AN AWKWARD QUESTION
"You think they really liked it, then?"
"How could they help it? It was such a delightful idea of yours, and I
am sure all that you said was so simple and yet suggestive. Good-night,
Mr. Brooks."
They stood in the doorway of the Secular Hall, where Brooks had just
delivered his lecture. It seemed to him that her farewell was a little
abrupt.
"I was going to ask," he said, "whether I might not see you home."
She hesitated.
"Really," she said, "I wish you would not trouble. It is quite a long
way, and I have only to get into a car.
"The further the better," he answered, "and besides, if your uncle is at
home I should like to come in and see him."
She made no further objection, yet Brooks fancied that her acquiescence
was, to some extent, involuntary. He walked by her side in silence for
a moment or two, wondering whether there was indeed any way in which he
could have offended her.
"I have not seen you," he remarked, "since the evening of your
dinner-party."
"No!"
"You were out when I called."
"I have so many things to do--just now. We can get a car here."
He looked at it.
"It is too full," he said. "Let us walk on for a little way. I want to
talk to you."
The car was certainly full, so after a moment's hesitation she
acquiesced.
"You will bring your girls again, I hope?" he asked.
"They will come I have no doubt," she answered. "So will I if I am in
Medchester."
"You are going away?"
"I hope so," she answered. "I am not quite sure."
"Not for good?" Possibly."
"Won't you tell me about it?" he asked.
"Well--I don't know!"
She hesitated for a moment.
"I will tell you if you like," she said, doubtfully. "But I do not wish
anything said about it at present, as my arrangements are not complete."
"I will be most discreet," he promised.
"I have been doing a little work for a woman's magazine in London, and
they have half promised me a definite post on the staff. I am to hear
in a few days as to the conditions. If they are satisfactory--that is
to say, if I can keep myself on what they offer--I shall go and live in
London."
He was surprised, and also in a sense disappointed. It was astonishing
to find how unpleasant the thought of her leaving Medchester was to him.
"I had no idea of this," he said, thoughtfully. "I did not know that
you went in for anything of the sort."
"My literary ambitions are slight enough," she answered. "Yet you can
scarcely be surprised that I find the thought of a definite career and a
certain amount of independence attractive."
He stole a sidelong glance at her. In her plainly made clothes and quiet
hat she was scarcely, perhaps, a girl likely to attract attention, yet
he was conscious of certain personal qualities, which he had realized
and understood from the first. She carried herself well, she walked
with the free graceful movements of a well-bred and healthy girl. In
her face was an air of quiet thought, the self-possession of the woman
of culture and experience. Her claim to good looks was, after all,
slight enough, yet on studying her he came to the conclusion that she
could if she chose appear to much greater advantage. Her hair, soft and
naturally wavy, was brushed too resolutely back; her smile, which was
always charming, she suffered to appear only at the rarest intervals.
She suggested a life of repression, and with his knowledge of the
Bullsom menage he was able to surmise some glimmering of the truth.
"You are right," he declared. "I think that I can understand what your
feeling must be. I am sure I wish you luck."
The touch of sympathy helped her to unbend. She glanced towards him
kindly.
"Thank you," she said. "Of course there will be difficulties. My uncle
will not like it. He is very good-natured and very hospitable, and I am
afraid his limitations will not permit him to appreciate exactly how I
feel about it. And my aunt is, of course, merely his echo."
"He will not be unreasonable," Brooks said. "I am sure of that. For a
man who is naturally of an obstinate turn of mind I think your uncle is
wonderful. He makes great efforts to free himself from all prejudices."
"Unfortunately," she remarked, "he is very down on the independent
woman. He would make housekeepers and cooks of all of us."
"Surely," he protested, with a quiet smile, "your cousins are more
ambitious than that. I am sure Selina would never wear a cooking-apron,
unless it had ribbon and frilly things all over it."
She laughed.
