Ruben Sên let himself in with his latchkey, threw his hat and gloves on
the hall table, and strolled to the little morning-room which usually
was his downstairs “den” when he was at home in Kensington, and stood
aghast in its door.
Roland Curtis was smoking in the biggest lounge chair.
“Hello!” Curtis remarked.
“Hello!” Ruben replied.
“Been waiting for you since two. Billings said you’d be home to lunch.”
“Told him I would. Sorry. Hope they gave you some.” Ruben felt far
more kindly towards Curtis now that the danger of having him for a
brother-in-law was over.
Curtis nodded. “Looked after me all right. Off to Africa--or somewhere.
Wanted a talk with you first.”
“I turned into the Academy--hadn’t had a squint at the pictures this
year. I got interested, and let lunch slide.”
“I wish I’d never seen the place,” Curtis remarked dejectedly.
“Didn’t care for it this year?”
“The Academy? Never care for it; don’t know why the devil I let Tom
Gaylor drag me in there. I got into plenty of trouble going there this
time. Shan’t go again--you watch it.”
“Ran into your biggest creditor, or ran your walking stick through a
thousand guinea canvas?” Ruben inquired sympathetically. He was not
interested in what evil had befallen Curtis at Burlington House; but
the other seemed in need of conversational assistance. Sir Charles had
spoken respectfully of Roland as an athlete, but Roland did not look
athletic at the moment; he looked limp and worried.
“Haven’t got a creditor. Can’t afford ’em. Can’t poke sticks through
the pictures; take ’em away from you at the door,” Curtis retorted,
nothing if not literal.
“Oh--so they do,” Sên admitted apologetically.
“It was worse than that. Creditors and accidental damages can be
squared with £ _s._ _d._ Some things can’t. This can’t.”
“What can’t?” Ruben lit a cigarette and seated himself. He didn’t see
Curtis getting to the point very quickly, or dealing with it briefly
when he did get to it.
“Me. I can’t. The way I’m feeling about it, and am going to go on
feeling about it--don’t you know.”
“Feeling about what?”
“Ivy. Supposed you knew. She won’t have me.”
So Curtis _had_ proposed to Ivy, and, of all places, at Burlington
House!
“Shan’t even ask her,” Roland continued. “Got the sack, and know it.
Not going to bother Ivy any--too fond of her. She showed me where I got
off. I got off. My word--I wish I’d never seen the bally Academy. Catch
me going there again! Not if the Queen tried to take me. I’ll watch it.
What! The King and the Archbishop of Canterbury couldn’t get me there
again.”
Sên smiled. He did not picture Her Majesty leading Roland by the hand
through the rooms of Burlington House, still less the Sovereign himself
dragging the reluctant and protesting Curtis through those picture-hung
galleries. And he had never heard a suggestion more irresistibly funny
than Roland Curtis and the Archbishop of Canterbury arm in arm.
“If I hadn’t been a soft sheep and let Tommie Gaylor drag me in there
that day I might never have seen Ivy. If I hadn’t seen her, it wouldn’t
have happened, would it! We met there--the three of us, and your mother
introduced us. And my fat was jolly well in the fire soon after, I can
tell you, don’t you know. Ivy didn’t like me, and she was mad enough
at Gaylor to eat him. It was awkward. I lit off as soon as I could.
Promised your mater I’d call. Didn’t mean to do it. Hadn’t fallen in
love with Ivy then; too jolly awkward what had happened inside--I had
put my foot in it, I can tell you--about a picture, and so had Gaylor.”
Ruben had no idea of what Curtis was babbling, except that he first
had met Ivy at the Academy; neither had he any curiosity; and the last
thing he wished to do was to sidetrack his troubled visitor into a
recital of details that would still more prolong a stay which promised
not to be brief at best.
Mr. Curtis babbled on. “Had to say I’d be delighted to call. Didn’t
have to mean it. Wild horses weren’t going to make me do it either.
But Ivy wrote me a note. Got it yet. Had to call then. Didn’t want
to--scared stiff, don’t you know. Went. Had to. My word--I didn’t
stay away much after that. Lord! Less’n a week I was head over heels.
Thought she liked me too. No end nice to me. I walked on air. Smelled
roses all the time--smelled orange blossoms too--that’s the sort of
fool I was! God knows what I didn’t run myself into at my tailor’s.
Lord! And, she’d have had me, ’pon my word I believe she would! It was
running along lovely until last Friday!”
Ruben looked up, suddenly interested. It was last Friday that their
mother had insisted that Ivy’s cryptic announcement could mean but one
thing--a very vital thing; that Ivy had met some other man who had
attracted her strongly.
“We were on the river last Friday--your cousins the Blakes, Ivy, me,
two or three others. Ran into Gaylor on an island. We landed. He was
mooning about there all by his lonesome. Punted out all alone. Funny
thing for a chap to do--I ask you. What’s the good of the river without
a girl, unless you’re racing or training, I ask you. What!
“I thought he’d make tracks. He didn’t; he stuck. He joined up. I
thought Ivy would freeze him out. Ivy did nothing of the sort. Her eyes
flashed when she saw who he was--she remembered him all right. Her
eyes flashed--and then she crumpled. Gaylor crumpled too--never saw
Tommie Gaylor crumple before. It was a case. I got off the train then
and there. No more hope for me than if I’d been--been--a signpost or a
tadpole.”
Much of that was Greek to Ruben Sên, but what he did understand fitted
in with his mother’s conclusion on Friday.
“Who is Gaylor?” he questioned.
“A better man than I am. Better in every way. I didn’t come here to
bleat to you, old boy. Tommie’s one of the best. They are both in luck,
you can take it from me. But I’ve got to clear. Can’t stand it here
just now. Going to try to exchange into one of the Indian regiments--or
get a year’s leave. That’s what I want to see you about. Let’s go
somewhere together--have a long shoot somewhere. What?”
It was Sên’s turn to exclaim, “I’ll watch it.” He did, silently but
most emphatically.