Sir Charles
Early that afternoon Hyacinth was sitting in the library in the depths
of depression when Sir Charles Cannon was announced. She had forgotten
to say she was not at home, or she would not have received him; but it
was now too late.
He came in, and affecting not to see there was anything the matter, he
said--
'I've come for some consolation, Hyacinth,'
'Consolation? Is Aunt Janet in a bad temper? I saw her pass yesterday in
a green bonnet. I was afraid there was something wrong.'
'Is that so? This is interesting. Can you actually tell the shade of her
temper from the shade of her clothes?'
'Yes. Can't you?'
'I don't know that I ever thought of it.'
'When Auntie is amiable she wears crimson or violet. When she's cross
she always introduces green or brown into the scheme. You watch her and
you'll find I'm right.'
'I have observed,' said Sir Charles slowly, 'that when we're going out
somewhere that she isn't very keen about she always wears a good deal of
shiny jet, and when we're at home alone and something has happened to
vex her I seem to remember that she puts on a certain shaded silk dress
that I particularly hate--because you never know where you are with it,
sometimes it's brown and sometimes it's yellow. It depends on the light,
and anyhow it's hideous; it's very stiff, and rustles.'
'I know. Shot taffeta! Oh, that's a very bad sign. Has she worn it
lately?'
'Yes, she has, a good deal.'
'What's been the matter?'
'Oh, she has--may I smoke? Thanks--some mysterious grievance against
you. She's simply furious. It seems it has something to do with somebody
called Jane's sister.'
'Oh! Tell me about it.'
'Well, it appears Jane's sister wants to come and be your housemaid, and
you won't let her, and she's very disappointed. You've no idea how badly
you've behaved to Jane's sister.'
'Fancy! How horrid of me! Tell me some more.'
'And it's all through Miss Yeo. In fact, Anne's enmity to Jane's sister
is quite extraordinary--unheard of. By some deep and malicious plot it
seems she prevented you yielding to your better nature--or
something--and there it is. Oh, Hyacinth, I wish she hadn't! It makes
your aunt so nasty to me. Yes, _I_ get the worst of it, I can tell you.'
'Poor Charles! I am sorry. If I'd known that you were going to suffer
for it, I should have insisted on engaging her. Is it too late now? I
believe we've got another housemaid, but can't she come too?'
'I fear it is too late. And when Janet has got accustomed to a grievance
she doesn't like having it taken away either. No, nothing can be done.
And I _am_ having a time of it! However, it's a great comfort to see
you. You're never worried are you?'
'Never worried! Why, Charles, if you only knew--of course I've _been_
divinely happy, but just now I'm in real trouble.'
He looked at her.
'But I can't bear anyone to know it.'
'Then don't tell me,' he said.
'Oh, I must tell you! Besides, very likely you'll hear it soon.' Then
she added,' It's not impossible that Cecil and I may separate.'
'My dear child!'
'I believe he likes someone else better.'
'This is nonsense, Hyacinth. A mere lovers' quarrel. Of course, you must
make it up at once. He's devoted to you. Who could help it?'
She broke down.
'Oh, Charles, I'm so unhappy.'
Sir Charles felt furious indignation at the idea that any man could
cause those tears to flow. He put his arm round her as if she had been
a child.
'My dear Hyacinth, don't be foolish. This is not serious; it can't be.'
He had known her intimately since she was ten and had never seen her
cry before.
The old tenderness surged up in his heart.
'Can I do anything, dear?'
'No, no, Charles. I should _die_ if he knew I had told you!'
'Surely it must be your imagination.'
'I think he deceives me, and I know he prefers that horrid woman.'
'Don't cry, Hyacinth.'
She cried more, with her face buried in a cushion.
He kissed the top of her head pityingly, as if in absence of mind. He
remembered it was the first time for eight years. Then he got up and
looked out of the window.
'Cecil can't be such a blackguard. He's a very good fellow. Who is this
new friend that you're making yourself miserable about?'
'It isn't a new friend; it's Lady Selsey.'
Sir Charles stared in amazement.
'Eugenia! Why she's the best creature in the world--utterly incapable
of--I'm perfectly certain she cares for nobody in the world but Selsey.
Besides, to regard her as a rival of yours at all is grotesque, child.'
'Ah, yes; you say that because you regard me almost as your daughter,
and you think I'm pretty and younger, and so on. But that's not
everything. There are no standards, no rules in these things. And even
if there were, the point is not what she is, but what he thinks her. He
thinks her wonderful.'
'Well, what has happened?'
'Never mind the details. I know his _feelings_--and that is everything.'
'You've had a quarrel, I suppose, and he's gone out of the house in a
temper. Is that it?'
'I told him that I should leave him and go away somewhere with Anne.'
'Anne wouldn't go, of course.'
'You're right. She wouldn't when I asked her this morning, or I should
be on my way to Paris by now.'
'If he treated you really badly,' said Sir Charles, 'she would have
gone. It must be that she knows there's nothing in it.'
'I've offered to remain, on condition that we are merely friends. And he
won't hear of it.'
'No wonder,' said Sir Charles. 'Now Hyacinth you know you've always been
a spoilt child and had everything on earth you wanted. You must remember
in life sometimes little things won't go right.'
'Anything might have gone wrong--anything in the world, and I would have
borne it and not cared--but _that_!'
'I would do anything to see you happy again,' he said. 'You know that.'
She looked up. There is a tone in the accents of genuine love that
nothing can simulate. She was touched.
'Look here, Hyacinth, promise me to do nothing without letting me know.'
'I promise, Charles.'
'And I assure you that everything will come right. I know--I've had a
little experience of the world. Won't you trust my judgement?'
'I'll try. You are a comfort, Charles.'
'And to think that I came to you for consolation!' he said. 'Well,
Hyacinth, I shall bury this--forget all about it. Next time I see you
you'll be beaming again. It's a passing cloud. Now, what do you think
I've got to do? I've got to go home and fetch Janet to go to a meeting
of the Dante Society at Broadwater House.'
'Good gracious! What on earth does Aunt Janet know about Dante?'
'Nothing, indeed. I believe she thinks he wrote a poem called "Petrarch
and Laura." But someone told her it's the right thing to do; and when
Janet thinks anything is the right thing--!' He took his hat and stick.
'Try and forgive Cecil. I'm sure he adores you. We all do.'
'Thanks, Charles. And I do hope Aunt Janet won't be wearing her green
bonnet this afternoon.'
'Thank you, dear, I trust not. Good-bye.'