'Engaged'
Lady Cannon sat in her massive, florid clothes, that always seemed part
of her massive, florid furniture, and to have the same expression of
violent, almost ominous conventionality, without the slightest touch of
austerity to tone it down. Her throat and figure seemed made solely to
show off dog-collars and long necklaces; her head seemed constructed
specially for the wearing of a dark red royal fringe and other
ornaments. Today she was in her most cheerful and condescending mood, in
fact she was what is usually called in a good temper. It was a great
satisfaction to her that Hyacinth was at last settled; and she decided
to condone the rather wilful way in which the engagement had been
finally arranged without reference to her. With the touch of somewhat
sickly sentiment common to most hard women, she took great pleasure in a
wedding (if it were only moderately a suitable one), and was prepared to
be arch and sympathetic with the engaged couple whom she expected today
to pay her a formal visit.
She was smiling to herself as she turned a bracelet on her left wrist,
and wondered if she and Sir Charles need really run to a tiara, since
after all they weren't Hyacinth's parents, and was wishing they could
get off with giving her a certain piece of old lace that had been in the
family for years, and could never be arranged to wear, when Sir
Charles came in.
'Ah, Charles, that's right. I wish you to be here to welcome Hyacinth
and her fiancé. I'm expecting them directly.'
'I can't possibly be here,' he said. 'I have a most urgent appointment.
I've done all the right things. I've written to them, and gone to see
Hyacinth, and we've asked them to dinner. No more is necessary. Of
course, let them understand that I--I quite approve, and all that. And I
really think that's quite enough.'
He spoke rather irritably.
'Really, Charles, how morose you've grown. One would think you disliked
to see young people happy together. I always think it's such a pretty
sight. Especially as it's a regular love match.'
'No doubt; no doubt. Charming! But I have an appointment; I must go at
once.'
'With whom, may I ask?'
'With St Leonards,' he answered unblushingly.
'Oh! Oh well, of course, they'll understand you couldn't keep the Duke
waiting. I'll mention it; I'll explain. I shall see a little more of
Hyacinth just now, Charles. It'll be the right thing. An engaged girl
ought to be chaperoned by a connection of the family--of some weight.
Not a person like that Miss Yeo. I shall arrange to drive out with
Hyacinth and advise her about her trousseau, and....'
'Yes; do as you like, but spare me the details.'
Lady Cannon sighed.
'Ah, Charles, you have no romance. Doesn't the sight of these happy
young people bring back the old days?'
The door shut. Lady Cannon was alone.
'He has no soul,' she said to herself, using a tiny powder-puff.
The young people, as they were now called, had had tea with her in her
magnificent drawing-room. She had said and done everything that was
obvious, kind, and tedious. She had held Hyacinth's hand, and shaken a
forefinger at Cecil, and then she explained to them that it would be
much more the right thing now for them to meet at her house, rather than
at Hyacinth's--a recommendation which they accepted with complete
(apparent) gravity, and in fact she seemed most anxious to take entire
possession of them--to get the credit of them, as it were, as a social
sensation.
'And now,' she said, 'what do you think I'm going to do? If you won't
think me very rude' (threatening forefinger again), 'I'm going to leave
you alone for a little while. I shan't be very long; but I have to write
a letter, and so on, and when I come back I shall have on my bonnet, and
I'll drive Hyacinth home.'
'It's most awfully kind of you, Auntie, but Cecil's going to drive me
back.'
'No, no, no! I insist, I insist! This dear child has been almost like a
daughter to me, you know,' pressing a lace-edged little handkerchief,
scented with Ess Bouquet, to a dry little eye. 'You mustn't take her
away all at once! Will you be very angry if I leave you?' and laughing
in what she supposed to be an entirely charming manner, she glided, as
though on castors, in her fringed, embroidered, brocaded dress from
the room.
'Isn't she magnificent?' said Cecil.
'You know she has a reputation for being remarkable for sound sense,'
said Hyacinth.
'Well, she's shown it at last!'
She laughed.
He took a stroll round the room. It was so high, so enormous, with so
much satin on the walls, so many looking-glasses, so much white paint,
so many cabinets full of Dresden china, that it recalled, by the very
extremity of the contrast of its bright hideousness, that other ugly,
dismal little room, also filled with false gods, of a cheap and very
different kind, in which he had had so much poignant happiness.
'Hyacinth,' he said, rather quaintly, 'do you know what I'm doing? I
want to kiss you, and I'm looking for a part of the room in which it
wouldn't be blasphemous!'
'You can't find one, Cecil. I couldn't--here. And her leaving us alone
makes it all the more impossible.'
The girl was seated on a stiff, blue silk settee, padded and buttoned,
and made in a peculiar form in which three people can sit, turning their
backs to one another. She leant her sweet face on her hand, her elbow on
the peculiar kind of mammoth pincushion that at once combined and
separated the three seats. (It had been known formerly as a 'lounge'--a
peculiarly unsuitable name, as it was practically impossible not to sit
in it bolt upright.)
Cecil stood opposite and looked down at her.
Happiness, and the hope of happiness, had given her beauty a different
character. There was something touching, troubling about her. It seemed
to him that she had everything: beauty, profane and spiritual; deep blue
eyes, in which he could read devotion; womanly tenderness, and a
flower-like complexion; a perfect figure, and a beautiful soul. He could
be proud of her before the world, and he could delight in her in
private. She appealed, he thought, to everything in a man--his vanity,
his intellect, and his senses. The better he knew her, the more
exquisite qualities he found in her. She was sweet, clever, good, and
she vibrated to his every look. She was sensitive, and passionate. She
was adorable. He was too fortunate! Then why did he think of a pale,
tired, laughing face, with the hair dragged off the forehead, and
Japanese eyes?... What folly! It was a recurring obsession.
'Cecil, what are you thinking about?'
'Of you.'
'Do you love me? Will you always love me? Are you happy?'
He made no answer, but kissed the questions from her lips, and from his
own heart.
So Lady Cannon, after rattling the handle of the door, came in in her
bonnet, and found them, as she had expected. Then she sent Cecil away
and drove Hyacinth home, talking without ceasing during the drive of
bridesmaids, choral services, bishops, travelling-bags, tea-gowns, and
pretty little houses in Mayfair.
Hyacinth did not hear a single word she said, so, as Lady Cannon
answered all her own questions in the affirmative, and warmly agreed
with all her own remarks, she quite enjoyed herself, and decided that
Hyacinth had immensely improved, and that Ella was to come back for
the wedding.