"After all, they have been kind to me," she said. "My mother was the
black sheep of the family, and when she died Mr. Bullsom paid my
passage home, and insisted upon my coming to live here as one of the
family. I should hate them to think that I am discontented, only the
things which satisfy them do not satisfy me, so life sometimes becomes a
little difficult."
"Have you friends in London?" he asked.
"None! I tried living there when I first came back for a few weeks, but
it was impossible."
"You will be very lonely, surely. London is the loneliest of all great
cities."
"Why should I not make friends?"
"That is what I too asked myself years ago when I was articled there,"
he answered. "Yet it is not so easy as it sounds. Every one seems to
have their own little circle, and a solitary person remains so often
just outside. Yet if you have friends--and tastes--London is a
paradise. Oh, how fascinating I used to find it just at first--before
the chill came. You, too, will feel that. You will be content at first
to watch, to listen, to wonder! Every type of humanity passes before
you like the jumbled-up figures of a kaleidoscope. You are content even
to sit before a window in a back street--and listen. What a sound that
is--the roar of London, the voices of the street, the ceaseless hum, the
creaking of the great wheel of humanity as it goes round and round. And
then, perhaps, in a certain mood the undernote falls upon your ear, the
bitter, long-drawn-out cry of the hopeless and helpless. When you have
once heard it, life is never the same again. Then, if you do not find
friends, you will know what misery is."
They were both silent for a few minutes. A car passed them unnoticed.
Then she looked at him curiously.
"For a lawyer," she remarked, "you are a very imaginative person."
He laughed.
"Ah, well, I was talking just then of how I felt in those days. I was a
boy then, you know. I dare say I could go back now to my old rooms and
live there without a thrill."
She shook her head.
"What one has once felt," she murmured, "comes back always."
"Sometimes only the echo," he answered, "and that is weariness."
They walked for a little way in silence. Then she spoke to him in an
altered tone.
"I have heard a good deal about you during the last few weeks," she
said. "You are very much to be congratulated, they tell me. I am sure
I am very glad that you have been so fortunate."
"Thank you," he answered. "To tell you the truth, it all seems very
marvellous to me. Only a few months ago your uncle was almost my only
client of importance."
"Lord Arranmore was your father's friend though, was he not?"
"They came together abroad," he answered, "and Lord Arranmore was with
my father when he died in Canada."
She stopped short.
Where?
"In Canada, on the banks of Lake Ono, if you know where that is," he
answered, looking at her in surprise.
She resumed her usual pace, but he noticed that she was pale.
"So Lord Arranmore was in Canada?" she said. "Do you know how long
ago?"
"About ten years, I suppose," he answered. "How long before that I do
not know."
She was silent for several minutes, and they found themselves in the
drive leading to the Bullsom villa. Brooks was curious.
"I wonder," he asked, "whether you will tell me why you are interested
in Lord Arranmore--and Canada?"
"I was born in Montreal," she answered, "and I once saw some one very
much like Lord Arranmore there. But I am convinced that it could only
have been a resemblance."
"You mentioned it before--when we saw him in Mellor's," he remarked.
"Yes, it struck me then," she admitted. "But I am sure that Lord
Arranmore could not have been the person whom I am thinking about. It
is ridiculous of me to attach so much importance to a mere likeness."
They stood upon the doorstep, but she checked him as he reached out for
the bell.
"You have seen quite a good deal of him," she said. "Tell me what you
think of Lord Arranmore." His hand fell to his side. He stood under the
gas-bracket, and she could see his face distinctly. There was a slight
frown upon his forehead, a look of trouble in his grey eyes.
"You could not have asked me a more difficult question," he admitted.
