, and she's going to hear him preach on Sunday.'
'Do you feel she would wish Lady Conroy to know that she's a friend of the Rev. Byrne Fraser?' asked Bruce.
'Oh, I think so; or I wouldn't have said it.'
Edith was really growing more and more loyal in her friendship. There certainly was something about Madame Frabelle that everybody, clever and stupid alike, seemed to be attracted by.
Later Edith received a telephone call from Landi. He told her that he had seen Aylmer, who was going on well, that he had begged to see her, and had been allowed by his doctor and nurse to receive a visit from her on Saturday next. He said that Aylmer had been agitated because his boy was going almost immediately to the front. He seemed very pleased at the idea of seeing her again.
Edith looked forward with a certain excitement to Saturday.
* * * * *
A day or two later Edith received a letter from Lady Conroy, saying:
Thank you so much for your nice letter. I remember now, of course, Madame Frabelle was a friend of the Mitchells, whom I know so well, and like so much. What dears they are! Please remember me to them. I knew that she had a friend who was a clergyman, but I wasn't quite sure who it was. I suppose it must have been this Mr Fraser. She was a Miss Pollard, you know, a very good family, and, as I always understood, the more one knows of her the better one likes her.
'Thanks again for your note. I am longing to see you, and shall call directly I come to London. Ever yours,
'P.S.—Madame F's husband was a French wine merchant, and a very charming man, I believe. By the way, also, she knows the Conistons, I believe, and no doubt several people we both know. Miss Clay has gone to London with one of her patients.'
Bruce didn't understand why Edith was so much amused by this letter, nor why she said that she should soon write and ask Lady Conroy who Madame Frabelle was, and that she would probably answer that she was a great friend of Edith's and of the Mitchells, and the Rev. Byrne Fraser.
'She seems a little doubtful about Fraser, doesn't she?' Bruce said.
'I mean Lady Conroy. Certainly she's got rather a funny memory; she doesn't seem to have the slightest idea that she sent her to you with a letter of introduction. Now we've taken all the responsibility on ourselves.'
'Well, really I don't mind,' said Edith. 'What does it matter? There's obviously no harm in Madame Frabelle, and never could have been.'
'She's a very clever woman,' said Bruce. 'I'm always interested when I hear what she has to say about people. I don't mind telling you that I'm nearly always guided by it.'
'So am I,' said Edith.
Indeed Edith did sincerely regard her opinion as very valuable. She found her so invariably wrong that she was quite a useful guide. She was never quite sure of her own judgement until Madame Frabelle had contradicted it.
* * * * *
When Edith went to call on Aylmer in the little brown house in JermynStreet, she was shown first into the dining-room.
In a few minutes a young girl dressed as a nurse came in to speak to her.
She seemed very shy and spoke in a soft voice.
'I'm Miss Clay,' she said. 'I've been nursing for the last six months, but I'm not very strong and was afraid I would have to give it up when I met Mr Ross at Boulogne. He was getting on so well that I came back to look after him and I shall stay until he is quite well, I think.'
Evidently this was the Dulcie Clay Lady Conroy had mentioned. Edith was much struck by her. She was a really beautiful girl, with but one slight defect, which some people perhaps, would have rather admired—her skin was rather too dark, and a curious contrast to her beautiful blue eyes. As a rule the combination of blue eyes and dark hair goes with a fair complexion. Dulcie Clay had a brown skin, clear and pale, such as usually goes with the Spanish type of brunette. But for this curious darkness, which showed up her dazzling white teeth, she was quite lovely. It was a sweet, sensitive face, and her blue eyes, with long eyelashes like little feathers, were charming in their soft expression. Her smile was very sweet, though she had a look of melancholy. There was something touching about her.
She was below the usual height, slight and graceful. Her hair, parted in the middle, was arranged in the Madonna style in two thick natural waves each side of her face.
She had none of the bustling self-confidence of the lady nurse, but was very gentle and diffident. Surely Aylmer must be in love with her, thought Edith.
