CHAPTER XXIIIIN WHICH GRANDMAMMA RENEWS HERS
WhenPhilip and Mary returned to the King’s Parade with their inmost thoughts centered upon a dish of tea, a great surprise awaited them. The sitting-room overlooking the sea was in the occupation of no less a person than His Britannic Majesty’s Ex-Ambassador to Persia. He had come, it appeared, to thank Grandmamma personally for the loan of her apparatus, and to commemorate the amount of good it had already done the complaint from which they suffered in common.
It happened that Grandmamma, like other old ladies who have moved in the world, could talk to a lord as well as most people if she happened to be in the humor. Well, she had had a pretty good nap; the cap-with-the-Siddons’-lace was as straight as you please; and she had a distinct recollection of having met the Ex-Ambassador at Knebworth somewhere about the year 1881.
Long before Philip, accompanied by Mary, returned in his unconventional footballing costume, these two interesting persons were getting on like a house on fire.The past was reconstructed and repeopled; the present was deplored, and, alas! abused not a little. Mrs. Cathcart had known Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Disraeli—whom she couldn’t abide!—Mr. Dickens, Mr. Thackeray, Lord Tennyson, Mr. Bright, and Garibaldi. Comparisons are invidious, but where are the persons of that type nowadays?
Lord Warlock entirely agreed with the goddaughter of Bean. Alas, the world had fallen upon evil days indeed!
“But I think, ma’am, you have a devilish sensible granddaughter, if I may say so.”
Grandmamma hoped her granddaughter was sensible, although to her mind it seemed that she had not married very prudently.
No brains, certainly, agreed my lord—speaking of the young chap, of course—but perhaps a young chap was just as well without ’em, provided his income was large enough to supply the deficiency.
However, it was more a Question of Principle to the mind of Grandmamma. And a Question of Principle is, of course, a great matter. The stage and the peerage had so little in common that they were best kept apart. Not, to be sure, that Grandmamma was blind to the worldly advantages, but then, to one who had played Lady Macbeth to John Peter Kendall, worldly advantages were not everything.
Mary and Philip undoubtedly interrupted an agreeabletête-à-tête. But the Ex-Ambassador shook hands with them both, and informed Mary once more how devilish obliged he was for the improvement that had already been wrought in his rheumatism. Mary was delighted to hear that, of course; and she rang for more tea and orderedheapsof hot buttered cakes; and Pa was so genial that this might never have been the creature who had stolen a march on Adela.
Mr. Philip, it must be admitted, was not very conversational. Even in the most favorable circumstances he was a silent young man. But Mary could talk enough for two, or enough for twenty if it came to that, being one of those gifted young women who are never at a loss in any society. Yet she was tactful, of course, with this Grecian gift—yes, it is a Grecian gift, you young ladies of Newnham and Girton; and if you possess this valuable faculty to the degree that Mary did, be like her and never, never abuse it.
The Tactful Young Madam hoped that Lord Warlock would excuse their unconventional attire. They had been playing football for the benefit of the widow and five young children of the late Joe McPherson, and ten thousand people had been present and quite a substantial sum was likely to be raised, and if Lord Warlock would be so kind as to give her the sovereign he had promised her for the Fund she would have greatpleasure in forwarding it to the Treasurer, and she was sure the Treasurer would have equal pleasure in receiving it, because the Cause was so Deserving.
Pa paid up there and then, like a fine old Irish gentleman and a sportsman to boot; and Mary promised to send on the receipt as soon as she received it; and my lord said the receipt was of no consequence; and Mary, with her square and sensible face, said a receipt was always of consequence; not that she contradicted Pa at all rudely, you know, as we fear another young person has been known to do on occasion.
She then explained that their side had won the match by two goals to one, and that the winning goal had been scored by Philip; and my lord remarked that a devilish good game was polo, and it was a great pity we had allowed the Cup to go to America, and we must send a good team and plenty of ponies and get it back again; in which the Siddons’-cap-of-real-lace concurred with great spirit, and affirmed her conviction that there had been negligence somewhere.
“Oh, we shall just muddle along until Uncle Jonathan annexes us, and then we shall begin to wake up a bit, I daresay.”
And everybody laughed loudly, of course, at the caustic Ambassadorial Humor.
But it wasn’t polo they had been playing, says little Miss Newnham, with her passion for exactitude. Ofcourse it wasn’t, my dear. Then why didn’t Mary say so? Her Tact again, my dear. It always bores a real live ex-ambassador to have to stand corrected; and football is so plebeian that polo sounds nicer; and it really didn’t matter a straw, so there was no use in being tediously literal, was there?
