Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
"Her glance, quick yet soft, was much the prettiest thing
of the sort Sir Percy had ever seen" (Page 33)
(missing from book) . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
THE WHIRL
A ROMANCE OF
WASHINGTON SOCIETY
BY
FOXCROFT DAVIS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HARRISON FISHER AND
B. MARTIN JUSTICE
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1909
COPYRIGHT, 1907
BY THE WASHINGTON HERALD COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1909
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
Published, May, 1909
*ILLUSTRATIONS*
"Her glance, quick yet soft, was much the prettiest thing of the sort
Sir Percy had ever seen" (page 33) (missing from book) . . . . . .
_Frontispiece_
"'It is the old story. You are worthy to marry her, but I am not worthy
to speak to her'"
"'I shall leave this house to-morrow morning, never to re-enter it'"
*I*
Few men have the goal of their ambition in sight at thirty-eight years
of age. But Sir Percy Carlyon had, when he was appointed First
Secretary of the British Embassy at Washington, with a very
well-arranged scheme worked out by which, at the end of four years, he
was to succeed his uncle, Lord Baudesert, the present Ambassador. This
realisation of his dreams came to Sir Percy on a December afternoon dark
and sharp, as he tramped over the frozen ground through the stark and
leafless woods, which may yet be found close to Washington.
He was a great walker, this thin, sinewy Englishman with a sun-browned
skin, burnt by many summers in India and weather-beaten by many winters
in the snowbound depths of the Balkans. He had the straight features
and clear, scintillant eyes which are the marks of race among his kind,
but no one would have been more surprised than Sir Percy if he had been
called handsome. Within him, on this bleak December afternoon, was a
sensation strange to him after many years: the feeling of hope and
almost of joy. He stopped in the silent heart of the woods, and,
leaning against the gnarled trunk of a live oak, thrust his hands into
his pockets and glanced, with brightening eyes, towards the west. A
faint, rosy line upon the horizon was visible through the naked woods;
all else in sky and earth was dun-coloured.
To Sir Percy Carlyon this thread of radiance was a promise of the
future. This was, to him, almost the first moment of retrospection
since the day, two months before, when, in the Prime Minister's rooms in
Downing Street, a new life in a new country opened before him. Since
then--amid the official and personal preparations necessary to take up
his post, his seven days on the Atlantic, during which he worked hard on
pressing business, the necessary first visits upon his arrival--Sir
Percy had scarcely enjoyed an hour to himself. He had found the Embassy
overwhelmed with affairs, about which his uncle, Lord Baudesert, coolly
refused to bother himself, but which Sir Percy, as a practical man, felt
obliged to take up and carry through. That day, only, had he, by hard
and systematic work, caught up what was called by Lord Baudesert, with a
grin, the "unfinished business" at the British Embassy, but which really
meant the neglected business of a lazy, clever old diplomatist who never
did to-day what he could put off until to-morrow.
Lord Baudesert had been many years at Washington, and had a thorough
knowledge not only of the affairs of the American people, but of their
temper, their prejudices and their passions. In an emergency his
natural abilities, and a kind of superhuman adroitness which he
possessed, together with the vast fund of knowledge that he had
accumulated, but rarely used, made him a valuable person to the Foreign
Office. However, as soon as the emergency passed Lord Baudesert
returned to his usual occupation of studying the American newspapers and
anything else which could add to the already vast stock of knowledge
which he possessed, but rarely condescended to use.
The Embassy was presided over by Lord Baudesert's widowed sister, Mrs.
Vereker, an amiable old sheep of the early Victorian type. Then there
were three lamb-like Vereker girls, Jane, Sarah and Isabella, all
likewise early Victorian, who regarded their uncle as a combination of
Bluebeard and Solomon, and altogether the most important and the most
terrifying person on this planet. Lord Baudesert's favourite instrument
of torture to the ladies of his family was the threat to marry an
American widow with billions of money. How this would have unfavourably
affected her the excellent Mrs. Vereker could not have told to save her
life--but the mere hint always gave her acute misery.
The secretaries of the Embassy were very well-meaning young men, who
attended to their work as well as they knew how, but as Lord Baudesert
seldom took the trouble to read a document, and would not sign his name
to anything which he had not read, it was difficult to get business
transacted. When Sir Percy Carlyon was getting his instructions from
the Prime Minister concerning his post of First Secretary at Washington
the Premier had remarked:
"Your uncle, you know, is the laziest man God ever made, but he is also
one of the cleverest. No living Englishman knows as much about American
affairs as Lord Baudesert, or has ever made himself so acceptable to the
American people, but when he isn't doing us the greatest service in the
world, he lets everything go hang. We are sending you to Washington to
get some work done. I hear you can bully Lord Baudesert in every
particular."
"Except one," Sir Percy had replied. "Neither I, nor anybody else, nor
the devil himself, could make Lord Baudesert work when he doesn't want
to."
Sir Percy, on this December afternoon in the woods, reviewed in his own
mind his whole diplomatic career up to the point of that interview. His
first beginnings had been as a minor civil servant on the Indian
frontier twelve years before. It is not uncommon, however, for those
clever youngsters who are sent out to India to govern, negotiate,
threaten and subdue a vast and deceitful people to find themselves
entrusted with responsibilities which might appal older representatives
of the British Empire.