Then Miss Clay said, in her low voice:
'You are Mrs Ottley, aren't you? I knew you at once.'
'Did you? How was that?'
A little colour came into the pale, dark face.
'Mr Ross has a little photograph of you,' she said, 'and once when he was very ill he gave me your name and address and asked me to send it to you if anything happened.'
As she said that her eyes filled with tears.
'Oh, but he'll be all right now, won't he?' asked Edith, with a feeling of sympathy for Miss Clay, and a desire to cheer the girl.
'Yes, I think he'll be all right now,' she said. 'Do come up.'
It was a curious thing about Madame Frabelle that, though she was perfectly at ease in any society, and really had seen a good deal of the world, all her notions of life were taken from the stage. She looked upon existence from the theatrical point of view. Everyone was to her a hero or a heroine, a villain or a victim. To her a death was adénouement; a marriage a happy ending. Had she known the exact circumstances in which Edith went to see the wounded hero, Madame Frabelle's dramatic remarks, the obvious observations which she would have showered on her friend, would have been quite unendurable. Therefore Edith chose to say merely that she was going to see an old friend, so as not to excite her friend's irritable imagination by any hint of sentiment or romance on the subject.
During her absence in the afternoon, it happened that Mrs Mitchell had called, with a lady whom she had known intimately since Tuesday, so she was quite an old friend. Madame Frabelle had received them together in Edith's place. On her return Madame Frabelle was full of the stranger. She had, it seemed been dressed in bright violet, and did nothing but laugh. Whether it was that everything amused her, or merely that laughter was the only mode she knew of expressing all her sentiments, impressions and feelings, Madame Frabelle was not quite sure. Her name was Miss Radford, and she was thirty-eight. She had very red cheeks, and curly black hair. She had screamed with laughter from disappointment at hearing Mrs Ottley was out; and shrieked at hearing that Madame Frabelle had been deputed to receive them in her place. Mrs Mitchell had whispered that she was a most interesting person, and Madame Frabelle thought she certainly was. It appeared that Mrs Mitchell had sent the motor somewhere during their visit, and by some mistake it was a long time coming back. This had caused peals of laughter from Miss Radford, and just as they had made up their minds to walk home the motor arrived, so she went away with Mrs Mitchell, giggling so much she could hardly stand.
Miss Radford also had been highly amused by the charming way the boudoir was furnished, and had laughed most heartily at the curtains and the pictures. Edith was sorry to have missed her. She was evidently a valuable discovery, one of their new treasures, a raretrouvailleof the Mitchells.
Madame Frabelle then told Edith and Bruce that she had promised to dine with the Mitchells one day next week. Edith was pleased to find that Eglantine, and also Bruce, who had by now returned home, were so full of Mrs Mitchell's visit and invitation, that neither of them asked her a single question about Aylmer, and appeared to have completely forgotten all about him.
* * * * *
As Madame Frabelle left them for a moment, Edith observed a cloud of gloom over Bruce's expressive countenance. He said:
'Well, really! Upon my word! This is a bit too much! Mind you, I'm not at all surprised. In fact, I always expected it. But it is a bit of a shock, isn't it, when you find old friends throwing you over like this?'
He walked up and down, much agitated, repeating the same thing in different words: that he had never been so surprised in his life; that it was what he had always known would happen; that it was a great shock, and he had always expected it.
At last Edith said: 'I don't see anything so strange about it, Bruce.It's natural enough they should have asked her.'
'Oh, is it? How would they ever have known her but for us?'
'How could they ask her without knowing her? Besides we went there last.We lunched with them only the other day.'
'That's not the point. You have missed the point entirely. Unfortunately, you generally do. You have, in the most marked way, a woman's weakness, Edith. You're incapable of arguing logically. I consider it a downright slight; no, not so much a slight as an insult—perhaps injury is themot juste—to take away our guest and not ask us. Not that I should have gone. I shouldn't have dreamed of going, in any case. For one thing we were there last; we lunched there only the other day. Besides, we're engaged to dine with my mother.'
