HOME IN STYLE
'He must be mad!' said Granville, flourishing a telegram in his hand.
'He must be very fond of her,' Lady Bligh replied, simply.
Granville held the telegram at arm's length, and slowly focussed it
with his eyeglass. He had already declaimed it twice, once with horror
in his voice, once with a running accompaniment of agreeable raillery.
His third reading was purely compassionate, in accordance with his
latest theory regarding the mental condition of the sender.
'"Arrived both well. Chartered launch take us Gravesend Twickenham;
show her river. Join us if possible Westminster Bridge 3
o'clock.--Alfred."'
Granville sighed.
'Do you comprehend it, dear mother? I think I do, at last, though the
prepositions _are_ left to the imagination. He has saved at least
twopence over those prepositions--which, of course, is an item, even
in a ten-pound job.'
'You don't mean to say it will cost him ten pounds?'
'Every penny of it: it would cost you or me, or any ordinary person,
at least a fiver. I am allowing for Alfred's being let in rather
further than any one else would be.'
'At all events,' said Lady Bligh, 'you will do what he asks you; you
will be at Westminster at the time he mentions?'
Granville shrugged his shoulders. 'Certainly, if you wish it.'
'I think it would be kind.'
'Then I will go, by all means.'
'Thank you--and Granville! I do wish you would give up sneering at
your brother's peculiarities. He _does_ do odd and impulsive things,
we know; and there is no denying the extravagance of steaming up the
river all the way from Gravesend. But, after all, he has money, and no
doubt he wants to show his wife the Thames, and to bring her home in
a pleasant fashion, full of pleasant impressions; and upon my word,'
said Lady Bligh, 'I never heard of a prettier plan in my life! So go,
my dear boy, and meet them, and make them happier still. If that is
possible, no one could do it more gracefully than you, Gran!'
Granville acknowledged the compliment, and promised; and punctually at
three he was at Westminster Bridge, watching with considerable
interest the rapid approach of a large launch--a ridiculously large
one for the small number of people on board. She had, in fact, only
two passengers, though there was room for fifty. One of the two was
Alfred, whose lanky figure was unmistakable at any distance; and the
dark, straight, strapping young woman at his side was, of course,
Alfred's wife.
The meeting between the brothers was hearty enough, but it might have
been more entirely cordial had there been a little less effusiveness
on one side--not Granville's. But Alfred--who was dressed in rough
tweed clothes of indeterminate cut, and had disfigured himself with a
beard--was so demonstrative in his greeting that the younger brother
could not help glancing anxiously round to assure himself that there
was no one about who knew him. It was a relief to him to be released
and introduced to the Bride.
'Gladys, this is Gran come to meet us--as I knew he would--like the
brick he is, and always was!'
Gran was conscious of being scrutinised keenly by the finest dark eyes
he had ever encountered in his life; but the next moment he was
shaking his sister-in-law's hand, and felt that it was a large hand--a
trifling discovery that filled Granville with a subtile sense of
satisfaction. But the Bride was yet to open her lips.
'How do you do?' she said, the olive tint of her cheek deepening
slightly. 'It was awfully nice of you to come; I _am_ glad to see
you--I have heard such lots about you, you know!'
It was said so glibly that the little speech was not, perhaps, exactly
extempore: and it was spoken--every word of it--with a twang that, to
sensitive ears like Granville's, was simply lacerating. Granville
winced, and involuntarily dropped his eyeglass; but otherwise he kept
a courteous countenance, and made a sufficiently civil reply.
As for Alfred, he, of course, noticed nothing unusual in his wife's
accents; he was used to them; and, indeed, it seemed to Granville that
Alfred spoke with a regrettable drawl himself.
'You've got to play showman, Gran,' said he, when some natural
questions had been hurriedly put and tersely answered (by which time
they were opposite Lambeth Palace). 'I've been trying, but I'm a poor
hand at it; indeed, I'm a poor Londoner, and always was: below
Blackfriars I was quite at sea, and from here to Richmond I'm as
ignorant as a brush.'
'No; he's no good at all,' chimed in the Bride, pleasantly.
'Well, I'm not well up in it, either,' said Gran, warily.
This was untrue, however. Granville knew his Thames better than most
men--it was one of the things he _did_ know. But he had a scholar's
reverence for classic ground; and in a young man who revered so very
little, this was remarkable, if it was not affectation. Granville
would have suffered tortures rather than gravely point out historic
spots to a person whose ideas of history probably went no farther back
than the old Colonial digging days; he would have poured sovereigns
into the sea as readily as the coin of sacred associations into
Gothic ears. At least, so he afterwards said, when defending his
objection to interpreting the Thames for his sister-in-law's benefit.
'What nonsense!' cried Alfred, good-humouredly. 'You know all about
it--at all events, you used to. There--we've gone and let her miss
Lambeth Palace! Look, dear, quick, while it's still in sight--that's
where the Archbishop of Canterbury hangs out.'
'Oh,' said Gladys, 'I've heard of _him_.'
'And isn't that Cheyne Walk, or some such place, that we're coming to
on the right there?' said Alfred.
'Yes,' said Granville, briefly; 'that's Cheyne Walk.'