Far removed from Western civilisation, and out of the field of
newspapers, young Sir Percy Carlyon was in effect ruler and lord of a
million people, whose united word counted less with their English
masters than one sentence from this sahib of twenty-six years of age.
His post was on the Afghanistan frontier, where he had to circumvent
Afghans and Russians and out-general all of them. The times were
difficult, and in spite of young Carlyon's great and even splendid gifts
of insight, temper and diplomacy, he would hardly have succeeded in his
work but for one man. This was General Talbott, who was in military
command of the district, and an admirable type of the
soldier-diplomatist. He had stood by Sir Percy with a vigour and
generosity, and a fatherly kindness, which no man not an utter ingrate
could ever forget. They had gone together through stormy and tragic
days, and when the reports had reached the Indian Office it was Sir
Percy to whom General Talbott gave the largest share of the credit, and
even the glory, which had resulted from their joint efforts.
Thanks to this extraordinary generosity on General Talbott's part, Sir
Percy's efforts had received prompt recognition. His first two years in
India were brilliantly successful, and marked him as a rising man among
his fellows. From that time onwards he had been what is called
lucky--that is to say, when two courses were opened to him he took the
sensible one. After a brief but distinguished service in India he was
transferred to the diplomatic corps, and good fortune followed him.
But the greatest stroke of his life had come two years before, in the
Balkans, that line upon which, as Lord Beaconsfield said, "England
fights." The Foreign Office happened not to be as judicious in a
certain juncture as its young representative; in fact, the Premier
committed the most astounding blunder, which, if it had become known,
would have sent him out of office amid the inextinguishable laughter of
mankind. This blunder, however, was known only to four persons--the
Prime Minister himself, his private secretary, a telegraph operator and
Sir Percy Carlyon. What Sir Percy did was to wire back to the head of
the Government:
"Message received, but unintelligible owing to telegraph operator's
ignorance of English."
Then he proceeded to act upon his own account. Three days later the
Russian envoy was on his way to St. Petersburg on an indefinite leave of
absence and Sir Percy was domiciled with the reigning sovereign at his
country place, and was in the saddle to stay.
Six months after he had an interview with the Prime Minister. Not much
was said, but Sir Percy was asked in diplomatic language to name what he
wanted. He named it, and it was to be First Secretary at Washington
when his promotion was due, then service at some smaller European court
as Minister, and to succeed Lord Baudesert on his retirement.
The Prime Minister was not startled at the proposition. He knew Sir
Percy to be a man of lofty ambition and not likely to underrate himself.
The scheme, moreover, had in it elements of fitness and common-sense.
The Prime Minister was heartily tired of gouty old gentlemen in great
diplomatic positions, and thought it rather a good idea to make a man an
Ambassador before he got too old. Besides, nothing that Sir Percy
Carlyon could have asked in reason would have been too much, considering
from what the Premier had been saved. So it was arranged that he should
go to Washington as First Secretary, and the rest of the plan was likely
to be carried out even if there should be a change in the party in
power. Eighteen months afterwards the appointment was made and the first
step in the programme taken.
In looking back upon his career, Sir Percy saw nothing but good
fortune--great and exceptional good fortune; so much so, that he began
to ask himself whether, like the old Greeks, a price would not be
demanded from him for all that had been given him. The idea, however,
was unpleasing, and he began, Alnaschar-like, to plan what he should do
when he became Ambassador. Then a thought stole into his mind which
made his somewhat grim face relax; there ought to be an Ambassadress. He
could see her in his mind's eye, a beautiful, stately English girl,
looking like the elder sister of the tall, white lilies. She must be
grave and dignified, and very reticent--a talkative Ambassadress would
be a horror. He would like her to be of some great English home.
Himself one of the best born men in England, he had a fancy, even a
weakness, for distinguished birth. He had a strong prejudice against
members of the diplomatic corps marrying outside of their countries, and
especially he disapproved of diplomats rushing pell-mell into marriage
with American girls. He had known a few of these feminine American
diplomatists in his time, and there was not one he considered well
fitted for her position. Most of them talked too much; and all of them
dressed too much. Then many of them had shoals of relatives, whom they
insisted on dragging around with them to the various European capitals,
and these relations generally involved them in social battles which were
anything but dignified. On the whole, Sir Percy had fully made up his
mind to marry none but an Englishwoman.
By the time he had reached this point in his reverie he was striding
fast through the woods in the bitter winter dusk towards the town.
Suddenly a woman's face, like a face in a dream, passed before his mind.
The thought of her brought his rapid walk to a dead stop, like a dagger
thrust into his heart. The image of Alicia Vernon rose before
him--Alicia, who was tall and fair, and had a flute-like voice and the
deepest and darkest blue eyes he had ever seen--Alicia, the only child
of the man who had befriended him more than all the men in the
world--General Talbott.
True, he had been but twenty-six years of age when he met Alicia, who
was two years his senior. True, that older and stronger men than he had
succumbed to her beauty, her charm, her courage, her fitness, and her
wantonness. Not one of them, however, but had better excuse than
himself, so thought Sir Percy, his eyes involuntarily cast down with
shame.
