She looked at him an instant. "I won't tell you the reason I shall
give."
"Oh, I shall learn it from others."
"I hope you'll like it when you do!" said Mary, with sudden gaiety; and
she added frankly though kindly the hope that he might soon light upon
some young person who would really meet his requirements. He replied
that he shouldn't be in a hurry--that was now just the comfort; and she,
as if thinking over to the end the list of arguments against his clumsy
contrivance, broke out: "And of course you mustn't dream of giving me
anything--any tokens or presents."
"Then it won't look natural."
"That's exactly what I say. You can't make it deceive anybody."
"I _must_ give you something--something that people can see. There must
be some evidence! You can simply put my offerings away after a little
and give them back." But about this Mary was visibly serious; she
declared that she wouldn't touch anything that came from his hand, and
she spoke in such a tone that he coloured a little and hastened to say:
"Oh, all right, I shall be thoroughly careful!" This appeared to
complete their understanding; so that after it was settled that for the
deluded world they were engaged, there was obviously nothing for him to
do but to go. He therefore shook hands with her very gratefully and
departed.
V
He was able promptly to assure his accomplice that their little plot was
working to a charm; it already made such a difference for the better.
Only a week had elapsed, but he felt quite another man; his life was no
longer spent in springing to arms and he had ceased to sleep in his
boots. The ghost of his great fear was laid, he could follow out his
inclinations and attend to his neglected affairs. The news had been a
bomb in the enemy's camp, and there were plenty of blank faces to
testify to the confusion it had wrought. Every one was "sold" and every
one made haste to clap him on the back. Lottie Firminger only had
written in terms of which no notice could be taken, though of course he
expected, every time he came in, to find her waiting in his hall. Her
mother was coming up to town and he should have the family at his ears;
but, taking them as a single body, he could manage them, and that was a
detail. The Ashburys had remained at Bosco till that establishment was
favoured with the tidings that so nearly concerned it (they were
communicated to Maud's mother by the housekeeper), and then the
beautiful sufferer had found in her defeat strength to seek another
asylum. The two ladies had departed for a destination unknown; he didn't
think they had turned up in London. Guy Firminger averred that there
were precious portable objects which he was sure he should miss on
returning to his country home.
He came every day to Chester Street, and was evidently much less bored
than Mary had prefigured by this regular tribute to verisimilitude. It
was amusement enough to see the progress of their comedy and to invent
new touches for some of its scenes. The girl herself was amused; it was
an opportunity like another for cleverness such as hers and had much in
common with private theatricals, especially with the rehearsals, the
most amusing part. Moreover she was good-natured enough to be really
pleased at the service it was impossible for her not to acknowledge that
she had rendered. Each of the parties to this queer contract had
anecdotes and suggestions for the other, and each reminded the other
duly that they must at every step keep their story straight. Except for
the exercise of this care Mary Gosselin found her duties less onerous
than she had feared and her part in general much more passive than
active. It consisted indeed largely of murmuring thanks and smiling and
looking happy and handsome; as well as perhaps also in saying in answer
to many questions that nothing as yet was fixed and of trying to remain
humble when people expressed without ceremony that such a match was a
wonder for such a girl. Her mother on the other hand was devotedly
active. She treated the situation with private humour but with public
zeal and, making it both real and ideal, told so many fibs about it that
there were none left for Mary. The girl had failed to understand Mrs.
Gosselin's interest in this elaborate pleasantry; the good lady had seen
in it from the first more than she herself had been able to see. Mary
performed her task mechanically, sceptically, but Mrs. Gosselin attacked
hers with conviction and had really the air at moments of thinking that
their fable had crystallised into fact. Mary allowed her as little of
this attitude as possible and was ironical about her duplicity; warnings
which the elder lady received with gaiety until one day when repetition
had made them act on her nerves. Then she begged her daughter, with
sudden asperity, not to talk to her as if she were a fool. She had
already had words with Hugh about some aspects of the affair--so much as
this was evident in Chester Street; a smothered discussion which at the
moment had determined the poor boy to go to Paris with Bolton-Brown. The
young men came back together after Mary had been "engaged" three weeks,
but she remained in ignorance of what passed between Hugh and his mother
the night of his return. She had gone to the opera with Lady Whiteroy,
after one of her invariable comments on Mrs. Gosselin's invariable
remark that of course Guy Firminger would spend his evening in their
box. The remedy for his trouble, Lord Beaupré's prospective bride had
said, was surely worse than the disease; she was in perfect good faith
when she wondered that his lordship's sacrifices, his laborious
cultivation of appearances should "pay."
Hugh Gosselin dined with his mother and at dinner talked of Paris and of
what he had seen and done there; he kept the conversation superficial
and after he had heard how his sister, at the moment, was occupied,
asked no question that might have seemed to denote an interest in the
success of the experiment for which in going abroad he had declined
responsibility. His mother could not help observing that he never
mentioned Guy Firminger by either of his names, and it struck her as a
part of the same detachment that later, up stairs (she sat with him
while he smoked), he should suddenly say as he finished a cigar:
"I return to New York next week."
"Before your time? What for?" Mrs. Gosselin was horrified.
"Oh, mamma, you know what for!"
"Because you still resent poor Mary's good-nature?"
"I don't understand it, and I don't like things I don't understand;
therefore I'd rather not be here to see it. Besides I really can't tell
a pack of lies."
Mrs. Gosselin exclaimed and protested; she had arguments to prove that
there was no call at present for the least deflection from the truth;
all that any one had to reply to any question (and there could be none
that was embarrassing save the ostensible determination of the date of
the marriage) was that nothing was settled as yet--a form of words in
which for the life of her she couldn't see any perjury. "Why, then, go
in for anything in such bad taste, to culminate only in something so
absurd?" Hugh demanded. "If the essential part of the matter can't be
spoken of as fixed nothing is fixed, the deception becomes transparent
and they give the whole idea away. It's child's play."
"That's why it's so innocent. All I can tell you is that practically
their attitude answers; he's delighted with its success. Those dreadful
women have given him up; they've already found some other victim."
"And how is it all to end, please?"