A BRIGHT AND SHINING LIGHT.
“Un homme sérieux est celui qui se croit regardé.”
When Lord Ferriby decided to accede to Roden's earnest desire that he
should go to The Hague, he was conscious of conferring a distinct
favour upon the Low Countries.
“It is not a place one would choose to go to at this time of year,” he
said to a friend at the club. “In the winter, it is different; for the
season there is in the winter, as in many Continental capitals.”
One of the numerous advantages attached to an hereditary title is the
certainty that a hearer of some sort or another will always be
forthcoming. A commoner finds himself snubbed or quietly abandoned so
soon as his reputation for the utterance of egoisms and platitudes is
sufficiently established, but there are always plenty of people ready
and willing to be bored by a lord. A high-class club is, moreover, a
very mushroom-bed of bores, where elderly gentlemen who have traveled
quite a distance down the road of life, without finding out that it is
bordered on either side by a series of small events not worth
commenting upon, meet to discuss trivialities.
“Truth is,” said his lordship to one of these persons, “this Malgamite
scheme is one of the largest charities that I have conducted, and
carries with it certain responsibilities--yes, certain responsibilities.”
And he assumed a grave air of importance almost amounting to worry. For
Lord Ferriby did not know that a worried look is an almost certain
indication of a small mind. Nor had he observed that those who bear the
greatest responsibilities, and have proved themselves worthy of the
burden, are precisely they who show the serenest face to the world.
It must not, however, be imagined that Lord Ferriby was in reality at
all uneasy respecting the Malgamite scheme. Here again he enjoyed one
of the advantages of having been preceded by a grandfather able and
willing to serve his party without too minute a scruple. For if the
king can do no wrong, the nobility may surely claim a certain immunity
from criticism, and those who have allowance made to them must
inevitably learn to make allowance for themselves. Lord Ferriby was, in
a word, too self-satisfied to harbour any doubts respecting his own
conduct. Self-satisfaction is, of course, indolence in disguise.
It was easy enough for Lord Ferriby to persuade himself that Cornish
was wrong and Roden in the right; especially when Roden, in the most
gentlemanly manner possible, paid a cheque, not to Lord Ferriby direct,
but to his bankers, in what he gracefully termed the form of a bonus
upon the heavy subscription originally advanced by his lordship. There
are many people in the world who will accept money so long as their
delicate susceptibilities are not offended by an actual sight of the
cheque.
“Anthony Cornish,” said Lord Ferriby, pulling down his waistcoat, “like
many men who have had neither training nor experience, does not quite
understand the ethics of commerce.”
His lordship, like others, seemed to understand these to mean that a
man may take anything that his neighbour is fool enough to part with.
Joan was willing enough to accompany her father, because, in the great
march of social progress, she had passed on from charity to sanitation,
and was convinced that the mortality among the malgamiters, which had
been more than hinted at in the Ferriby family circle, was entirely due
to the negligence of the victims in not using an old disinfectant
served up in artistic flagons under a new name. Permanganate of potash
under another name will not only smell as sweet, but will perform
greater sanitary wonders, because the world places faith in a new name,
and faith is still the greatest healer of human ills.
Joan, therefore, proposed to carry to The Hague the glad tidings of the
sanitary millennium, fully convinced that this had come to a suffering
world under the name of “Nuxine,” in small bottles, at the price of one
shilling and a penny halfpenny. The penny halfpenny, no doubt,
represented the cost of bottle and drug and the small blue ribbon
securing the stopper, while the shilling went very properly into the
manufacturer's pocket. It was at this time the fashion in Joan's world
to smell of “Nuxine,” which could also be had in the sweetest little
blue tabloids, to place in the wardrobe and among one's clean clothes.
Joan had given Major White a box of these tabloids, which gift had been
accepted with becoming gravity. Indeed, the major seemed never to tire
of hearing Joan's exordiums, or of watching her pretty, earnest face as
she urged him to use “Nuxine” in its various forms, and it was only
when he heard that cigar-holders made of “Nuxine” absorbed all the
deleterious properties of tobacco that his stout heart failed him.
“Yes,” he pleaded, “but a fellow must draw the line at a sky-blue
cigar-holder, you know.”
And Joan had to content herself with the promise that he would use none
other than “Nuxine” dentifrice.
Lord Ferriby and Joan, therefore, set out to The Hague, his lordship in
the full conviction (enjoyed by so many useless persons) that his
presence was in itself of beneficial effect upon the course of events,
and Joan with her “Nuxine” and, in a minor degree now, her
“Malgamiters” and her “Haberdashers' Assistants.” Lady Ferriby
preferred to remain at Cambridge Terrace, chiefly because it was
cheaper, and also because the cook required a holiday, and, with a
kitchen-maid only, she could indulge in her greatest pleasure--a
useless economy. The cook refused to starve her fellow-servants, while
the kitchen-maid, mindful of a written character in the future, did as
her ladyship bade her--hashing and mincing in a manner quite
irreconcilable with forty pounds a year and beer money.
Major White met the travellers at The Hague station, and Joan, who had
had some trouble with her father during the simple journey, was
conscious for the first time of a sense of orderliness and rest in the
presence of the stout soldier, who seemed to walk heavily over
difficulties when they arose.
“Eh--er,” began his lordship, as they walked down the platform, “have
you seen anything of Roden?”
