_Saturday afternoon, Nov. 5th._
THIS morning I woke with a headache, to see the rain beating against
my windows, and mist and fog--a fitting day for the fifth of November.
I would not go down to breakfast. Véronique brought me mine to my
sitting-room fire, and, with Spartan determination, I packed steadily
all the morning.
About twelve a note came up from Lord Robert; I paste it in:
“DEAR MISS TRAVERS,--Why are you hiding? Was I a bore last night? Do
forgive me and come down. Has Christopher locked you in your room? I
will murder the brute if he has!
“Yours very sincerely,
“ROBERT VAVASOUR.”
“Can’t, I am packing,” I scribbled in pencil on the envelope, and gave
it back to Charles, who was waiting in the hall for the answer. Two
minutes after Lord Robert walked into the room, the door of which the
footman had left open.
“I have come to help you,” he said in that voice of his that sounds so
sure of a welcome you can’t snub him; “but where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” I said, a little forlornly, and then bent down and
vigorously collected photographs.
“Oh, but you can’t go to London by yourself!” he said, aghast. “Look
here, I will come up with you, and take you to my aunt, Lady Merrenden.
She is such a dear, and I am sure when I have told her all about you
she will be delighted to take care of you for some days until you can
hunt round.”
He looked such a boy, and his face was so kind, I was touched.
“Oh no, Lord Robert! I cannot do that, but I thank you. I don’t want
to be under an obligation to any one,” I said firmly. “Mr. Carruthers
suggests a way out of the difficulty--that I should marry him, and stay
here. I don’t think he means it really, but he pretends he does.”
He sat down on the edge of a table already laden with books, most of
which overbalanced and fell crash on the floor.
“So Christopher wants you to marry him, the old fox!” he said,
apparently oblivious of the wreck of literature he had caused. “But you
won’t do that, will you? And yet I have no business to say that. He is
a dam-- good friend, Christopher.”
“I am sure you ought not to swear so often, Lord Robert, it shocks me,
brought up as I have been,” I said, with the air of a little angel.
“Do I swear?” he asked, surprised. “Oh no, I don’t think so--at least
there is no ‘n’ to the end of the ‘dams,’ so they are only an innocent
ornament to conversation. But I won’t do it, if you don’t wish me to.”
After that he helped me with the books, and was so merry and kind I
soon felt cheered up, and by lunch time all were finished, and in
the boxes ready to be tied up, and taken away. Véronique, too, had
made great progress in the adjoining room, and was standing stiff and
_maussade_ by my dressing-table when I came in. She spoke respectfully
in French, and asked me if I had made my plans yet, for, as she
explained to me, her own position seemed precarious, and yet having
been with me for five years, she did not feel she could leave me at
a juncture like this. At the same time she hoped Mademoiselle would
make some suitable decision, as she feared (respectfully) it was “_une
si drole de position pour une demoiselle du monde_,” alone with “_ces
messieurs_.”