When he first met her, Alicia was already married to Guy Vernon, weak,
worthless and rich. Sir Percy remembered, with a flush of
self-abasement, how ready, nay, how eager, he had been to listen to the
plausible stories Alicia told him of Guy Vernon's ill-treatment and
neglect of her. But she had omitted to mention that she had squandered
half of Guy Vernon's fortune within the first three years of their
married life, and had compromised herself with at least half-a-dozen men
since her marriage. True, also, that Alicia and Sir Percy were at a
lonely post among the hills on the Afghan frontier, and that he and Guy
Vernon's wife had been thrown together in an intimacy impossible
anywhere else on the face of the globe. True, again, was it that Alicia
Vernon's flattery had been insidious beyond words. Money was what she
had heretofore required more than anything else on earth except the
enslavement of men. Sir Percy's fortune, however, was only a modest
patrimony, which would scarcely have sufficed for six months for what
Alicia Vernon considered her actual needs.
As she had in reality seduced Sir Percy's honour, so, in a way, was she
herself seduced by his powerful intelligence, by his brilliance and by
his success, which, with a woman's prescience, she felt sure was only
the presage of greater things. She inherited from her father a clear
and trenchant mind, and she readily foresaw that the time would come
when this young Indian civil servant would be heard of by all his world.
She, however, was his first courtier.
It was impossible that a woman so gifted, so complex, so courageous as
Alicia Vernon should not have at least one virtue in excess. That was
her love for her father. False she was to him in many ways, but true
she ever was in love of him. By the exercise of all her intelligence,
and by eternal vigilance, she had succeeded in making General Talbott
believe her the purest, the most injured woman alive. He always called
her "my poor Alicia," and hated her husband with a mortal hatred,
thinking him to have injured the gentlest and sweetest of women.
Sir Percy's infatuation for Alicia Vernon lasted but a few months, and,
through Alicia's woman's wit, was unsuspected by the world, least of all
by General Talbott, who adored his daughter. Then Sir Percy awoke once
more to honour, and pitied the woman and hated himself for the brief
downfall.
It is not every man who beats his breast and throws ashes on his head
who is a true penitent. But no man felt bitterer remorse for his
wrongdoing than did Sir Percy Carlyon. He applied the same judgment to
himself that he did to other men, and while reckoning his fault at its
full wickedness, also reckoned that sincere penitence was not entirely
worthless. He had lived his life to that time of remorse in cheerful
ignorance and a silent defiance of the Great First Cause; but upon the
darkness of his soul stole a ray of light. He began to believe a little
in a personal God, a father, a judge and a school-master who required
justice and obedience of mankind. Sir Percy became secretly a religious
man. He did not go to church any oftener than before, nor did he take
refuge in Bible texts, but the prayer of the publican was often in his
heart, "God be merciful to me a sinner."
After a pause of a minute or two he resumed his quick, swinging walk.
The December night was upon him, although it was not yet six o'clock,
and he had still five miles to tramp before reaching Washington. That
night the initial ball of the season was to be given at the British
Embassy, and Sir Percy was, for the first time, to see the kaleidoscopic
Washington society. His rapid walk stimulated him and enabled him to
put out of his mind that painful and humiliating recollection of his
early lapse, which had lain in hiding for him by night and day, by land
and sea, for ten years past. So long as he had been in Europe Alicia
had not allowed him to forget her, but had tracked him from place to
place. How well he remembered the anger and disgust he felt when she
would suddenly appear--beautiful, charmingly dressed, smiling and
composed--on the terrace at Homburg and challenge him with her eyes! How
hateful became the Court balls at Buckingham Palace when Alicia Vernon,
leaning upon her father's arm, would greet Sir Percy in her seductive,
well-modulated voice, of which he knew and hated every note! How
wearisome became the visits to great country houses when Alicia, as it
so often happened, floated into the drawing-room on the evening of his
arrival, and was generally the most beautiful and most gifted woman
there, with more knowledge of what she should not know than any other
woman present! At least, thought Sir Percy, his spirits rising, he
would be free in Washington from Alicia Vernon's presence. There was not
much here to attract a woman of her type.
By the time the lights of Washington studded the darkness and the tall
apartment-houses, sparkling with electric lights, loomed against the
black sky, Sir Percy was himself again, cheerful, courageous--ready to
meet life with a smile, a sword or a shield, as might be demanded.
*II*
The British Embassy was blazing with light, and the musicians were
tuning their instruments in the ball-room, when Sir Percy came in, a
little before ten o'clock. Lord Baudesert, a handsome, black-eyed and
white-haired man, his breast covered with decorations, was critically
inspecting Mrs. Vereker and the three Vereker girls, Jane, Sarah and
Isabella. All were panic-stricken as Lord Baudesert's keen eyes
travelled from the top of their sandy, abundant hair down to their large
feet encased in white satin slippers.
"I swear, Susan," Lord Baudesert was saying to Mrs. Vereker, a large,
patient, soft-voiced woman, "I believe that black velvet gown you wear
figured at the old Queen's coronation."
"I have only had it ten years, brother," murmured Mrs. Vereker; "and it
is the very best quality of black silk velvet, at thirty shillings the
yard. A black velvet gown never goes out of fashion."
