'A COMPETITION-WALLAH.'
Ainsi doit être
Un petit-maître;
Léger, amusant,
Vif, complaisant,
Plaisant,
Railleur aimable,
Traître adorable;
C'est l'homme du jour,
Fait pour l'amour.
One of the stupid things that people do in India is to select the two
hottest hours of the day for calling on each other. How such an idiotic
idea first found its way into existence, by what strange fate it became
part of the social law of Anglo-Indians, and how it is that no one has
yet been found with courage or strength enough to break down a custom so
detrimental to the health and comfort of mankind, are among the numerous
mysteries which the historian of India must be content to leave
unsolved. Like Chinese ladies' feet, the high heels on which fashionable
Europe at present does penance, suttee of Hindu widows, and infanticide
among the Rajpoot nobles, it is merely a curious instance that there is
nothing so foolish and so disagreeable that human beings will not do or
endure if it only becomes the fashion.
At any rate, the ladies and gentlemen of Dustypore were resolved not to
be a whit less fashionable and uncomfortable than their neighbours, and
religiously exchanged visits from twelve to two.
Maud's arrival was the signal for a burst of callers, and a goodly
stream of soldiers and civilians arrived day by day to pay their homage
to the newly-arrived beauty and her chaperon. Felicia's house was always
popular, and all that was pleasantest and best in Dustypore assembled at
her parties. Young London dandies fresh from home, and exploring the
Sandy Tracts under the impression of having left the _Ultima Thule_ of
civilisation far behind them, were sometimes startled to find her
drawing-room as full of taste, luxury, and refinement as if they had
suddenly been transported to Eaton Square.
What is the nameless grace that some women have the art of putting into
chairs and tables, which turns them from mere bits of upholstery into
something hardly short of poetry? How is it that in some rooms there
breathes a subtle charm, an aroma of delicacy and culture, a propriety
in the behaviour of the sofas and ottomans to one another, a pleasant
negligence apparent through the general order, a courageous simplicity
amid elaborated comfort, which, in the absence of the mistress, tells
the expectant visitor that he is about to meet a thoroughbred lady?
Some such fascination, at any rate, there lingered about the cool,
carefully-shaded room in which Felicia received her guests. It was by no
means smart, and not especially tidy, for it was often invaded and
occupied by a victorious horde from the nursery, and bore many a sign of
the commonplace routine of daily life. But to Felicia's friends it was
an enchanted abode, where a certain refuge might be found from whatever
disagreeable things or people prevailed outside, and where Felicia, who,
whatever she might feel, always looked calm and radiant and cool,
presided as the _genius loci_, to forbid the possibility of profane
intrusion.
One thing that made it picturesque was that at all times and seasons it
abounded in flowers. Felicia was an enthusiastic gardener, and her
loving skill and care could save many a tender plant which would, in a
less experienced hand, have withered and sunk under the burning heat and
dust that prevailed everywhere but in the confines of Felicia's kingdom.
Her garden gave her a more home-like feeling than any other Indian
experience. It refreshed her to go out early in the morning, while the
children were yet asleep, and the sun's rays had barely surmounted the
tall rows of plantains that marked the garden's boundary, and guarded
her treasures from the sultry air. It soothed her to superintend ferns
and roses, cuttings from some Himalayan shrub, or precious little
seedlings from England. By dint of infinite care she had created a patch
of turf, which, if not quite as green, fresh and dewy as the lawn at
home, was at any rate a rest to eyes weary with dazzling wastes and the
bright blazing air. There Felicia had a shady corner, where pots and
sticks and garden-tools attested the progress of many a new gardening
experiment, and where the water forced up from the well at the garden's
end went rippling by with a pleasant sound, cooling and softening all
the air around. Oftentimes, as she lingered here, her fancies would
wander to the pleasant Manor House, where her taste for flowers had been
acquired in her father's company, and she would be again fern-hunting
with him through some cool mossy woodland, or roaming through a paradise
of bluebells, with the well-loved beeches towering overhead, while the
sweet summer evening died slowly away.
Early amongst the visitors Mr. Desvoeux was announced, and Felicia, when
she saw his card, told Maud that she would be sure now to be very much
amused.