For Lord Ferriby was too self-centred a man to b keenly observant, and
had as yet failed to detect Von Holzen behind and overshadowing his
partner in the Malgamite scheme.
“No--cannot say I have,” replied the major.
He had never discussed the malgamite affairs with Lord Ferriby.
Discussion was, indeed, a pastime in which the major never indulged.
His position in the matter was clearly enough defined, but he had no
intention of explaining why it was that he ranged himself stolidly on
Cornish's side in the differences that had arisen.
Lord Ferriby was dimly conscious of a smouldering antagonism, but knew
the major sufficiently well not to fear an outbreak of hostilities. Men
who will face opposition may be divided into two classes--the one
taking its stand upon a conscious rectitude, the other half-hiding with
the cheap and transparent cunning of the ostrich. Many men, also, are
in the fortunate condition of believing themselves to be invariably
right unless they are told quite plainly that they are wrong. And there
was nobody to tell Lord Ferriby this. Cornish, with a sort of respect
for the head of the family--a regard for the office irrespective of its
holder--was so far from wishing to convince his uncle of error that he
voluntarily relinquished certain strong points in his position rather
than strike a blow that would inevitably reach Lord Ferriby, though
directed towards Roden or Von Holzen.
Lord Ferriby heard, however, with some uneasiness, that the Wades were
in The Hague.
“A worthy man--a very worthy man,” he said abstractedly; for he looked
upon the banker with that dim suspicion which is aroused in certain
minds by uncompromising honesty.
The travellers proceeded to the hotel, where rooms had been prepared
for them. There were flowers in Joan's room, which her maid said she
had rearranged, so awkwardly had they been placed in the vase. The
Wades, it appeared, were out, and had announced their intention of not
returning to lunch. They were, the hotel porter thought, to take that
meal at Mrs. Vansittart's.
“I think,” said Lord Ferriby, “that I shall go down to the works.”
“Yes, do,” answered White, with an expressionless countenance.
“Perhaps you will accompany me?” suggested Joan's father.
“No--think not. Can't hit it off with Roden. Perhaps Joan would like to
see the Palace in the Wood.”
Joan thought that it was her duty to go to the malgamite works, and
murmured the word “Nuxine,” without, however, much enthusiasm; but
White happened to remember that it was mixing-day. So Lord Ferriby went
off alone in a hired carriage, as had been his intention from the
first; for White knew even less about the ethics of commerce than did
Cornish.
The account of affairs that awaited his lordship at the works was, no
doubt, satisfactory enough, for the manufacture of malgamite had been
proceeding at high pressure night and day. Von Holzen had, as he told
Marguerite, been poor all his life, and poverty is a hard task-master.
He was not going to be poor again. The grey carts had been passing up
and down Park Straat more often than ever, taking their loads to one or
other of the railway stations, and bringing, as they passed her house,
a gleam of anger to Mrs. Vansittart's eyes.
“The scoundrels!” she muttered. “The scoundrels! Why does not Tony
act?”
But Tony Cornish, who alone knew the full extent of Von Holzen's
determination not to be frustrated, could not act--for Dorothy's sake.
A string of the quiet grey carts passed up Park Straat when the party
assembled there had risen from the luncheon-table. Mrs. Vansittart and
Mr. Wade were standing together at the window, which was large even in
this city of large and spotless windows. Dorothy and Cornish were
talking together at the other end of the room, and Marguerite was
supposed to be looking at a book of photographs.
“There goes a consignment of men's lives,” said Mrs. Vansittart to her
companion.
“A human life, madam,” answered the banker, “like all else on earth,
varies much in value.” For Mr. Wade belonged to that class of
Englishmen which has a horror of all sentiment, and takes care to cloak
its good actions by the assumption of an unworthy motive. And who shall
say that this man of business was wrong in his statement? Which of us
has not a few friends and relations who can only have been created as a
solemn warning?
As Mrs. Vansittart and Mr. Wade stood at the window, Marguerite joined
them, slipping her hand within her father's arm with that air of
protection which she usually assumed towards him. She was gay and
lively, as she ever was, and Mrs. Vansittart glanced at her more than
once with a sort of envy. Mrs. Vansittart did not, in truth, always
understand Marguerite or her English, which was essentially modern.
They were standing and laughing at the window, when Marguerite suddenly
drew them back.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Vansittart.
“It is Lord Ferriby,” replied Marguerite.
And looking cautiously between the lace curtains, they saw the great
man drive past in his hired carriage. “He has recently bought Park
Straat,” commented Marguerite.
And his lordship's condescending air certainly seemed to suggest that
the street, if not the whole city, belonged to him.
Mr. Wade pointed with his thick thumb in the direction in which Lord
Ferriby was driving.
“Where is he going?” he asked bluntly.
“To the malgamite works,” replied Mrs. Vansittart, with significance.
And Mr. Wade made no comment. Mrs. Vansittart spoke first.
“I asked Major White,” she said, “to lunch with us to-day, but he was
pledged, it appeared, to meet Lord Ferriby and his daughter, and see
them installed at their hotel.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Wade.
Mrs. Vansittart, who in truth seemed to find the banker rather heavy,
allowed some moments to elapse before she again spoke.
“Major White,” she then observed, “does not accompany Lord Ferriby to
the malgamite works.”
“Major White,” replied Marguerite, demurely, “has other fish to fry.”