Luckily the Bride asked no questions--indeed, she was inclined to be
silent--for of all localities impossible to discuss with an uneducated
person, Granville felt that Chelsea and Cheyne Walk were the most
completely out of the question. And that the Bride was a sadly
uneducated person was sufficiently clear, if only from her manner of
speaking. Granville accepted the fact with creditable equanimity--he
had prophesied as much--and sat down to smoke a cigarette and to
diagnose, if he could, this new and wonderful dialect of his
sister-in-law. It was neither Cockney nor Yankee, but a nasal blend of
both: it was a lingo that declined to let the vowels run alone, but
trotted them out in ill-matched couples, with discordant and awful
consequences; in a word, it was Australasiatic of the worst
description. Nor was the speech of Alfred free from the taint--Alfred,
whose pronunciation at least had been correct before he went out;
while the common colloquialisms of the pair made Granville shudder.
'If I did not hope for such surprisingly good looks,' said he to
himself, 'yet even _I_ was not prepared for _quite_ so much vulgarity!
Poor dear Alfred!'
And Granville sighed, complacently.
Yet, as she leant upon the rail in the summer sunlight, silent and
pensive, there was certainly no suggestion of vulgarity in her
attitude; it was rather one of unstudied grace and ease. Nor was there
anything at all vulgar in the quiet travelling dress that fitted her
tall full form so closely and so well. Nor was her black hair cut down
to within an inch of her eyebrows--as, of course, it should have
been--or worn in a fringe at all. Nor was there anything the least
objectionable in the poise of the small graceful head, or in the
glance of the bold dark eyes, or in the set of the full, firm, crimson
lips; and thus three more excellent openings--for the display of
vulgarity--were completely thrown away. In fact, if she had never
spoken, Granville would have been at a loss to find a single fault in
her. Alas! about her speech there could be no two opinions--it
bewrayed her.
Presently Alfred sat down beside his brother, and began to tell him
everything, and did all the talking; while the Bride still stood
watching the shifting panorama of the banks, and the golden sunlight
upon the water, and the marvellous green of all green things. It was
practically her first experience of this colour. And still she asked
no questions, her interest being perhaps too intense; and so the
showman-business was forgotten, to the great relief of Granville; and
the time slipped quickly by. At last--and quite suddenly--the Bride
clapped her hands, and turned with sparkling eyes to her husband: they
had entered that splendid reach below Richmond, and the bridges were
in sight, with the hill beyond.
'I give this best!' she cried. 'It _does_ knock spots out of the
Yarra and the Murray after all!'
Alfred glanced uneasily at his brother, but found an impassive face.
'Come, old fellow,' said Alfred, 'do your duty; jump up and tell her
about these places.'
So at last Granville made an effort to do so; he got up and went to
the side of the Bride; and presently he was exercising a discreet if
not a delicate vein of irony, that was peculiarly his own.
'That was Kew we passed just now--you must see the gardens there,' he
said; 'and this is Richmond.'
'Kew and Richmond!' exclaimed the Bride, innocently. 'How rum! We have
a Kew and a Richmond in Melbourne.'
'Ah!' said Gran. 'I don't fancy the theft was on our side. But look at
this gray old bridge--picturesque, isn't it?--and I dare say you have
nothing like it out there. And there, you see--up on the left
yonder--is Richmond Hill. Rather celebrated, Richmond Hill: you may
have heard of it; there was a lass that lived there once.'
'Yes--what of her?'
'Oh, she was neat and had sweet eyes--or sweet, with neat eyes--I
really forget which. And there was a somebody or other who said he'd
resign any amount of crowns--the number wasn't specified--to call her
his. He was pretty safe in saying that--unless, indeed, he meant
crown-_pieces_--which, now I think of it, would be rather an original
reading.'
'Alfred,' said the Bride abruptly, 'are we nearly there?'
'Not far off,' said Alfred.
Granville bit his lip. 'We are very nearly there,' he said; 'this is
the beginning of Twickenham.'
'Then where's the Ferry?' said the Bride. 'I know all about
"Twickenham Ferry"; we once had a storekeeper--a new chum--who used to
sing about it like mad. Show it me.'
'There, then: it crosses by the foot of the island: it's about to
cross now. Now, in a minute, I'll show you Pope's old place; we don't
go quite so far--in fact, here we are--but you'll be able just to see
it, I think.'
'The Pope!' said Gladys. 'I never knew _he_ lived in England!'
'No more he does. Not _the_ Pope--_Pope_; a man of the name of Pope:
a scribbler: a writing-man: in fact, a poet.'
The three were leaning over the rail, shoulder to shoulder, and
watching eagerly for the first glimpse of the Judge's retreat through
the intervening trees. Granville was in the middle. The Bride glanced
at him sharply, and opened her lips to say something which--judging by
the sudden gleam of her dark eyes--might possibly have been rather too
plain-spoken. But she never said it; she merely left Granville's side,
and went round to the far side of her husband, and slipped her hand
through his arm. Granville walked away.
'Are we there?' whispered Gladys.
'Just, my darling. Look, that's the house--the one with the tall trees
and the narrow lawn.'
'_Hoo-jolly-ray!_'
'Hush, Gladdie! For Heaven's sake don't say anything like that before
my mother! There she is on the lawn, waving her handkerchief. We'll
wave ours back to her. The dear mother! Whatever you do, darling girl,
don't say anything of that sort to _her_. It would be Greek to my
mother and the Judge, and they mightn't like it.'