'He is the most brilliant of all the young civilians,' she said, 'and is
to do great things. But he talks great nonsense and abuses everybody. So
do not be astonished at anything you hear.'
'And is he nice?' inquired Maud.
Felicia made a little face, not altogether of approval:
'Well,' she said, 'he is more curious than nice;' and then Desvoeux made
his appearance, and while he was exchanging preliminary commonplaces
with Felicia, Maud had an opportunity of observing the visitor's
exterior claims, which were not inconsiderable, to the regard of
womankind.
He was certainly, Maud felt at once, extremely handsome and, apparently,
extremely anxious to be thought so. The general effect which he produced
was that of a poetical dandy. He was dressed with a sort of effeminate
finery, with here and there a careless touch which redeemed it all from
utter fopdom. He was far too profusely set about with pretty things,
lockets and rings and costly knickknacks; on the other hand his
handkerchief was tied with a more than Byronic negligence. The flower in
his button-hole was exquisite, but it was stuck in with a carelessness
which, if studied, was none the less artistic. On the whole he was
over-dressed; but he walked into the room with the air of a man who had
forgotten all about it, and who had no eyes or thoughts for anything
but his present company.
Maud soon began to think him very entertaining, but, as Felicia had
said, 'curious.' He was full of fun, extravagant, joyous,
unconventional; he had turned, after the first few sentences, straight
upon Maud and pointedly invited her into the conversation; and she soon
felt her spirits rising.
'I saw you this morning,' he said, 'in the distance, riding with Sutton.
I should have asked to be allowed to join you, but that I was too shy,
and Sutton would have hated me for spoiling his _tête-à-tête_.'
'Three is an odious number, is it not, Mr. Desvoeux?' said Felicia, 'and
should be expunged from the arithmetic books. Why was it ever invented?'
'In order, I suppose,' said Desvoeux, 'that we three might meet this
morning, and that there might be three Graces and three witches in
Macbeth, and three members of the Salt Board. Three is evidently a
necessity; but when I am of the trio, and two of us are men, I confess I
don't like it. It is so nice to have one's lady all to one's self. But,
Miss Vernon, you are alarmed, I know, and naturally; you think that I am
going to ask, what I suppose fifty people have been asking you all the
week, whether you enjoyed the voyage to India, and how you like the
looks of Dustypore. But I will be considerate, and spare you. Enjoyed
the voyage, indeed! What a horrid mockery the question seems!'
'But I _did_ enjoy it,' cried Maud; 'so you see that you might have
asked me after all. It was very exciting.'
'Yes, all the excitement of wondering every day what new mysteries of
horror the ship's cooks will devise for dinner; whether the sinews of
Sunday's turkey can rival those of Saturday's goose; the excitement of
going to bed in the dark and treading on a black-beetle; the excitement
of shaving in a gale of wind and cutting one's nose off, as I very
nearly did; the excitement of the young ladies who are expecting their
lovers at Bombay, and of the young ladies who will not wait till Bombay
but manufacture their lovers out of hand. It is too thrilling!'
'Well,' said Maud, 'we had theatricals and readings and dances, and a
gentleman who played the most lovely variations on the violin, and I
enjoyed it all immensely!'
'Ah,' said Desvoeux, as if suddenly convinced, 'then perhaps you are
even capable of liking Dustypore!'
'Poor Mr. Desvoeux!' said Felicia; 'how sorry you must be to have
finished your march, and be back again at stupid Dustypore!'
'No place is stupid where Mrs. Vernon is,' said Desvoeux, gallantly;
'or rather no place would be, if she were not so often "not at home."'
'That must be,' Felicia said, 'because you call on mail-days, when I am
busy with my home despatches.'
The real truth was that Felicia considered Desvoeux in need of frequent
setting down, and closed her door inhospitably against him, whenever he
showed the least inclination to be intimate.
'Well,' said Desvoeux, 'the days that you are busy with your despatches
and when I have written the Agent's, I do not find it lively, I admit.
Come, Mrs. Vernon, the Fotheringhams, for instance--does not the very
thought of them leave a sort of damp upon your mind? It makes one
shudder.' Then Desvoeux passed on to the other officials, upon whom he
poured the most vehement contempt.
