Amber Severn read the announcement in one of the papers the next
morning that a marriage was arranged and would shortly take place
between Mr. Ernest Clifton, fifth son of the late Constantine Clifton
of The Elms, Lynnthorpe, Esq., and Josephine, only daughter of the Right
Honourable J. Carew West, Under Secretary of State for the Department of
Arbitration.
She gave an exclamation of surprise, and this was followed by one that
suggested irritation. She was more than irritated, she felt that she had
lost a friend--her dearest friend. She had always known that Josephine
was somewhat reticent about her own affairs for an ideal friend; but the
notion of her being in love with Mr. Clifton and carefully refraining
from giving a hint to any one of the state of her heart was past all
bearing.
And yet she remembered now having had once or twice during the previous
six months, a suspicion that if Josephine inclined to look on any man
of their acquaintance with especial favour that man was Mr. Clifton.
She might have guessed but what about Pierce Winwood? What about her
father’s subtle suggestions as to the possibility of Josephine’s looking
with eyes of favour on Pierce Winwood? What about that Monday morning
when they had come into the house together talking with guilty fluency
about a reaping machine that was painted blue and delicately picked out
with vermillion?
“I will never--never trust to the evidence of my own eyes again,” she
cried, remembering the look of exultation on Mr. Winwood’s face upon
that morning. She also made up her mind that she would never again in
matters of this sort trust to the evidence of her father’s experience,
even though conveyed to her in the choicest and most enigmatical
language ever employed by him. Her father had shown a desire to
encourage the bringing about of a match between Josephine and Pierce;
and indeed he had proved his possession of some of the qualities of the
fully equipped match-maker, which she took to be a cheery readiness to
assume the rôle of a sort of boarding-house Providence, and a complete
faith in the influence of propinquity upon opposing natures.
She would never again trust to her father’s judgment. He knew too much
about electricity.
She had an opportunity of telling him so, but she refrained from doing
so: if he lacked judgment there was no reason for her to attempt to
consolidate his views on heredity by so indiscreet an act. She pointed
out the paragraph to him when he came down to breakfast but made no
comment upon it. No one since the world began ever regarded an absence
of comment as an indiscretion.
“But it takes my breath away,” said Sir Creighton. “Heavens! just think
of it--Clifton--Ernest Clifton, the wire-puller. What can she possibly
see... oh, after all... a curious coincidence, isn’t it, that this
talk should be just now about her father getting a seat in the Cabinet?
But I can’t for the life of me see where Clifton comes in. He has no
power of that sort, whatever may be ascribed to him as an organiser in
the country. He could be of no use to West, for his seat is a perfectly
safe one. And we thought...”
“_You_ did, at any rate,” said Amber.
“I did--I admit it. I thought--I hoped. It would have come out so well.
I might have been able to give him a helping hand.”
“To give Mr. Winwood a helping hand?”
“I thought it just possible if the worst came to the worst. But I
suppose the business is settled in the other quarter. We can do nothing
now.”
“Of course one can do nothing when the announcement has appeared in the
papers.” Amber was disposed to take the same view of Providence and
the papers as was taken by the Under Secretary for the Arbitration
Department. They both appeared to regard the newspaper announcement as
a sort of civil ceremony, quite as binding as the one which follows the
singing of “The Voice that breathed o’er Eden.”
“I confess that I am surprised,” continued Amber. “But I suppose one’s
friends never do marry the people one allots to them. Still, there was
no reason for Josephine to be so secret.”
“Was there not?” said her father. “Take my word for it, if a woman is
ever secret it is only under the severest pressure.”
Amber smiled. Applying her father’s aphorism to herself, she refrained
from expressing what she thought on the subject of her father’s
knowledge of woman’s nature.
But beyond doubt Sir Creighton took deeply to heart the frustration of
his incipient efforts as a matchmaker. His daughter was surprised at his
head-shakings and his thoughtful pauses--at his general abstraction. She
knew enough of him to be well aware that it was not his own work
which disturbed him: he was accustomed to made merry over the little
aberrations of adapted electricity, just as some fathers (with trusted
memories) make merry over the vagaries of their sons, and as some
women (with a sense of humour) can smile at the fringes of their
under-housemaids. It was perfectly clear that Sir Creighton was
profoundly discouraged at the failure of his attempt to make Josephine
and Pierce fall in love, each with each. He felt as if Fate had openly
sneered at him and he was looking about for a way of retaliating. So
much at least his daughter gathered from his manner, and his frank
admissions. The frank admissions of a man count for something in any
honest endeavour that one may make to determine what is on his mind.
