XI
Theheart of the Deputy seemed to stop beating as she heard the sinister words of the hostess. But again as her lips sought the brim of her glass she took courage. No matter what to-morrow had in store she must live this wonderful hour. She would lose her situation for a certainty, perhaps she would have to go to prison, but this evening, come what might, she was determined to yield to a signal experience.
She felt like a flower that expands to the sun. To be young, to be rich, to be highly born, to be beautifully dressed, in a word to be the veritable daughter of a marquis—what a supreme destiny! Nor was it a silly and vulgar snobbishness that made her think so. Such a life as the one she was living now meant poetry, romance, color, joy. To-morrow she would return inevitably to what she was; to-morrow the endless dreary days of governessing would begin again; but to-night—to-night she would drink of the cup!
Nevertheless the shrewd northern forebears insisted that one glass of champagne must be Girlie’s limit. But it was not easy to compute the precise measure with the butler always on the watch to keep it up tothe brim. Rigidly on guard as she was, a glorious, devil-may-care sort of feeling stole over her. A flush crept on her cheek, her soul leapt to her eyes, so that in the sight of more than one beholder the youngest of the Catkin girls looked uncommonly pretty.
It was after dinner, however, that the ordeal of Miss Cass really began. In the drawing room, over the coffee cups, alone with her own sex, she had to call out the reserves of her courage. The ladies were so much more formidable than the gentlemen! Somehow their manner towards her seemed curiously quizzical! Their lightest remarks, even their way of looking at one were singularly embarrassing. Still Girlie said very little, but smiled a good deal, was content to answer direct questions with a brief “yes” or a briefer “no,” so that for the time being she was able to disarm those whom she felt to be her natural enemies. Nevertheless the advent of the gentlemen came as a particular relief.
The return of the gentlemen lessened the tension considerably. Their black coats and white waistcoats seemed to add a subtle quality to themise-en-scène; somehow they appeared to humanize the atmosphere of the drawing room. Girlie found them much the easier to get on with. For one thing the new peer who was on several Boards with her distinguished parent, the marquis, quite took her under his wing. It seemed he had promised Lady Elfreda’s father that he would look after her. And from the outset it wasclear that the hostess at any rate was anxious that Lord Duckingfield should be as good as his word.
He was a plain honest midlander, a man almost wholly without pretensions, and although not exactly in the first blush of youth Girlie could not help thinking that he was extremely nice. If she had not known he was a lord she would never have guessed it. There was something very straightforward about him, something very considerate, something very kindly, something very humane. From the first he paid court to her in his rather heavy, fatherly way; yet in this there may have been an ulterior motive, for as he presently said, he hoped Lady Elfreda would teach him to jazz.
“But I don’t know how to,” Girlie confessed with naïve dismay. “I only know the One Step and I am not at all good at it.”
“Well, you’ll have to teach me that,” said my lord, looking straight into the sweetly serious gray eyes. “Although,” he added with a roguish smile, “I’ve been told that nowadays you smart young ladies know everything.”
Exceptions there are to every rule, and in the sight of Lord Duckingfield the little Catkin lady furnished one. She seemed to know hardly anything about anything. But he didn’t complain of that. He was old fashioned enough to prefer that style of young woman; the smart modern miss was apt to be too well informed on every subject. It was really a pleasureto meet one quite the reverse; one in fact who was ready, nay eager, to sit metaphorically at your feet. My lord in common with most prosperous men of his age liked the sound of his own voice and this pretty little girl—she really was pretty!—had the subtle art of making him forget that he was indulging a weakness. She hung on his words. She laughed at his stories. When he grew reminiscent, round eyes of serious wonder rewarded him. Yes, quite a nice little filly, both docile and intelligent, and not at all inclined to rate herself too highly, which he had rather feared would be the case, having regard to the stable she came out of.
For a full hour Lord Duckingfield was allowed to monopolize the chief guest. And no one challenged his right. The hostess had reached the conclusion already that she was “heavy cake”; the other ladies were already divided in their minds as to whether Lady Elfreda was or was not half-witted. She would improve on acquaintance no doubt, but as Mrs. Spencer-Jobling, a bold lady in pink, found occasion to hint to Sir Toby, the immediate outlook for his masterpiece was not encouraging.
“But they say she can act like blazes you know.” Sir Toby clung to that belief in the teeth of growing skepticism. “Monty Jupp says when he’s coached her a bit more she’ll be quite equal to any of the professionals.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Mrs. Spencer-Joblingwho prided herself on being without illusion on any subject. “But with Miss Kitwood we should have been absolutely safe.”
Sir Toby, allowing his eyes to stray to the animated picture on the distant sofa, was impelled to discount the pessimism of Mrs. Spencer-Jobling. She was quite the prettiest little Puss he had seen in a month of Sundays, and old man Duckingfield, that astute midlander, evidently thought so too.
When bedtime came for the ladies, Sir Toby contrived a broad hint for Lady Elfreda as he politely opened the drawing room door. “I’m afraid you have a hard day to-morrow,” he said. “Your part is a long one and there isn’t much time to study it before the rehearsals begin. So mind you have a good night’s rest.”
Alas, had it been Sir Toby’s intention to deprive the little lady of the boon he was so urgently recommending no words could have been better calculated for the purpose. They almost ensured a sleepless vigil. At the prospect before her, Girlie felt one more chill along her spine. All the same as she went up the stairs with the other ladies and forced herself by sheer power of will to give them a gay good-night, the paramount emotion was triumph. She had come through a grim ordeal quite brilliantly. No one had appeared to suspect her, and incredible as the fact might seem, she had almost enjoyed herself! The morrow, it wastrue, was dark indeed, but already her life had known one unforgettable moment.
“Now mind you sleep well, Lady Elfreda.” The hostess took an effusive leave of her on the threshold of King Edward’s bedroom. “And no one is expected to show at breakfast unless they particularly wish to do so. So we shall not feel offended if you stay in bed all morning and study your part.”