"Lord Arranmore has been very kind to me, although my claim upon him has
been of the slightest. He is very clever, almost fantastic, in some of
his notions; he is very polished, and his manners are delightful. He
would call himself, I believe, a philosopher, and he is, although it
sounds brutal for me to say so, very selfish. And behind it all I
haven't the faintest idea what sort of a man he is. Sometimes he gives
one the impression of a strong man wilfully disguising his real
characteristics, for hidden reasons; at others, he is like one of those
brilliant Frenchmen of the last century, who toyed and juggled with
words and phrases, esteeming it a triumph to remain an unread letter
even to their intimates. So you see, after all," he wound up, "I cannot
tell you what I think of Lord Arranmore."
"You can ring the bell," she said. "You must come in for a few
minutes."
Their entrance together seemed to cause the little family party a
certain amount of disturbed surprise. The girls greeted Brooks with a
great show of pleasure, but they looked doubtfully at Mary.
"Did you meet at the front door?" Selina asked. "I thought I heard
voices." Brooks was a little surprised.
"Your cousin brought her class of factory girls to my lecture to-night
at the Secular Hall."
Selina's eyes narrowed a little, and she was silent for a moment. Then
she turned to her cousin.
"You might have told us, Mary," she exclaimed, reproachfully. "We
should so much have liked to come, shouldn't we, Louise?"
"Of course we should," Louise answered, snappishly. "I can't think why
Mary should go off without saying a word."
Mary looked at them both and laughed. "Well," she said, "I have left
the house at precisely the same time on 'Wednesday evenings all through
the winter, and neither of you have said anything about coming with me."
"This is quite different," Selina answered, cuttingly. "We should very
much have enjoyed Mr. Brooks' lecture. Do tell us what it was about."
"Don't you be bothered, Brooks," Mr. Bullsom exclaimed, hospitably.
"Sit down and try one of these cigars. We've had supper, but if you'd
like anything--"
"Nothing to eat, thanks," Brooks protested. "I'll have a cigar if I
may."
"And a whisky-and-soda, then," Mr. Bullsom insisted. "Say when!"
Brooks turned to Selina. Mary had left the room. "You were asking
about the lecture," he said. "Really, it was only a very unpretentious
affair, and to tell you the truth, only intended for people whose
opportunities for reading have not been great. I am quite sure it would
not have been worth your while to come down. We just read a chapter or
so from A Tale of Two Cities, and talked about it."
"We should have liked it very mulch," Selina declared. "Do tell us when
there is another one, will you?"
"With pleasure," he answered. "I warn you, though, that you will be
disappointed."
"We will risk that," Selina declared, with a smile. "Have you been to
Enton this week?"
"I was there on Sunday," he answered.
"And is that beautiful girl, Lady Sybil Caroom, still staying there?
"Yes," he answered. "Is she very beautiful, by the bye?"
"Well, I thought men would think so," Selina said, hastily. "I think
that she is just a little loud, don't you, Louise?"
Louise admitted that the idea had occurred to her.
"And her hair--isn't it badly dyed?" Selina remarked. "Such a pity.
It's all in patches."
"I think girls ought not to make up in the street, either," Louise
remarked, primly. "A little powder in the house is all very
well"--(Louise had a nose which gave her trouble)--"but I really don't
think it looks respectable in the street."
"I suppose," Selina remarked, "you men admire all that sort of thing,
don't you?
"I really hadn't noticed it with Lady Sybil," Brooks admitted.
Selina sighed.
"Men are so blind," she remarked. "You watch next time you are close to
her, Mr. Brooks."
"I will," he promised. "I'll get her between me and a window in a
strong north light."
Selina laughed.
"Don't be too unkind," she said. "That's the worst of you men. When
you do find anything out you are always so severe."
"After all, though," Louise remarked, with a sidelong glance, "it must
be very, very interesting to meet these sort of people, even if one
doesn't quite belong to their set. I should think you must find every
one else quite tame, Mr. Brooks."
"I can assure you I don't," he answered, coolly. "This evening has
provided me with quite as pleasant society as ever I should wish for."
Selina beamed upon him.
"Oh, Mr. Brooks, you are terrible. You do say such things!" she
declared, archly.
Louise laughed a little hardly.
