The Anxieties of Sir Charles
Like all really uncommon beauties, Hyacinth could only be adequately
described by the most hackneyed phrases. Her eyes were authentically
sapphire-coloured; brilliant, frank eyes, with a subtle mischief in
them, softened by the most conciliating long eyelashes. Then, her mouth
was really shaped like a Cupid's bow, and her teeth _were_ dazzling;
also she had a wealth of dense, soft, brown hair and a tall, sylphlike,
slimly-rounded figure. Her features were delicately regular, and her
hands and feet perfection. Her complexion was extremely fair, so she was
not a brunette; some remote Spanish ancestor on her mother's side was,
however, occasionally mentioned as an apology for a type and a supple
grace sometimes complained of by people with white eyelashes as rather
un-English. So many artistic young men had told her she was like La
Gioconda, that when she first saw the original in the Louvre she was so
disappointed that she thought she would never smile again.
About ten minutes after the pretty creature had gone out, Anne, who had
kept her eyes steadily on the clock, looked out of the window, from
which she could see a small brougham driving up. She called out into
the hall--
'If that's Sir Charles Cannon, tell him Miss Verney is out, but I have a
message for him.'
A minute later there entered a thin and distinguished-looking,
grey-haired man of about forty-five, wearing a smile of such excessive
cordiality that one felt it could only have been brought to his
well-bred lips by acute disappointment. Anne did not take the smile
literally, but began to explain away the blow.
'I'm so sorry,' she said apologetically. 'I'm afraid it's partly my
fault. When she suddenly decided to go out with that little Mrs Ottley,
she told me vaguely to telephone to you. But how on earth could I know
where you were?'
'How indeed? It doesn't matter in the least, my dear Miss Yeo. I mean,
it's most unfortunate, as I've just a little free time. Lady Cannon's
gone to a matinée at the St James's. We had tickets for the first night,
but of course she wouldn't use them then. She preferred to go alone in
the afternoon, because she detests the theatre, anyhow, and afternoon
performances give her a headache. And if she does a thing that's
disagreeable to her, she likes to do it in the most painful possible
way. She has a beautiful nature.'
Anne smiled, and passed him a little gold box.
'Have a cigarette?' she suggested.
'Thanks--I'm not really in a bad temper. But why this relapse of
devotion to little Mrs Ottley? And why are you and I suddenly treated
with marked neglect?'
'Mrs Ottley,' said Anne, 'is one of those young women, rather bored with
their husbands, who are the worst possible companions for Hyacinth. They
put her off marrying.'
'Bored, is she? She didn't strike me so. A pleasant, bright girl. I
suppose she amuses Hyacinth?'
'Yes; of course, she's not a dull old maid over forty, like me,' said
Anne.
'No-one would believe that description of you,' said Sir Charles, with a
bow that was courtly but absent. As a matter of fact, he did believe it,
but it wasn't true.
'If dear little Mrs Ottley,' he continued, 'married in too great a
hurry, far be it from me to reproach her. I married in a hurry
myself--when Hyacinth was ten.'
'And when she was eighteen you were very sorry,' said Anne in her
colourless voice.
'Don't let us go into that, Miss Yeo. Of course, Hyacinth is a
beautiful--responsibility. People seem to think she ought to have gone
on living with us when she left school. But how was it possible?
Hyacinth said she intended to live for her art, and Lady Cannon couldn't
stand the scent of oils.' He glanced round the large panelled-oak room
in which not a picture was to be seen. The only indication of its having
ever been meant for a studio was the north light, carefully obstructed
(on the grounds of unbecomingness) by gently-tinted draperies of some
fabric suggesting Liberty's. 'Life wasn't worth living, trying to keep
the peace!'
'But you must have missed her?'
'Still, I prefer coming to see her here. And knowing she has you with
her is, after all, everything.'
He looked a question.
'Yes, she has. I mean, she seems rather--absorbed again lately,' said
Anne.
'Who is it?' he asked. 'I always feel so indiscreet and treacherous
talking over her private affairs like this with you, though she tells me
everything herself. I'm not sure it's the act of a simple, loyal,
Christian English gentleman; in fact, I'm pretty certain it's not. I
suppose that's why I enjoy it so much.'
'I daresay,' said Anne; 'but she wouldn't mind it.'
'What has been happening?'
'Nothing interesting. Hazel Kerr came here the other day and brought
with him a poem in bronze lacquer, as he called it. He read it
aloud--the whole of it.'
'Good heavens! Poetry! Do people still do that sort of thing? I thought
it had gone out years ago--when I was a young man.'