“Do you know what a straight flush is, my dear?” he enquired as he
rose from the table. “I thought that I had the joker,” he added
thoughtfully--regretfully.
(He was the best poker player in the Royal Society.)
Amber had herself been thinking out a scheme of retaliation, and it
was directed against her friend who had been reticent to a point of
unfriendliness. A friend should be permitted to share her friend’s
infirmities but Josephine had left her to read the announcement of her
engagement in the papers. After some thought she came to the conclusion
that she would be out when Josephine should call. She took it for
granted that Josephine intended to call, and so made arrangements for
going to the Technical School of Literature immediately after lunch. She
would have gone before lunch--for she had not been latterly so regular
an attendant as Mr. Richmond could have wished--but that for the fact
that her mother had asked Lord Lullworth to drop in and have lunch with
them, and Amber’s scheme of retaliation did not go so far as to compass
the personal slighting of even the least of her mother’s guests.
And Lord Lullworth came.
He was really very amusing, and sometimes very nice; but he was both
during lunch; it was when that refection was over, and Lady Severn had
gone into an inner room to write out a commission--it had something to
do with the matching of sewing-silks--for her daughter to execute in
Regent Street that Lord Lullworth ceased to be amusing because he began
to be funny. He told Amber that he didn’t mind being one of the literary
arbitrators on the Aunt Dorothy competition, should such be set on foot
at the Technical School. Would dear Aunt Dorothy tell him what was the
colour of Adam’s grey mare? Would she hazard a reply to the query, under
the heading of “Our Feathered Pets” as to whether the white goose or
the grey goose was the gander? Also could she supply some information
respecting the man who had the twenty-six sheep--twenty sick sheep,
mind--and when one of them died how many were left?
“I will not have my hobby made fun of,” said Amber. “It would do you all
the good in the world to come to the school.”
“I believe it would,” he said, after a pause, “and I do believe that
I’ll come; but it won’t be for the sake of the show, but just because
you are there. Now, a fortnight ago I would have laughed at the idea
of going to such a show, so I think that you’ll agree with me in what I
said about love growing. I really feel that mine is becoming quite grown
up. He has got too big for his sailor suit, and I’ll have to get him
measured for an Eton jacket. I wonder if you have been thinking over the
possibilities that I placed before you that day.”
“Of course I thought over them. Why shouldn’t I?” said Amber.
“And do they appear so ridiculous now as they did then?”
“Not nearly so ridiculous,” she replied. “One gets used to things.
Really there’s nothing I like better than to hear that you will be some
place where I am going. I have--yes, I have got really to like you.”
“You never thought of wishing to have me for a brother, did you?” he
asked apprehensively.
“Oh, never--never--I give you my word--never!” she cried, and he
breathed freely once more.
“Thank goodness! Then I’ve still got a chance. If you had ever felt that
you would like me for a brother I would put on my hat and skip. Do you
know that you are encouraging me?”
“Of course I know it. I meant to encourage you, just to see what will
come of it.”
“You’ll see. I should like to encourage you. It will take a deal of
encouragement to bring you on so that we may start scratch; because, you
know, I--I really do believe that I’m on the verge of being in love with
you.”
“I would not go on any further, until I catch you up.”
“If I thought you would one day.”
“I really think that I shall--one day. There is nothing like getting
used to an idea. I thought that I should never get reconciled to the
notion of a lover--a lover seems so _banal_--and yet already I--yes, I
like it. You see, I’m wondering what will come of it. I was born in
a laboratory atmosphere. My father made his first great discovery in
electricity the day I was born--that’s why he called me Amber--Amber is
the English for the Greek word _electron_, and that’s the origin of the
word electricity, you know.” He looked at her admiringly. “You don’t
need much to go to any school,” said he. “Just fancy your knowing all
that! By the way, don’t you forget that it’s in the bargain that I’m to
let you know if I find myself properly in love with you--seriously, I
mean.”
“It will be so interesting,” said she. “I’m dying to see what will
be the result of our experiment. I wonder does it matter about my not
thinking you good-looking.”
He caught her hand. She flushed.