You don’t see the point of the argument, and you still think, my dear, it was Mary’s duty to make it clear that the game was football. Sorry not to agree withyou, Miss Newnham; but we are sure we shall have the sanction of all parents and guardians when we lay down the axiom that it is a chief part of the whole duty of Woman never to bore an ambassador.
Had Mary been tediously literal she would probably not have received an invitation to Hurlingham any afternoon she cared to come during the season, which she promptly accepted with becoming gratitude. And then, before the Ex-Ambassador could take up his hat and rise from the sofa, she had asked the important question, Could Lord Warlock be soverykind as to give her advice how to get Philip into Parliament?
There was a question for you! Giveheradvice, mark you, young ladies. There was a great deal in that. The Ex-Ambassador fixed his monocle, of course, with a little pardonable magniloquence of bearing, like any other ex-ambassador would have done; looked about as wise as you make ’em, and said in the sharp drymanner that he had really copied from his father who had copied it from Mr. Rogers, although that was a secret that lay with him in his grave—and what did the Ex-Ambassador say?
He said the best way to get into Parliament is to see that you keep out of it....
How very deep and subtle; quite worthy of Mr. Punch at his best, say all parents and guardians.
Wecan’t see the point of the reply, say the dreadfully literal young ladies of Newnham and Girton.
Well, if you really can’t, my dears, it is not for us to attempt to explain it.
Anyhow, that was the Ambassadorial reply; and real Tact—the genuine guaranteed article—in the person of Mistress Mary was delighted with this brilliantmot; and the real lace of Siddons immensely admired itsesprit, and said quite audibly to the crochet-work antimacassar “that it was worthy of dear Dicky Milnes”; and the Ex-Ambassador, still feeling quite comfortable on the sofa, in spite of the fact that the springs were broken and that the stuffing was distributed so unevenly, thought he might just as well stay another five minutes.
There can be no doubt that the extension of the visit was entirely due to Mary’s tact. And now, young ladies, let us see the use that she made of it.
“If only there would be a vacancy at BlackhamptonI think I could get him in myself, because I really think I have got Blackhampton in my pocket.”
“A very right and proper place in which to keep a borough; it was in our time, Mrs. Cathcart, eh?”
The Siddons’ cap and the inheritor of the Rogers tradition had this delectable morsel all to themselves. The brain of Mary the Tactful was much too busy marshalling its battalions, and Mr. Philip was far too much interested in hot buttered tea-cake, which he had certainly earned, to be able to follow the conversation except at a very respectful distance. Therefore the continuedespritof my lord was like to have gone unhonored save for Granny, who could have imagined Sydney Smith, etc.
So, after all, it was really as much due to the Siddons’ cap that the five minutes grew into ten; and this further extension was rather important, since Mary was busy posing the mighty problem how could she get this absentee Irish landlord, who was bound by the nature of the case to be a Vandeleurite, to play the game of a perfectly ferocious Balsquithian.
“You see, Lord Warlock, I want my Philip to go into Parliament, but we don’t know anybody who has got any influence with Mr. Balsquith, because all our friends are on the other side.”
A very nicely calculated candor, Miss Mary; wellmight the Ex-Ambassador present a picture of amiable cynicism.
“Seems to me, then, you had better apply to the other party.”
“Oh, no, Lord Warlock. My Philip is nothing like clever enough to be a Vandeleurite.”
Rather sacrificing her lord, though, wasn’t she, on the altar of high diplomacy? Not that Mr. Philip minded that particularly. Hot buttered tea-cake was of far more consequence than anything that had transpired up to the present.
The Ex-Ambassador was constrained to feel that the ambitious young woman’s reasoning was sound. The young hussy then proceeded to draw her next card out of the pack, and it wasn’t a very bad one, either.
“You see, Lord Warlock, I am so keen for my Philip to go into politics, as I want people to say that the best day’s work he ever did was when he married me.”
There was only one reply for an old diplomatist to make to this engaging candor. It is hardly necessary to say that no time was lost in making it.
How did Mary, who is really too pushing to be quite nice, in my opinion, receive the obviously insincere compliment that was paid to her? says our little friend Miss Newnham. She didn’t say a word, my dear, butshe blushed quite charmingly—at least, the Ex-Ambassador thought she did—and then that absolutely direct glance of about two thousand candle-power came right at the noble earl, who proceeded to register on the tablets of his worldly wise old mind the following pearl of wisdom: No Wonder The Young Fools Marry ’Em Nowadays.
“So you want to get him into Parliament, do you—as a Rag?” mused the old cynic.
“Dear Lord Warlock, if you would only give me a little advice, I am really so ignorant!”
There was just room for two persons on the decrepit sofa that had the honor of holding my lord. Would it bear the weight of both of ’em? was another poser for Mary the Tactful. She would risk it, anyhow; and so she sat down beside the Ex-Ambassador in a charmingly impulsive manner, and said, “Dear Lord Warlock, do help me,” and very nearly slew one who had grown old in the world with her good gray eyes.
