My wife and daughter returned home in the "machine" in time for dinner,
without Robin.
"His mother kept him," Kitty explained. She was favouring me with a
summary of her day's adventures, in the garden after dinner. "Such an
old dear, Adrian! And his father is a grand old man. Very solemn and
scriptural-looking and all that, but so courtly and simple when once he
gets over his shyness. (He tried to come in to tea in his shirt-sleeves,
but his wife hustled him out of the kitchen just in time.) Sir James
Fordyce was a shock, though. When we arrived he was chopping turnips in
a machine, dressed in clothes like any farm-labourer's. He said it was
fine to get back to his own people again. To look at him you would never
guess that he was one of the best known men in London, and a favourite
at Court, and _such_ an old dandy in Bond Street. The rest of the
household didn't seem to set any particular store by him. They took him
quite as a matter of course."
"What a pity English people can't do the same," I mused. "If they do
possess a distinguished relative they brag about him, and he usually
responds by avoiding them. If he does honour them with a visit, they try
to live up to him, and put on unnecessary frills, and summon all the
neighbourhood to come and inspect him."
"There's nothing of that kind about the Fordyces," said Kitty. "Sir
James was just one of themselves; he even spoke like them. It was, 'Aye,
Jeems!' and 'Aye, John!' all the time."
"How about the rest of the family?" I inquired.
"The mother was immensely pleased to have Robin with her again, I could
see," said Kitty. "She made no particular fuss over him, but I'm sure
she simply hugged him as soon as we were gone. She had a talk with me
about him when we were alone. She seems to regard him as the least
successful member of the family, although he has been a good son to
them. (Do you know, Adrian, he has sent them something like two hundred
pounds during the time he has been with us? And that must have left him
little enough to go on with, goodness knows!) But I don't think they
consider him a patch on the eldest son, who is a great silent man with a
beard--a sort of Scotch John Ridd. He looks years older than Robin,
though of course he isn't. He is a splendid farmer, his mother tells me,
and greatly "respeckit" in the district. But the poor dear was so
frightened of me that he simply bolted from the house the moment he had
finished his tea. The sister is pretty, and nice too, but shy. I'm
afraid she found my clothes rather overpowering, though I'd only a coat
and skirt on. But we got on splendidly after that. She is going to be
married next month, to the minister, which is considered an immense
triumph for her by the whole community. We must send them a present. By
the way, what's the matter with Dolly?"
"What's the matter with poor old Dermott?" I retorted.
At this moment the much-enduring "machine" jingled up to the door, and
Captain Dermott's luggage, together with his gun-cases and a generous
bundle of game for the mess-table at Aldershot, was piled in at the
back. Their owner followed after, and seeing the glowing end of my cigar
in the dark, advanced to say good-bye.
Kitty uttered some pretty expression of regret at his departure, and
flitted into the house. Dermott and I surveyed each other silently
through the darkness.
"Is it any use asking you to come and look us up in town?" I said at
last rather lamely.
He laughed through set teeth--not a pretty sound.
"I think I'll--avoid your household for a bit, Adrian," he answered.