'Of course, so it has. But Hazel Kerr is out of date. Hyacinth says he's
almost a classic.'
'His verses?'
'Oh no! His method. She says he's an interesting survival--he's walked
straight out of another age--the nineties, you know. There were poets in
those days.'
'Method! He was much too young then to have a style at all, surely!'
'That _was_ the style. It was the right thing to be very young in the
nineties. It isn't now.'
'It's not so easy now, for some of us,' murmured Sir Charles.
'But Hazel keeps it up,' Anne answered.
Sir Charles laughed irritably. 'He keeps it up, does he? But he sits
people out openly, that shows he's not really dangerous. One doesn't
worry about Hazel. It's that young man who arrives when everybody's
going, or goes before anyone else arrives, that's what I'm a little
anxious about.'
'If you mean Cecil Reeve, Hyacinth says he doesn't like her.'
'I'm sorry to hear that. If anything will interest her, that will. Yet I
don't know why I should mind. At any rate, he certainly isn't trying to
marry her for interested reasons, as he's very well off--or perhaps for
any reasons. I'm told he's clever, too.'
'His appearance is not against him either,' said Anne dryly; 'so what's
the matter with him?'
'I don't know exactly. I think he's capable of playing with her.'
'Perhaps he doesn't really appreciate her,' suggested Anne.
'Oh, yes, he does. He's a connoisseur--confound him! He appreciates her
all right. But it's all for himself--not for her. By the way, I've heard
his name mentioned with another woman's name. But I happen to know
there's nothing in it.'
'Would you really like her to marry soon?' Anne asked.
'In her position it would be better, I suppose,' said her guardian, with
obvious distaste to the idea.
'Has there ever been anyone that you thoroughly approved of?' asked
Anne.
He shook his head.
'I rather doubt if there ever will be,' Anne said.
'She's so clever, so impulsive! She lives so much on her emotions. If
she were disappointed--in that way--it would mean so much to her,' Sir
Charles said.
'She does change rather often,' said Anne.
'Of course, she's never really known her own mind.' He took a letter out
of his pocket. 'I came partly to show her a letter from Ella--my girl at
school in Paris, you know. Hyacinth is so kind to her. She writes to me
very confidentially. I hope she's being properly brought up!'
'Let me read it.'
She read--
'DARLING PAPA,
'I'm having heavenly fun at school. Last night there was a ball for
Madame's birthday. A proper grown-up ball, and we all danced. The men
weren't bad. I had a lovely Easter egg, a chocolate egg, and inside that
another egg with chocolate in it, and inside that another egg with a
dear little turquoise charm in it. One man said I was a blonde anglaise,
and had a keepsake face; and another has taken the Prix de Rome, and is
going to be a schoolmaster. There were no real ices. Come over and see
me soon. It's such a long time to the holidays. Love to mother.
'Your loving,
'ELLA.'
'A curious letter--for her age,' said Ella's father, replacing it. 'I
wish she were here. It seems a pity Lady Cannon can't stand the noise of
practising--and so on. Well, perhaps it's for the best.' He got up.
'Miss Yeo, I must go and fetch Lady Cannon now, but I'll come back at
half-past six for a few minutes--on my way to the club.'
'She's sure to be here then,' replied Anne consolingly; 'and do persuade
her not to waste all her time being kind to Edith Ottley. It can't do
any good. She'd better leave them alone.'
'Really, it's a very innocent amusement. I think you're overanxious.'
'It's only that I'm afraid she might get mixed up in--well, some
domestic row.'
'Surely it can't be as bad as that! Why--is Mr Ottley in love with her?'
he asked, smiling.
'Very much indeed,' said Anne.
'Oh, really, Miss Yeo!--and does Mrs Ottley know it?'
'No, nor Hyacinth either. He doesn't know it himself.'
'Then if nobody knows it, it can't matter very much,' said Sir Charles,
feeling vaguely uncomfortable all the same. Before he went he took up a
portrait of Hyacinth in an Empire dress with laurel leaves in her hair.
It was a beautiful portrait. Anne thought that from the way he looked at
it, anyone could have guessed Lady Cannon had tight lips and wore a
royal fringe.... They parted with great friendliness.
Anne's wooden, inexpressive countenance was a great comfort to Sir
Charles, in some moods. Though she was clever enough, she did not have
that superfluity of sympathy and responsiveness that makes one go away
regretting one has said so much, and disliking the other person for
one's expansion. One never felt that she had understood too accurately,
nor that one had given oneself away, nor been indiscreetly curious....
It was like talking to a chair. What a good sort Anne was!