"We mustn't take too much to ourselves, dear," she said. "Remember that
Mr. Brooks walked all the way up from the Secular Hall with Mary."
Mr. Bullsom threw down his paper with a little impatient exclamation.
"Come, come!" he said. "I want to have a few words with Brooks myself,
if you girls'll give me a chance. Heard anything from Henslow lately,
eh?"
Brooks leaned forward.
"Not a word!" he answered.
Mr. Bullsom grunted.
"H'm! He's taken his seat, and that's all he does seem to have done. To
have heard his last speech here before polling time you would have
imagined him with half-a-dozen questions down before now. He's letting
the estimates go by, too. There are half-a-dozen obstructors, all
faddists, but Henslow, with a real case behind him, is sitting tight.
'Pon my word, I'm not sure that I like the fellow."
"I ventured to write to him the other evening," Brooks said, "and I have
sent him all the statistics we promised, he seems to have regarded my
letter as an impertinence, though, for he has never answered it."
"You mark my words," Mr. Bullsom said, doubling the paper up and
bringing it down viciously upon his knee, "Henslow will never sit again
for Medchester. There was none too mulch push about him last session,
but he smoothed us all over somehow. He'll not do it again. I'm losing
faith in the man, Brooks."
Brooks was genuinely disturbed. His own suspicions had been gathering
strength during the last few weeks. Henslow had been pleasant enough,
but a little flippant after the election. From London he had promised
to write to Mr. Bullsom, as chairman of his election committee, mapping
out the course of action which, in pursuance of his somewhat daring
pledges, he proposed to embark upon. This was more than a month ago,
and there had come not a single word from him. All that vague distrust
which Brooks had sometimes felt in the man was rekindled and increased,
and with it came a flood of bitter thoughts. Another opportunity then
was to be lost. For seven years longer these thousands of pallid,
heart-weary men and women were to suffer, with no one to champion their
cause. He saw again that sea of eager faces in the market-place, lit
with a sudden gleam of hope as they listened to the bold words of the
man who was promising them life and hope and better things. Surely if
this was a betrayal it was an evil deed, not passively to be borne.
Mr. Bullsom had refreshed himself with whisky-and-water, and decided
that pessimism was not a healthy state of mind.
"I tell you what it is, Brooks," he said, more cheerfully. "We mustn't
be too previous in judging the fellow. Let's write him civilly, and if
nothing comes of it in a week or two, we will run up to London, you and
me, eh? and just haul him over the coals."
"You are right, Mr. Bullsom," Brooks said. "There is nothing we can do
for the present."
"Please don't talk any more horrid politics," Selina begged. "We want
Mr. Brooks to give us a lesson at billiards. Do you mind?"
Brooks rose at once.
"I shall be charmed!" he declared.
Mr. Bullsom rose also.
"Pooh, pooh!" he said. "Brooks and I will have a hundred up and you can
watch us. That'll be lesson enough for you."
Selina made a little grimace, but they all left the room together. In
the hall a housemaid was speaking at the telephone, and a moment
afterwards she laid the receiver down and came towards them.
"It is a message for Mr. Brooks, sir, from the Queen's Hotel. Lord
Arranmore's compliments, and the ladies from Enton are at the theatre
this evening, and would be glad if Mr. Brooks would join them at the
Queen's Hotel for supper at eleven o'clock."
Brooks hesitated, but Mr. Bullsom spoke up at once.
"Off you go, Brooks," he said, firmly. "Don't you go refusing an
invitation like that. Lord Arranmore is a bit eccentric, they say, and
he isn't the sort of man to like refusals. You've just got time."
"They had the message two hours ago, and have been trying everywhere to
find Mr. Brooks," the housemaid added.
Selina helped him on with his coat.
"Will you come another evening soon and play billiards with us?" she
asked, dropping her voice a little.
"With pleasure," Brooks answered. "Do you mind saying good-bye to your
cousin for me? I am sorry not to see her again."