The Drive
From time to time invitations had been received from the Selseys, all of
which Cecil had asked Hyacinth to refuse on various pretexts. As she was
convinced that he intended never to see Lady Selsey again if he could
possibly help it, she made no objection, and did not even remark to him
that it would look odd.
One afternoon Cecil was in St James's Street when he remembered that
there was an exhibition at Carfax's. He strolled in, and was for the
moment quite taken by surprise at the evident gaiety of the crowd. It
seemed so incongruous to hear laughter at a private view, where it is
now usual to behave with the embarrassed and respectful gloom
appropriate to a visit of condolence (with the corpse in the next room).
Then he remembered that it was an exhibition of Max Beerbohm's
caricatures, and that people's spirits were naturally raised at the
sight of the cruel distortions, ridiculous situations, and fantastic
misrepresentations of their friends and acquaintances on the walls.
Cecil was smiling to himself at a charming picture of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, when someone touched him on the shoulder.
He turned round. It was Lord Selsey with his wife. He looked suave and
debonair as ever, with his touch of attenuated Georgian dandyism. She
had not changed, nor had her long brown eyes lost their sly and
fascinating twinkle. Evidently Lord Selsey had not been able--if indeed
he had tried--to persuade her to take much trouble about her appearance,
but he had somehow succeeded in making her carelessness seem
picturesque. The long, rather vague cloak that she wore might pass--at
any rate, in a picture-gallery--as artistic, and the flat hat with its
long brown feather suggested a Rembrandt, and must have been chosen for
her against her will, no doubt by her husband. She really looked
particularly plain this afternoon, but at the first glance Cecil admired
her as much as ever.
'It's most fortunate we've met you. I have to go on somewhere, and you
must drive Eugenia home. You must have a lot to talk about,' Lord
Selsey said.
Cecil began to make an excuse.
'Oh, you can't refuse! Are you afraid of me? Don't you want to have a
talk with your aunt?' said Eugenia.
He had no choice, and ten minutes later found himself driving in a
hansom with his old love.
'Well, tell me, Cecil, aren't you happy? Weren't we quite right?'
'Of course,' said he.
'What an absurd boy you are. It's nice to see you again. I feel just
like a mother to you. When am I going to see Hyacinth? Why won't you let
me be friends with her? I fell in love with her at first sight. I
suppose she worships you, eh? And you take it as a matter of course, and
give yourself airs. Oh, I know you! I like Ted very much. He's a
wonderful man. He knows everything. He's--what's the word--volatile?
No, versatile. He's a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge. He can write
Persian poetry as soon as look at you, and everything he hasn't learnt
he knows by instinct. He has the disposition of an angel and the voice
of a gazelle. No, wait a minute; do I mean gazelles? Gazelles don't
sing, do they? I must mean nightingales. He sings and plays really
beautifully. Why didn't you tell me what a rare creature your uncle is?
He has the artistic temperament, as they call it--without any of the
nasty temper and horrid unpunctuality that goes with it. I really do
admire Ted, Cecil. I think he's perfect.'
'That is most satisfactory,' said Cecil.
She burst out laughing.
'Oh, Cecil, you haven't changed a bit! But marvellous and angelic as Ted
is, it's a sort of relief in a way to meet an ordinary man. _You_ don't
know all about everything, do you? If I asked you the most difficult
question about art or science or history or metaphysics, or even dress,
you wouldn't be able to answer it, would you? Do you always keep your
temper? Is your judgement thoroughly sound? Can you talk modern Greek,
and Arabian? I think not. You're full of faults, and delightfully
ignorant and commonplace. And it's jolly to see you again.'
'Eugenia, you're the same as ever. Don't go home yet. Let's go for a
drive.'
'But oughtn't you to go back to your wife? I daresay she's counting the
minutes. Nothing could ever grow prosaic to her, not even being
married to you.'
'She's gone out somewhere, with Anne Yeo, I think. Do, Eugenia; I shall
never ask you again. Just for once, like old times. I couldn't stand the
idea of going to see you at Selsey House; it depressed and irritated me.
This is different.'
'All right,' said Eugenia. 'Then make the most of it. I shan't do it
again.'
'Where shall we drive?'
'I've always wondered what happened at the very end of the Cromwell
Road. Let's drive there, and then you can leave me at home. That will be
quite a long way. It's rather a mad idea, Cecil, but it's fun. Isn't it
just like Ted to ask you to take me home? You see what a darling, clever
creature he is. He guessed--he knew we should be a little excited at
meeting again. He wanted to get it over by leaving us quite free
to talk.'
'I must say I shouldn't have done that in his place,' said Cecil.
'Oh, you! You might have had some cause of jealousy. He never could. But
don't think I shall allow any more freaks like this. In a way I'm rather
pleased you haven't forgotten me, Cecil.'
'Who could ever forget you? Who could ever get tired of you?'
'You could; and you would have by now, if I had been foolish enough to
marry you.'
She seemed to Cecil, as ever, a delightful medley of impulses, whims,
and fancies. For him there was always some magic about her; in her pale
radiance he still found the old dazzling, unaccountable charm....
'Hyacinth, do let us score off Lady Cannon, and get the housemaid
without her help.'
'Why, I have, Anne, I advertised all by myself. Several came to see me
yesterday.'
'Well, what did you do about it?'
'Nothing particular. Oh yes; I did. I wrote down the address of one or
two. Emma Sinfield, Maude Frick, Annie Crutcher, and Mary Garstin. Which
shall I have, Anne--which name do you like best?'
'Emma Sinfield, I think, or if she doesn't do, I rather fancy Garstin.
Where does Emma live?'
'In the Cromwell Road. We ought to go and ask for her character today.'
'You go, then, and I'll go with you. You won't know what to ask. I'll do
it for you.'
'All right. We may as well drive there as anywhere.'
Anne declared the character quite satisfactory, for Emma Sinfield's late
employer, although displaying the most acute conscientiousness, could
find no fault with her except a vaulting ambition and wild desire to
better herself, which is not unknown in other walks of life, and they
were driving away in the motor when they came face to face with Cecil
and Eugenia in a hansom. He was talking with so much animation that he
did not see them. She was looking straight before her.
Hyacinth turned pale as death and seized Anne's hand. Anne said nothing.