'Mrs Mitchell knew that; that's why she asked Madame Frabelle because she would be alone.'
'Oh, how like you, Edith! Always miss the point—always stick up for everyone but me! You invariably take the other side. However, perhaps it is all for the best; it's just as well. Nothing would have induced me to have gone—even if I hadn't been engaged, I mean. I'm getting a bit tired of the Mitchells; sick of them. Their tone is frivolous. And if they'd pressed me ever so much, nothing in the world would have made me break my promise to my mother.'
'Well, then, it's all right. Why complain?'
Bruce continued, however, in deep depression till they received a message from the Mitchells, asking Edith if she and her husband couldn't manage to come, all the same, if they were not afraid of offending the elder Mrs Ottley. They could go to Bruce's mother at any time, and the Mitchells particularly wanted them to meet some people tomorrow night—a small party, unexpectedly got up.
'Of course you won't go,' said Edith to Bruce from the telephone. 'You said you wouldn't under any circumstances. I'll refuse, shall I?'
'No—no, don't! Certainly not! Of course I shall go. Accept immediately. They're quite right, it is perfectly true we can go to my mother any other day. Besides, I don't think it's quite fair to old friends like the Mitchells to throw them over when they particularly want us and ask us as a special favour to them, like this.'
'You don't think, perhaps, that somebody else has disappointed them, and they asked us at the last minute, to fill up?' suggested Edith, to whom this was perfectly obvious.
Bruce was furious at this suggestion.
'Certainly not!' he exclaimed. 'The idea of such a thing. As if they would treat me like that! Decidedly we will go.'
'All right,' she said, 'just as you wish. But your mother will be disappointed.'
Bruce insisted. Of course the invitation was accepted, and once again he was happy!
* * * * *
And at last Edith was able to be alone, and to think over her meeting with Aylmer. A dramatic meeting under romantic circumstances between two people of the Anglo-Saxon race always appears to fall a little flat; words are difficult to find. When she went in, to find him looking thin and weak, pale under his sunburn, changed and worn, she was deeply thrilled and touched. It brought close to her the simple, heroic manner in which so many men are calmly risking their lives, taking it as a matter of course, and as she knew for a fact that he was forty-two and had gone into the New Army at the very beginning of the war, she was aware he must have strained a point in order to join. She admired him for it.
He greeted her with that bright expression in his eyes and with the smile that she had always liked so much, which lighted up like a ray of sunshine the lean, brown, somewhat hard, face.
She sat down by his side, and all she could think of to say was: 'Well,Aylmer?'
He answered: 'Well, Edith! Here you are.'
He took her hand, and she left it in his. Then they sat in silence, occasionally broken by an obvious remark.
* * * * *
When he had left three years ago both had parted in love, and Aylmer in anger. He had meant never to see her again, never to forgive her for her refusal to use Bruce's escapade as a means of freeing herself, to marry him. Yet now, when they met they spoke the merest commonplaces. And afterwards neither of them could ever remember what had passed between them during the visit. She knew it was short, and that it had left an impression that calmed her. Somehow she had thought of him so much that when she actually saw him again her affection seemed cooler. Had she worn out the passion by dint of constancy? That must be strange. Unaccountably, touched as she was at his wishing to see her just after he had nearly died, the feeling now seemed to be more like a warm friendship, and less like love.
The little nurse had seen her out. Edith saw that she had been crying. Evidently she was quite devoted to Aylmer, and, poor girl, she probably regarded Edith as a rival. But Edith would not be one, of that she was determined. She wondered whether their meeting had had the same effect on Aylmer. She thought he had shown more emotion than she had.
'He will be better now,' Dulcie Clay had said to her at the door.'Please come again, Mrs Ottley.'
Edith thought that generous.
It seemed to her that Dulcie was as frank and open as a child. Edith, at any rate, could read her like a book. It made her feel sorry for the girl. As Edith analysed her own feelings she wondered why she had felt no jealousy of her—only gratitude for her goodness to Aylmer.