"Not if it belongs to you," answered Lord Baudesert, laughing. "And why
don't you three girls dress like American girls? Your gowns look as if
they had been hung out in the rain and dried before the kitchen fire and
then thrown at you."
Jane, Sarah and Isabella, accustomed to these compliments, only smiled
faintly but Sir Percy, looking Lord Baudesert squarely in the eye,
remarked:
"They don't dress like American girls because they are English girls;
and, for my part, I never could understand how any sane man could prefer
an American to an English girl. As for Aunt Susan's gown, it is very
handsome and appropriate, and she should not pay any attention to your
views on the subject."
Mrs. Vereker looked apprehensively at Sir Percy, whom she regarded as a
superserviceable champion, likely to get her into additional trouble.
"Oh, my dear Percy!" she hastened to say, "Lord Baudesert's taste in
dress is perfect. I am sure I would be as smart as any one if I only
knew how, but we are at the mercy of the dressmakers, and Lord Baudesert
can't understand that."
"Lord Baudesert can understand anything he wants to," answered Sir
Percy, laughing.
Then Lord Baudesert laughed too. Sir Percy's determination not to be
bullied by him was an agreeable sensation to Lord Baudesert, accustomed
as he was to be approached on all fours by the ladies of his family.
The occasion to worry his womankind, however, was too good for Lord
Baudesert, and he began again to his nephew:
"I hope, my dear boy, you will meet a friend of mine to-night--Mrs.
Chantrey--a widow, very handsome, fine old Boston family, with something
like a billion of money."
Mrs. Vereker sighed. Mrs. Chantrey was her rod of scourging, which Lord
Baudesert freely applied. Then, taking his nephew's arm, the Ambassador
walked into the next room, and out of Mrs. Vereker's hearing expressed
his true sentiments.
"You will see American women in full force to-night," he said. "They
are strange creatures, full of _esprit_, and they have brought the art
of dress to the level of a fine art. Be sure to look at their shoes and
their handkerchiefs. I am told that their stockings are works of art.
Don't mind their screeching at you, you will get used to it. There is
great talk of their wonderful adaptability, nevertheless I never saw one
of them whom I really thought was fitted to be the wife of a diplomat.
You needn't pay any attention to the way I talk about Mrs. Chantrey; I
wouldn't marry that woman if she were made of radium at two million
dollars the pound, but it amuses me to worry Susan on the subject."
"That's nice for Aunt Susan," answered Sir Percy--"but on one point my
mind is made up: I shall never marry an American."
"I can tell you one thing," continued Lord Baudesert: "marrying an
American heiress is about the poorest investment any man can make, if he
has an eye to business. In this singular country money is never
mentioned by the bridegroom. That one word 'settlement' would be enough
to make an American father kick any man out of the house. The father,
however, is certain to mention money to his prospective son-in-law. He
demands that everything his daughter's husband has should be settled on
the wife, and generally requires that his future son-in-law's life be
insured for the wife's benefit. Then, whatever the American father has
to give his daughter he ties up as tight as a drum, so that the
son-in-law can't touch it, and everything else the son-in-law may get
depends on his good behaviour. The American girl, having been
accustomed to regard herself as a pearl beyond price, expects her
husband to be a sort of coolie at her command. If he isn't she flies
back to her father, and the father proceeds to cut off supplies from the
son-in-law. Oh, it is a great game, the American marriage, when it is
for high stakes. I take it that it is impossible for any European, even
an Englishman, to get at the point of view of an American father
concerning his daughter."
Then the first violin among the musicians played a few bars of a waltz.
Sarah and Isabella, seeing Lord Baudesert's back turned, waltzed around
together in a corner of the drawing-room. As soon, however, as they
caught Lord Baudesert's eye they left off dancing and scuttled back
under the wing of their mother.
"You seem to have terrorised those girls pretty successfully," remarked
Sir Percy; "why don't you let the poor things have a little
independence?"
"My dear fellow, they wouldn't know what to do with independence if they
had it. They have behind them a thousand years of a civilisation based
upon the submission of an Englishwoman to an Englishman. They would be
like overfed pheasants trying to fly, if they had a will of their own,
and they are happy as they are. They always sing when I am not by. I
annoy Susan occasionally by talking about Mrs. Chantrey. When that lady
is in full canonicals, with all her diamonds, she looks like the Queen
of Sheba in Goldmark's opera. She looks worse than a new duchess at her
first Court."
At that moment the great hall door was opened, and the first guest, a
tall, slight, well-made man, with a trim grey moustache, entered, and
was shown into the dressing-room. Lord Baudesert then took his stand,
or rather his seat, near the door of the drawing-room, with Mrs. Vereker
at his side.
"I always have the gout," he explained to Sir Percy, "at balls. It is
tiresome to stand, and, besides, an Ambassador is entitled to have some
kind of gentlemanly disease of which he can make use upon occasions."
"I am so sorry," said Mrs. Vereker sympathetically to Lord Baudesert,
"that the gout is troubling you this evening. I have not heard you
speak of it for months."
"Haven't had a touch since the last ball," calmly replied Lord
Baudesert, and then he stood up to greet the early guest, who entered
without showing any awkwardness at his somewhat premature arrival.