The Salt Board, he told Maud, always from time immemorial consisted of
the three greatest fogies in the Service; that was the traditionary
rule; it was only when you were half-idiotic that you could do the work
properly. As for Mr. Fotheringham, he was a lucky fellow; his idiocy had
developed early and strong.
'That is why Mrs. Vernon detests him so.'
'I don't detest him at all,' said Felicia; 'but I think him rather
dull.'
'Yes,' said Desvoeux, with fervour; 'as Dr. Johnson said of some one,
he was, no doubt, dull naturally, but he must have taken a great deal of
pains to become as dull as he is now. Now, Miss Vernon, would you like
to see what the Board is like? First, you must know that I am the
Agent's private secretary, and part of my business is to knock his and
their heads together and try to get a spark out. That is how I come to
know about them. First I will show you how Vernon puts on his air of
Under-Secretary and looks at me with a sort of serious, bored, official
air, as if he were a bishop and thought I was going to say something
impertinent.'
'As I dare say you generally are,' said Felicia, quite prepared to do
battle for her husband.
'Well,' said Desvoeux, 'this is how he sits and looks--gravity and
fatigue personified.'
'Yes,' cried Maud, clapping her hands with pleasure; 'I can exactly
fancy him.'
'Then,' continued Desvoeux, who was really a good mimic and warming
rapidly into the work, 'in comes the Board. First Fotheringham,
condescending and serene and wishing us all "Good-morning," as if he
were the Pope dispensing a blessing. You know his way--like this? Then
here is Cockshaw, looking sagacious, but really pondering over his last
night's rubber, and wishing the Board were finished.'
Felicia was forced to burst out laughing at the imitation.
'And now,' cried Maud, 'give us Mr. Blunt.'
Desvoeux put on Blunt's square awkward manner and coughed an imprecatory
cough.
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'your figures are wrong, your arguments false and
your conclusions childish. I don't want to be offensive or personal, and
I have the highest possible opinion of your service; but you must allow
me to observe that you are all a pack of fools!'
'Capital,' cried Maud; 'and what do you do all the time, Mr.
Desvoeux?'
'Oh, Vernon and I sit still and wink at each other and hope for the time
when we shall have become idiotic enough to be on the Board ourselves.
We are of the new _régime_, and are supposed to have wits, and we have a
great deal of intelligence to get over. But you know how the old ones
were chosen. All the stupidest sons of the stupidest families in England
for several generations, like the pedigree-wheat, you know, on the
principle of selection; none but the blockheads of course would have
anything to do with India.'
'Don't abuse the bridge that carries you over,' Felicia said: 'No
treason to India--it has many advantages.'
'Innumerable,' cried Desvoeux: 'first, a decent excuse for separation
between husbands and wives who happen to be uncongenial--no other
society has anything to compare with it. You quarrel, you know----'
'No, we don't,' said Felicia, 'thank you. Speak for yourself.'
'Well, I quarrel with Mrs. Desvoeux, we'll say--though, by the way, I
could not quarrel even with my wife--but suppose a quarrel, and we
become mutually insupportable: there is no trouble, no scandal, no
inconvenience. Mrs. Desvoeux's health has long required change of air; I
secure a berth for her on the P. & Q., escort her with the utmost
politeness to Bombay, have a most affectionate parting, remit once a
quarter, write once a fortnight--what can be more perfect?'
'But suppose,' said Maud, 'for the sake of argument, that you don't
quarrel and don't want to separate?'
'Or suppose,' said Felicia, who knew that the conversation was taking
just the turn she hated, 'that we try our duet, Mr. Desvoeux? You know
that you are a difficult person to catch.'
'That is one of your unjust speeches,' said Desvoeux, dropping his voice
as they approached the piano and becoming suddenly serious: 'You know
that I come quite as often as I think I have a chance of being
welcome.'
Felicia ignored the remark and began playing the accompaniment with the
utmost unconcern. The fact was that Desvoeux, though not quite such a
Don Juan as he liked to be thought, had a large amount of affection to
dispose of, and had given Felicia to understand upon twenty occasions
that he would like to begin a flirtation with her if he dared.