All her sensations were confused. Only one resolution was firm in her mind. Whether he wished it or not, they should never be on the terms they were before. It could only lead to the same ending—to unhappiness. No; after all these years of separation, Edith would be his friend, and only his friend. Of that she was resolved.
'Lady Conroy,' said Bruce thoughtfully, at breakfast next day, 'is a very strict Roman Catholic.'
Bruce was addicted to volunteering information, and making unanswerable remarks.
Madame Frabelle said to Edith in a low, earnest tone:
'Pass me the butter, dear,' and looked attentively at Bruce.
'I sometimes think I shouldn't mind being one myself,' Bruce continued;'I should rather like to eat fish on Fridays.'
'But you like eating fish on Thursdays,' said Edith.
'And Mr Ottley never seems to care very much for meat.'
'Unless it's particularly well cooked—in a particular way,' said Edith.
'Fasts,' said Madame Frabelle rather pompously, 'are meant for people who like feasts.'
'How true!' He gave her an admiring glance.
'I should not mind confessing, either,' continued Bruce, 'I think I should rather like it.'
(He thought he was having a religious discussion.)
'But you always do confess,' said Edith, 'not to priests, perhaps, but to friends; to acquaintances, at clubs, to girls you take in to dinner. You don't call it confessing, you call it telling them a curious thing that you happen to remember.'
'He calls it conversing,' said Madame Frabelle. She then gave a slight flippant giggle, afterwards correcting it by a thoughtful sigh.
'The Rev. Byrne Fraser, of course, is very High Church,' Bruce said. 'I understood he was Anglican. By the way, was Aylmer Ross a Roman Catholic?'
'I think he is.'
Bruce having mentioned his name, Edith now told him the news about her visit to their friend. Bruce liked good news—more, perhaps, because it was news than because it was good—yet the incident seemed to put him in a rather bad temper. He was sorry for Aylmer's illness, glad he was better, proud of knowing him, or, indeed, of knowing anyone who had been publicly mentioned; and jealous of the admiration visible in both Edith and Madame Frabelle. This medley of feeling resulted in his taking up a book and saying:
'Good heavens! Again I've found you've dog's-eared my book, Edith!'
'I only turned down a page,' she said gently.
'No, you haven't; you've dog's-eared it. It's frightfully irritating, dear, how you take no notice of my rebukes or my comments. Upon my word, what I say to you seems to go in at one ear and out at the other, just like water on a duck's back.'
'How does the water on a duck's back get into the dog's ears?—I mean the duck's ears. Oh, I'm sorry. I won't do it again.'
Bruce sighed, flattened out the folded page and left the room with quiet dignity, but caught his foot in the mat. Both ladies ignored the accident.
When he had gone, Madame Frabelle said:
'Poor Edith!'
'Bruce is only a little tidy,' said Edith.
'I know. My husband was dreadfully untidy, which is much worse.'
'I suppose they have their faults.'
'Oh, men are all alike!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle cynically.
'Only some men,' said Edith. 'Besides, to a woman—I mean, a nice woman—there is no such thing as men. There is a man; and either she is so fond of him that she can talk of nothing else, however unfavourably, or so much in love with him that she never mentions his name.'
'Men often say women are all alike,' said Madame Frabelle.
'When a man says that, he means there is only one woman in the world, and he's in love with her, and she is not in love with him.'
'Men are not so faithful as women,' remarked Madame Frabelle, with the air of a discovery.
'Perhaps not. And yet—well, I think the difference is that a man is often more in love with the woman he is unfaithful to than with the woman he is unfaithful with. With us it is different…. Madame Frabelle, I think I'll take Archie with me today to see Aylmer Ross. Tell Bruce so, casually; and will you come with me another day?'
'With the greatest pleasure,' said Madame Frabelle darkly, and with an expressive look. (Neither she nor Edith had any idea what it expressed.)
Edith found Aylmer wonderfully better. The pretty little nurse with the dark face and pale blue eyes told her he had had a peaceful night and had bucked up tremendously. He was seated in an arm-chair with one leg on another chair, and with him was Arthur Coniston, a great admirer of his.