"Delighted to see you," said Lord Baudesert, with the greatest
cordiality. "It is not often you honour a ball. Let me introduce my
nephew and new Secretary of the Embassy to you--Sir Percy Carlyon,
Senator March."
The two men shook hands, and instantly each received a good impression
of the other.
"The Ambassador must have his joke," said Senator March. "It is true
that I seldom go to balls, nor am I often asked. You see how little I
know of them by my turning up ahead of time. The card said ten o'clock,
and to my rude, untutored mind it seemed as if I were expected at ten
o'clock, and here I am, the sole guest. I don't suppose the smart
people will show up for an hour yet."
"So much the better, for it gives me the chance to talk to you," replied
Lord Baudesert.
Then the three men sat down together and chatted. The conversation was
chiefly between the Ambassador and the Senator. A question concerning
international affairs had been up that day in the Senate, and Senator
March, who was Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations, had
spoken upon it. He gave a brief _resume_ of what he had said, and Lord
Baudesert, in a few incisive sentences, threw a flood of light upon the
subject. Sir Percy listened with interest to what Senator March had to
say. It was his first informal conversation with an American public
man, and he admired the ease, the simplicity and the sublime common
sense with which Senator March handled the complicated question, and so
expressed himself.
"There is no excuse for our treating any question except in the most
sensible, practical manner," answered Senator March. "In Europe you are
shackled with the traditions and customs of a thousand years. You can't
take down even a tottering wall without endangering the whole structure.
With us it is all experimental. Nevertheless, our affairs are no better
managed than yours in England."
Sir Percy at every moment felt more and more the charm of Roger March's
manner and conversation. It was so simple, so manly and so breezy. Nor
was Senator March without appreciation of this clean-limbed, clear-eyed
Englishman. Half an hour passed quickly in animated conversation before
there was another arrival; but then the stream became a torrent. In
twenty minutes the rooms were full and the dancers were skimming around
the ballroom to the thrilling strains of music. Mrs. Chantrey was easily
identified by Sir Percy. She was a big, handsome woman, with an enormous
gown of various fabrics and colours, who so blazed with diamonds that
she looked like a lighthouse.
Sir Percy was not a dancing man, nor did he ever admire dancing as an
art until he saw the soft, slow, rhythmical waltz as danced by
Americans. His duties as assistant host kept him busy, but, like a born
diplomat, he could see a number of things at once and pursue more than
one train of thought at the same time. As he talked to men and women of
many different nationalities, ages and conditions, his eyes wandered
toward the ball-room, where the waltzers floated around. Never in his
life had he seen so many good dancers, particularly among the women.
One girl in particular caught his eye. Her figure was of medium height,
and her black evening gown showed off her exquisite slenderness, the
beautiful moulding of her arms and the graceful poise of her head. Her
face he scarcely noticed, except that she had milk-white skin contrasted
with very dark hair and eyes. She danced slowly, with a motion as soft
as the zephyr at evening time. Sir Percy's eyes dwelt with pleasure
upon her half a dozen times while the waltz lasted. Then came the rapid
two-step, which reminded Sir Percy of a graceful romp. But the
black-haired, white-skinned girl was not then taking part.
The drawing-room grew crowded, and Sir Percy, moving from group to
group, did not go into the ball-room. He was introduced to a great
number of ladies, young, old and middle-aged, and the general impression
made upon him was what he expected of the American woman _en masse_.
Prettiness was almost universal, but beauty of a high order was rare.
One girl alone he reckoned strictly beautiful--Eleanor Chantrey, the
only child of the lady like the lighthouse, but totally unlike her.
Eleanor was tall and fair, and Sir Percy thought he had never seen a
more classic face and nobler bust and shoulders. Her voice, too, was
well modulated, and delicious to hear after the peacock screams of most
of the women around him. Miss Chantrey had both read and travelled
much, and had the peculiar advantage of knowing the best people
everywhere, quite irrespective of the smart set. It soon developed that
she and Sir Percy had mutual friends in England, and had even stayed at
the same great country house, although not at the same time. Her manner
was full of grace and dignity, but with a touch of coldness like a New
England August day. It was quite unlike the English. Eleanor was the
highly prized American daughter, whose value is impressed upon her by
that most insidious form of flattery--the being made much of from the
hour of her birth. Nothing, however, could be farther from assumption
than Eleanor's calm, grave sweetness, with a little touch of pride. Sir
Percy, smiling inwardly, could not but be reminded by this gentle and
graceful American beauty of some royal princess before whom the world
has ever bowed. She was well worth seeking out, however, and Sir Percy,
thinking he was doing the thoroughly American thing, asked Miss Chantrey
if he might, in the name of their mutual friends, call upon her.
"My mother will be very glad to see you, I am sure. We receive on
Tuesdays," she answered, and named a house in the most fashionable
quarter.
