While they are all very kind here, there is that asphyxiating
atmosphere of stiffness and decorum which affects every one who comes
to Tryland. A sort of “The gold must be tried by fire, and the heart
must be wrung by pain” kind of suggestion about everything.
They are extraordinarily cheerful, because it is a Christian virtue,
cheerfulness; not because they are brimming over with joy, or that
lovely feeling of being alive, and not minding much what happens, you
feel so splendid, like I get on fine days.
Everything they do has a reason or a moral in it. This party is because
pheasants have to be killed in November--and certain people have to be
entertained, and their charities can be assisted through them. Oh! if I
had a big house, and were rich, I would have lovely parties, with all
sorts of nice people, because I wanted to give them a good time and
laugh myself. Lady Verningham was talking to me just before tea, when
the second train load arrived.
I tried to be quite indifferent, but I did feel dreadfully excited when
Lord Robert walked in. Oh! he looked such a beautiful creature, so
smart, and straight, and lithe!
Lady Katherine was frightfully stiff with him; it would have
discouraged most people, but that is the lovely part about Lord Robert,
he is always absolutely _sans gêne_!
He saw me at once, of course, and came over as straight as a die the
moment he could.
“How do, Robert!” said Lady Verningham, looking very surprised to see
him, and giving him her fingers in such an attractive way. _How_ are
you here? And why is our Campie not? Thereby hangs some tale, I feel
sure!”
“Why, yes!” said Lord Robert, and he held her hand. Then he looked at
me with his eyebrows up. “But won’t you introduce me to Miss Travers?
to my great chagrin she seems to have forgotten me!”
I laughed, and Lady Verningham introduced us, and he sat down beside
us, and every one began tea.
Lady Verningham had such a look in her eye!
“Robert, tell me about it!” she said.
“I hear they have five thousand pheasants to slay,” Lord Robert
replied, looking at her with his innocent smile.
“Robert, you are lying!” she said, and she laughed. She is so pretty
when she laughs, not very young, over thirty I should think, but such
a charm! As different as different can be from the whole Montgomerie
family!
I hardly spoke, they continued to tease one another, and Lord Robert
ate most of a plate of bread and butter that was near.
“I am dam’d hungry, Lady Ver!” he said. She smiled at him; she
evidently likes him very much.
“Robert! you must not use such language here!” she said.
“Oh, doesn’t he say them often! those dams!” I burst out, not thinking
for a moment--then I stopped, remembering. She did seem surprised.
“So you have heard them before! I thought you had only just met
casually!” she said, with such a comic look of understanding, but not
absolutely pleased. I stupidly got crimson, it did annoy me, because
it shows so dreadfully on my skin. She leant back in her chair, and
laughed.
“It is delightful to shoot five thousand pheasants, Robert,” she said.
“Now, isn’t it?” replied Lord Robert. He had finished the bread and
butter.
Then he told her she was a dear, and he was glad something had
suggested to Mr. Campion that he would have other views of living for
this week.
“You are a joy, Robert!” she said, “but you will have to behave here.
None of the tricks you played at Fotherington in October, my child.
Aunt Katherine would put you in a corner. Miss Travers has been here a
week, and can tell you I am truthful about it.”
“Indeed, _yes!_” I said.
“But I _must_ know how you got here,” she commanded.
Just then, fortunately, Malcolm, who had been hovering near, came up
and joined us, and would talk too; but if he had been a table, or a
chair, he could not have mattered less to Lord Robert! He is quite
wonderful! He is not the least rude, only perfectly simple and direct,
always getting just what he wants, with rather an appealing expression
in his blue eyes. In a minute or two he and I were talking together,
and Malcolm and Lady Verningham a few yards off. I felt so happy. He
makes one like that, I don’t know for what reason.
“Why did you look so stonily indifferent when I came up,” he asked. “I
was afraid you were annoyed with me for coming.”
Then I told him about Lady Katherine, and my stupidly not having
mentioned meeting him at Branches.
“Oh! then I stayed with Christopher after you left--I see,” he said.
“Had I met you in London?”
“We won’t tell any stories about it. They can think what they please.”
“Very well!” he laughed. “I can see I shall have to manœuvre a good
deal to talk quietly to you here, but you will stand with me, won’t
you, out shooting to-morrow!”
I told him I did not suppose we should be allowed to go out, except
perhaps for lunch--but he said he refused to believe in such cruelty.
Then he asked me a lot of things about how I had been getting on, and
what I intended to do next. He has the most charming way of making one
feel that one knows him very well, he looks at one every now and then
straight in the eyes, with astonishing frankness. I have never seen any
person so quite without airs, I don’t suppose he is ever thinking a bit
the effect he is producing. Nothing has two meanings with him like with
Mr. Carruthers. If he had said I was to stay and marry him, I am sure
he would have meant it, and I really believe I should have stayed!
“Do you remember our morning packing?” he said, presently, in such a
caressing voice. “I was so happy, weren’t you?”