It may almost be laid down as an axiom that ex-ambassadors are pretty deep as a rule. This one was certainly not an exception. Not only did his dark and self-contained appearance suggest considerable guile, but this picturesque impression was amply confirmed by the fascinating curves of his intellect. In fine, my lords and gentlemen, His Britannic Majesty’s Ex-Ambassadorto Persia was a long way from being a fool.
Therefore he made no immediate reply to Mary the Tactful. But the Pushful Young Hussy—as every young married woman should be, my dear Miss Newnham—knew perfectly well that she had given the fellow-occupant of the sofa to think. As a matter of fact, the fellow-occupant thought considerable, and somewhat to this tenor.
I am not very pleased with Vandeleur just now. He as good as promised me that vacant Thistle, but he gave it to Blougram instead, who, of course, has not rendered one-tenth of my services to the Empire. Then this young fool is the eldest son of an old fool who takes himself far too seriously—an old fool who has jobbed his way into unmerited favor, and has done as much as anybody, outside the perfectly appalling Front Bench, to ruin the party. Well, I owe Vandeleur a grudge; I can’t abide pompous mediocrity; I’m feeling rather mischievous just now with this ill-tempered girl o’ mine left on my hands, when she ought to have been settled five years ago; and if the successor to Van’s very last and very worst creation goes over lock, stock and barrel to the Rag, Tag and Bobtails, legs are going to be pulled pretty badly all round, eh?
We hope the reasoning of the noble lord is clear toall parents and guardians. Certainly it is a little advanced for the junior members of the congregation. We have done our humble best to make it as lucid as possible, but the mental processes of an Ex-Ambassador call for the very nicest skill on the part of our Pegasus, who was never a very agile beast, at his best, and age don’t improve him.
Mary the Tactful waited quite a minute for the Fellow-Occupant to break the silence. And then into little pieces the silence was shattered.
“I don’t say I’ve any influence with Balsquith, but I might throw out a hint to Huffham and MacMurdo and the other Rag, Tag and Bobtail wire pullers that your man would like to stand for ’em, and a very able man, too.”
Tactful Mary was breathless with gratitude. But not for a moment did her statesmanlike grasp desert her.
“Some large manufacturing town—Leeds or Bootle, or Sheffield, or Blackhampton, where they’d remember my Cinderella, and where I’ve presented medals, and where I’ve sung at concerts, when they’ve brought home T’Coop. If Free Trade and I can’t get him in in any of those places, where they know a Cinderella when they see one—”
The granddaughter of the goddaughter of Edward Bean burst into a peal of laughter.
There was the grim light of Humor also in the ambassadorial eye.
“Best thing you can do, Mrs. Shelmerdine,” said Worldly Wisdom, “is to see that your young chap writes a nice sensible letter to Balsquith, stating his views clearly in as few words as he can; and in the meantime I’ll sow a few myself, and get Huffham or MacMurdo to meet him at lunch at the Helicon; and if at the next bye-election one Vandeleur don’t get his leg pulled, I’m better fitted to eat Thistles than to wear ’em.”
Even Mary the Tactful, whose knowledge of the world was so immense, hardly appreciated the full flavor of the latter remark; but what she did appreciate, and quite keenly, too, was the enormous importance of those that had preceded it.
She didn’t overdo her gratitude because ex-ambassadors are not at all partial to Fuss. She thanked my lord very simply and sincerely; but she let the good gray eyes do most of the work, and very charmingly they did it. A very sensible girl, who will make a good wife for anybody, and I only wish that insolent wench of mine had got half her brains, thought the Ambassadorial One. Not that he said so to Mary the Tactful; although, strictly between ourselves, young ladies of Newnham and Girton, she wouldn’t have minded very much if he had.
Lord Warlock took his leave at last, having passed quite an agreeable hour, whereas he had but expected a formal perfunctory ten minutes. It had been indeed a pleasure to meet Mrs. Cathcart again; and we have seen what an impression the granddaughter had made upon the old diplomatist. Yes, he assured the latter, a word in season should reach the chiefs of the Party. It was rash to make promises, but he hoped and believed—particularly as the Rags were always on the look-out for young men of family in order to redress the balance a bit—Mr. Philip might find himself in the midst of a bye-election in the not distant future.
This was imparted to Mary in strict confidence, while she conducted the visitor downstairs. And when the young minx had sped my lord over the doorstep with her picture-postcard smile, she came up the stairs again, two at a time, with the air of one who has really done something clever.
“And now, Phil-ipp,” said she, “you must go at once and have a nice warm bath; and I will go to the chemist’s and get something for those poor feet.”