A little later Sir Percy found himself standing among a fringe of men
around the ballroom door. The lancers quadrille was being danced, and
once more he noticed the black-haired girl dancing, and this time he was
surprised to see that her partner was Senator March. The Senator went
through the square dance with the gravity and exactness with which he
had learned his steps at a dancing school forty years before. His
partner was no less graceful in the square dance than in the waltz, and
was more unrestrained, making pretty little steps and curtsies and
movements of quick grace, which made her dancing the most exquisite
thing of the kind Sir Percy had ever seen. When the quadrille was over
he suddenly found her standing almost in front of him, laughing and
clinging to Senator March's arm. Her profile, clear cut as a cameo, but
not in the least classic, was directly in front of Sir Percy, and he was
forced to admire her sparkling face. She had not much regular beauty,
but her white skin, contrasted with her black hair, dark eyes and long,
black lashes, was charming. Her mouth was made for laughter and on the
left side was an elusive dimple. Sir Percy hated dimpled women, but he
found himself looking at the girl's mobile face and watching the
appearance and disappearance of this little hiding place of laughter
upon her cheek. And, wonderful to say, she did not screech, but spoke
in a voice that was singularly clear and musical. Some experience of
the American methods of introducing right and left had been Sir Percy's,
and he was not surprised when Senator March laid a hand upon his arm and
whispered:
"May I introduce you to this young friend of mine, Miss Lucy Armytage of
Bardstown, Kentucky? You have heard of Kentucky horses, haven't you?"
"Yes," answered Sir Percy, with the recollection of Iroquois and the
Derby in his mind.
"Very well, the Kentucky horses are not a patch on the Kentucky women."
"In that case," replied Sir Percy, laughing, "may I beg you to introduce
me to Miss Armytage at once?"
Senator March introduced him in due form, and Miss Armytage, holding out
a slim hand, cast down her eyes demurely and murmured that she was glad
to meet him.
"Sir Percy has only lately arrived in America," explained Senator March.
"And has probably never heard of Bardstown, Kentucky," responded Miss
Armytage, suddenly lifting her eyes and fixing them full upon Sir Percy.
"I am afraid," she said meditatively, "that I follow the example of St.
Paul. You know he was always bragging about being Paul of Tarsus, and I
am always bragging that I am Miss Armytage of Bardstown, Kentucky."
"Pray tell me all about Bardstown," said Sir Percy gravely, and Miss
Armytage, in her clear, sweet voice, and with equal gravity, proceeded
to a statistical and historical account of Bardstown, the dimple in her
cheek meanwhile coming and going.
Sir Percy listened, surprised and amused. The affected dryness of what
Miss Armytage was telling was illuminated with little turns and sparkles
of wit; and from Bardstown she proceeded to give, with the utmost
seriousness, a brief synopsis of the history and resources of the State
of Kentucky. Sir Percy grew more and more amused. He perceived that
she was diverting herself with him, a thing no woman had ever done
before. He had heard of American humour, but he did not know that the
women possessed it. He felt sure that Miss Armytage was a real
humourist, and also a sentimentalist when she said, presently:
"I was at a great dinner in New York last week, and as we were sitting
at the table I heard an organ grinder in the street outside playing 'My
Old Kentucky Home,' and while I was listening, and thinking about
Bardstown, two tears dropped into my soup. I never was so ashamed in my
life."
She looked into Sir Percy's eyes with an appealing air, like a child who
knows not whether it is to be rebuked or praised. Her whole air and
manner radiated interest in Sir Percy as she asked softly:
"What do you suppose the other people at the table thought of me?"
Sir Percy answered her as any other man would:
"That you had a very tender heart."
He was charmed with her simplicity, combined with her natural grace. A
moment after a young naval officer came up and claimed Miss Armytage for
a dance. She turned to go with him, but looked backward at Sir Percy
with a glance such as Clytie might have given the departing lord of the
unerring bow. Her glance, quick yet soft, was much the prettiest thing
of the sort Sir Percy had ever seen. He perceived that Miss Armytage
was the typical American girl. However, he was much disgusted, as his
eyes followed Lucy, to see her glancing up into the eyes of Stanley, the
young naval man, with precisely the same look of appealing confidence
with which she had bewitched himself two minutes before. He hated a
coquette with an Englishman's hatred of being trifled with by a woman,
and immediately classified Miss Armytage, of Bardstown, Kentucky, as a
very finished coquette, and concluded not to trouble himself further
about her.
The ball went on merrily, and it was one o'clock in the morning before
the carriages began to drive away from the _porte-cochere_. Among the
last guests to go was Lucy Armytage. Sir Percy was standing in the hall
when Lucy tripped down the stairs and joined an elderly, grey-bearded
man standing near Sir Percy. A long white evening cloak enveloped her
slender figure and a white gauze scarf was upon her soft black hair.
She joined the grey-bearded man, who had on his overcoat and his hat
under his arm, and then she, glancing toward Sir Percy, cried softly:
"I am so glad I met you. May I introduce my uncle? Colonel Armytage,
of Kentucky, Sir Percy Carlyon. My uncle is a member of Congress; in
Kentucky that makes him a colonel, though I can't explain why."
"My dear sir," responded Colonel Armytage, extending a cordial hand, "I
am extremely pleased to meet you, extremely so! I am of unmixed English
descent myself, and quite naturally I look upon our country as the
mother of us all."