“Do you not think me good-looking?” he asked. “Well, really, to be
candid with you--and of course it’s in the ‘rules’ that we are both to
be candid, I think you anything but--but--good gracious! what has come
over me? Only yesterday I was thinking about you and I thought of you
as being quite plain; but now--now that I come to look at you, I declare
that you seem good-looking--positively good-looking! You have good eyes.
I don’t suppose you ever told a lie in your life.”
“That’s going from a question of eyes to ethics, isn’t it; but whether
or not I ever had imagination enough to tell a whopper, I am telling the
truth now when I say that I have come to the conclusion that you are the
nicest girl I ever met as well as being the most beautiful--that’s why I
tried to. You see I always thought you the most beautiful--that’s why I
tried to avoid meeting you for a long time--I was afraid that I would be
disillusioned, as they call it.”
“And you were not?”
“On the contrary I think that--that we’re on the eve of a very
interesting experiment--that’s how the newspapers would define the
situation of the moment.”
“After all nothing may come of it.” There was a suspicion of a sigh in
her delivery of the phrase.
“Are you taking what you would call an optimistic view of the matter?”
he asked.
She actually flushed again--very slightly--as she said:
“The scientific atmosphere in which I was born forbids optimism or
pessimism. I wish to remain neutral.”
“I shall make no attempt to bias your judgment one way or another,” said
he.
Lady Severn returned to the room and gave her daughter her instructions
regarding the silks.
“I wish you would let me do it for you, Lady Severn,” said Lord
Lullworth seriously. “I have to go to Bond Street anyway, and my horse
wants exercise.” Amber turned round and stared at him; her mother
laughed. Then Amber put the patterns of silk into one of his hands, and
crying, “Let him do it: he really wants to do it,” she ran out of the
room.
“I want to have a chat with you, my dear Lady Severn,” said he. “It
was you who were good enough to ask me to lunch, and yet I’ve hardly
exchanged a word with you.”
“Nothing would delight me more,” said Lady Severn. “I will intrust
you with my commission, but it will do any time in the course of the
afternoon. We can have our chat first.”
And they had their chat.
It was while it was in progress Amber was sitting at her desk in the
Technical Schoolroom listening to Mr. Owen Glendower’s enunciation of
the problem in plots which was to serve as an exercise for his pupils.
Amber, in her haste to retaliate upon Josephine’s secrecy by being
absent when she should call, arrived at the class-room several
minutes too soon. She had, however, upon a former occasion, made the
acquaintance of the earnest American girl whose name was Miss Quartz
Mica Hanker--she was said to be worth some ten million (dollars)--and
now she had a pleasant little talk with her.
At first Amber hesitated approaching her, for today, Miss Hanker was
dressed in deep mourning. She, however, smiled invitingly towards Amber,
and Amber crossed the class-room to her.
“I fear that you have suffered a bereavement,” said Amber in the hushed
voice that suggests sympathy.
“Oh, no; at least not recently; but you must surely remember that this
is the anniversary of the death of King James the Third,” said Miss
Hanker.
“Oh, King James the Third?” said Amber. “But there never was a James the
Third of England.”
“That is the fiction of the Hanoverians,” said Miss Hanker scornfully.
“But we know better. I am the Vice-President of the White Rose Society
of Nokomis County, Nebraska, and we are loyal to the true dynasty. We
decline to acknowledge any allegiance to the distant branch at present
in occupation of the Throne. The rightful Queen to-day is the Princess
Clementina Sobieska.”
“I thought that the Pretender--” began Amber.
“The Pretender!” cried Miss Hanker still more scornfully. “He pretended
nothing. I am going to separate pretence and the Pretender once and
for all when I write my novel--‘The White Rose.’ I came to this side to
learn how to do it. I find Owen Glen-dower Richmond very helpful. He has
royal blood in his veins--plenty of it. He may be on the throne of Wales
yet. Miss Amber, I don’t desiderate a Civil war, but when my novel comes
out if the British don’t turn round and put the Princess Clementina
Sobieska on their Throne, they are not the people I have been told they
are. I don’t advocate extreme measures, but loyalty is loyalty, and the
American people are true Royalists. They can never forget that it was
one of the Hanoverians who brought about their separation from Britain.
That old wound is rankling yet in the breast of every true American.”
And then Mr. Owen Glendower Richmond entered the class-room, and Amber
nodded _au revoir_ to the American girl, and went to her own desk.