Sir Percy tried to imagine a member of Parliament meeting an American as
Colonel Armytage met him, but his imagination was not equal to anything
so extraordinary. He understood, however, and appreciated the frank,
unconventional good-will which animated Colonel Armytage, and replied
with sincere courtesy:
"I am always glad to hear that sentiment from an American, and be
assured we feel the tie of blood as much as you do."
"Some of you do," answered Lucy oracularly, "but some of you don't. I
can tell you a harrowing tale of a little upstart Englishman. Pray
excuse me."
Colonel Armytage scowled at Lucy.
"You must forgive her, my dear sir," he said to Sir Percy; "this child
has a charter to say and to do as she pleases, and Mrs. Armytage and
myself are under bond to obey her. I shall have much pleasure in seeing
you if you will honour me with a call. That, I believe, is the custom
in Washington, but I assure you, sir, in the State of Kentucky, it would
be the native who would call first, and such would be my desire if it
were not for this infernal official etiquette which forbids it. Mrs.
Armytage and my niece receive on Tuesdays," and he named a large
down-town hotel, which had ceased to be fashionable about forty years
before, but still was frequented by Southern and Western
representatives.
Then Lucy nodded and smiled and took Colonel Armytage's arm and was gone
in a moment.
Sir Percy followed Lord Baudesert to the library and joined him in a
cigar and a whisky and soda.
"What do you think of 'em?" asked Lord Baudesert knowingly, and Sir
Percy, understanding that the American ladies were meant, answered:
"Very pretty and very well dressed and very much spoiled, I should
judge. I can't quite make out how much real and how much apparent
cleverness they have."
"No, neither can any one else," replied Lord Baudesert; "they are the
most complex creatures alive. You must readjust all your ideas
concerning the sex when it comes to studying this particular variety.
They are not like Englishwomen, nor Frenchwomen, nor Spanish women, nor
German women, nor Hindoo women, that ever I heard, yet they have some of
the characteristics of all. Having been afraid of women all my
life--except, of course, Susan and her brood--I am more afraid of
American women than any others. Don't marry one, my boy. That's my
advice--but don't tell Susan I say so."
"Trust me," replied Sir Percy confidently, lighting another cigar.
*III*
Sir Percy Carlyon had declined to be domiciled at the British Embassy,
as Lord Baudesert urged, but took modest chambers close at hand. He
found plenty to do, and although he was supposed to be capable of
bullying Lord Baudesert, it was impossible to force the Ambassador to a
regular course of work every day. Sir Percy, however, watched the
chances, and succeeded in getting more out of Lord Baudesert than any
one else had ever done. Moreover, Sir Percy was a _persona grata_ to
Mrs. Vereker and the three girls, not that this mattered to Lord
Baudesert, who, as far as women were concerned, was a natural and
incurable bully and buccaneer. Lord Baudesert was neither bad-tempered
nor bad-hearted, but it cannot be denied that he was a trying person
domestically. It was in vain that Sir Percy reminded his aunt and
cousins that Lord Baudesert had no power of life or death over them and
could not eat them. Mrs. Vereker was horrified at the suggestion that
she should exercise a little personal liberty, and the three girls
thought Sir Percy slightly cracked when he advised them to assert
themselves boldly in the presence of their uncle. On the whole,
however, Sir Percy liked his new outlook upon the world, and considered
that he was now in the sunshine of good fortune.
Mrs. Vereker, Jane, Sarah and Isabella worked hard in the society grind,
and Lord Baudesert was less lazy in social than in official life. Sir
Percy, up to the evening of the ball, had not paid a single visit,
except of an official nature, but on the Tuesday afternoon following he
put on a frock-coat and started out armed with his card case. In front
of his own door he hesitated a moment to think whether he should call on
the Chantreys or the Armytages. Ridiculous to say, Sir Percy had been
haunted by the remembrance of the airy grace, the seductive eyes of this
provincial coquette--for so he classified Lucy Armytage; and, calling
himself a great fool, he turned his steps first towards the down-town
hotel where the Armytages lived. He began to reckon what Lucy's age
might be. She had a peculiar guilelessness of look and voice and manner
which seldom lasts beyond a girl's twenty-first birthday; yet he judged
her to be not less than twenty-five. One thing about her, he admitted,
was adorable--an obvious ignorance of evil, a lovely innocence, which
revealed itself readily to the experienced eyes of a man of the world.
Sir Percy hated knowing women, and that recalled Alicia Vernon. He
doubted if she, even as a young girl, had ever been truly innocent in
mind.
The afternoon was warm and bright, though it was December, and carriages
full of elaborately dressed women were dashing about the streets and
standing in long lines before houses which were open on that day. Sir
Percy found, when he reached the down-town hotel, that visitors were
plentiful there also, and thronged the halls and staircases. He was
shown up to the great public drawing-room, in which lights were already
blazing, and where a bevy of Congressmen's wives and daughters were
holding a joint reception. The huge room was well filled, the ladies
being in the majority. Sir Percy, standing in the doorway, was
searching for Lucy Armytage when a hand was laid upon his arm.
"I am delighted to see you, Sir Percy," said Colonel Armytage. "Lucy
will be delighted, too. She has talked about you incessantly since she
met you."
If the uncle of an English girl had confided to Sir Percy that she had
talked about him incessantly since their first meeting Sir Percy would
have thought it time to ask for leave to hunt big game in the Rockies.
But, being a man of brains, he recognised the mental attitude of Colonel
Armytage, and found himself rather pleased at the thought that this
dark-eyed girl had chatted about him. Probably he was the first
Englishman of his kind she had ever met. The next moment he was being
introduced to Mrs. Armytage, a motherly soul, in a black velvet gown,
which was the twin of Mrs. Vereker's robe of state. A little way off,
Lucy, in a white gown, was talking earnestly with a group of plain,
elderly persons. She turned her head and caught sight of Sir Percy, but
with a little nod and a glint of a smile she continued her conversation,
and even escorted the little group to the door, where she said good-bye.
Then she came up to Sir Percy.
"They were constituents," she said. "They are very nice people at home,
but they are not much accustomed to society, and naturally they feel a
little awkward in a room full of strangers like this. If one takes them
in hand, and is a little pleasant, they are eternally grateful, and will
stand by Uncle Armytage through thick and thin when the nominating
convention is on."
"I see you are a politician," said Sir Percy, looking down at her and
trying to determine whether white or black were more becoming to her
piquant and irregular beauty.
"No; I am a diplomatist, like yourself," replied Lucy, looking up with
laughing, unabashed dark eyes into his face. "My uncle, you see, is not
a diplomatist at all, and neither his worst enemy nor his best friend
could call him a politician. I call him a statesman. He is the dearest
man on earth, but he always acts on his impulses, and that, you know, is
very unwise."
The gravity with which she said this made Sir Percy smile, but Lucy kept
on with the air of an instructress:
"Of course, it is unwise. Imagine Lord Baudesert bolting out the truth
upon every occasion! And that is just what my uncle does. My aunt
thinks him the wisest person in the world, so you see I am the only one
in the family who is capable of any diplomacy at all. Now, as I am
twenty-five years old----"
"So old as that?" said Sir Percy, pretending surprise.
"Twenty-six next birthday," gravely responded Lucy, "and I have learned
a great deal. One thing is, that constituents never forgive one if they
are not shown attention in Washington. I assure you my attentions to
Bardstown people in Washington got my uncle his last nomination. I took
a grocer's daughter round with me sight-seeing, and I gave nine teas in
one month for Bardstown girls. I didn't commit the folly of asking for
invitations for them. Nobody thanks you for introducing the superfluous
girl, and I can't see why one should expect other people to pay one's
social debts. But I paid all my own debts, and made Uncle Armytage do a
lot of things for the Bardstown men who were here, which he said he
hadn't time to do. But I made him find the time. Isn't that
diplomacy?"
"Diplomacy and good sense combined," answered Sir Percy.
He thought he had never seen so expressive a face as Lucy Armytage's.
Every word she uttered seemed to have a corresponding expression of the
eye. Her cheeks were colourless, like the leaves of a white rose, but
her lips were scarlet and showed beautiful and regular teeth. A
charming English girl always reminded Sir Percy of a beautiful rose in
bloom, but this girl was like the star-like jessamine, which grows not
in every garden, its white, mysterious flowers hiding in the depths of
its green leaves and casting its delicious perfume afar. Then Lucy
said, suddenly changing the subject:
"I have been in a dream all day. This morning I went for a walk far
into the country, as I often do, and I took Omar with me."
"Omar?" asked Sir Percy, not quite understanding her.
"'The Rubaiyat,' I mean. Everybody reads it here. It always takes me
into another world. Our life is so vivid, so full of action, so
concerned with to-day, and Omar's world is all peace and dreaming. I
daresay you can read Omar in the original?"
"A little; but I didn't know that Americans liked peace and dreaming."
"Wait until you see more of us. There is Senator March; I must speak to
him."
She turned and went up to Senator March, who had come in and was
standing talking with Mrs. Armytage. Sir Percy remained some minutes
looking at the sight before him. He was reminded of those meetings of
the Primrose League which bring together all manner of men and women.
Meanwhile he was acutely conscious of Lucy's presence, although half the
room separated them. She was indeed like the jessamine flower whose
languorous sweet odour forces one to seek it.
Sir Percy found a few acquaintances, and while talking with them Senator
March made his adieux and came up.
"Come," he said, "my brougham is below; let us take a turn together
round the speedway."
Sir Percy liked the simple friendliness of Senator March's tone and
manner, and readily accepted. As the two men passed along the corridor
of the hotel another man was entering who came up and shook hands with
Roger March. The new-comer carried a satin-lined overcoat on his arm
and his hat in his hand. His appearance was so striking that to see him
once was to remember him. He was of medium height, rather handsome,
with dark hair slightly streaked with grey, a thin-lipped, well-cut
mouth, and eyes of peculiar keenness--the eyes that see everything and
tell nothing. A few pleasant words were exchanged and Senator March and
Sir Percy passed on. Outside, a handsome brougham, with a pair of
impatient horses, was waiting. The two men entered and in a little
while were whirling along the level curve of the boulevard which skirts
the river. The sun was sinking redly, and the water was wine-coloured,
in the old Homeric phrase. The air was like champagne, with a sharpness
in it brought by the breeze from the inland sea a hundred miles away.