LET US TELL THE TRUTH.
A month had elapsed, and Shirani was as full and as gay as Miss Paske
had predicted--there were dinners, dances, balls, theatricals, and
picnics.
Visitors had shaken down into sets, and discovered whom they liked and
whom they did not like. In a short hill season there is no time to
waste on long-drawn-out overtures to acquaintance; besides, in India,
society changes so rapidly, and has so many mutual friends--the result
of so many different moves--that people know each other as intimately
in six months as they would in six years in England. There were “sets”
in Shirani, though not aggressively defined: the acting and musical
set, which numbered as stars Miss Paske and Mr. Joy; also Captain
Dashwood, of the Dappled Hussars; Mrs. Rolland, who had once been a
matchless actress, but was now both deaf and quarrelsome; and many
other lesser lights.
Then there was the “smart” set, headed by Mrs. Langrishe, who wore
dresses more suitable to Ascot than the Hymalayas; drank tea with each
other, dined with each other--talked peerage, and discussed London
gossip; looked down on many of their neighbours, and spoke of them as
being “scarcely human,” and were altogether quite painfully exclusive.
There was the “fast” set--men who played high at the club, betted on
races in England (per wire); enjoyed big nights and bear fights, and
occasionally went down without settling their club account!
And even Mrs. Brande had a set--yes, positively her own little circle
for the first time in her life--and was a proud and happy woman.
“It made a wonderful difference having a girl in the house,” she
remarked at least twice a day to “P.,” and “P.,” strange to say,
received the well-worn observation without a sarcastic rejoinder.
Certainly Honor had made a change at Rookwood. She had prevailed on her
aunt to allow her to cover the green rep drawing-room suite with pretty
cretonne, to banish the round table with its circle of books dealt out
like a pack of cards, to arrange flowers and grasses in profusion,
and to have tea in the verandah. Honor played tennis capitally, and
her uncle, instead of going to the club, inaugurated sets at home,
and these afternoons began to have quite a reputation. There were
good courts, good players--excellent refreshments. Mrs. Brande’s
strawberries and rich yellow cream were renowned; and people were
eager for standing invitations to Rookwood “Tuesdays” and “Saturdays.”
Besides Mr. Brande and his niece--hosts in themselves--there were
Sir Gloster, Mrs. Sladen, the Padré and his wife, and young Jervis,
who were regular _habitués_. There were tournaments and prizes,
and a briskness and “go” about these functions that made them the
most popular entertainments in Shirani, and folk condescended
to fish industriously for what they would once have scorned,
viz.:--“invitations to Mother Brande’s afternoons.”
Captain Waring was tired of Shirani, though he had met many
pals--played polo three times a week, and whist six times, until the
small hours. Although invited out twice as much as any other bachelor,
and twice as popular as his cousin, indeed he and his cousin--as he
remarked with a roar of laughter--“were not in the same set.”
(Nor, for that matter, were Mrs. Langrishe and her niece in the same
set; for Lalla was “theatrical” and her aunt was “smart.”)
Captain Waring and his companion lived together in Haddon Hall, with
its world-wide reputation for smoking chimneys; but although they
resided under the same roof, they saw but little of one another.
Waring had the best rooms, an imposing staff of crest-emblazoned
servants. Jervis lived in two small apartments, and the chief of
his retinue was a respectable grey-bearded bearer, Jan Mahomed by
name, who looked cheap. Jervis spent most of his time taking long
walks or rides--shooting or sketching with some young fellows in the
Scorpions--or up at Rookwood, where he dined at least thrice a week and
spent all his Sundays, and where he had been warmly received by Ben,
and adopted into the family as his “uncle”! No words, however many and
eloquent, could more strongly indicate how highly he stood in Mr. and
Mrs. Brande’s good graces. To be Ben’s “uncle” almost implied that they
looked upon him as an adopted son.
Frequently days elapsed, and Clarence and his companion scarcely
saw one another, save at polo. Mark kept early hours and was up
betimes--indeed, occasionally he was up and dressed ere his cousin had
gone to bed.
One afternoon, however, he found him evidently awaiting his arrival,
sitting in the verandah, and not as usual at the club card-table.
“Hullo, Mark! what a gay young bird you are, always going out, always
on the wing--never at home!”
“The same to you,” said the other cheerily.
“Well, I just wanted to see you and catch you for a few minutes, old
chap. I’m getting beastly sick of this place--we have been here nearly
six weeks--I vote, as the policeman says, we ‘move on.’”
“Move where?” was the laconic inquiry.
“To Simla, to be sure! the club here is just a mere rowdy pot-house. I
never saw such rotten polo! My best pony is lame--gone in the shoulder.
I believe that little beggar Byng stuck me; and besides this, Miss
Potter--the girl with the black eyes and twelve hundred a year--is
going away.”
“To Simla?” expressively.
“Yes. She does not want to move, but the people she is with, the
Athertons, are off, and of course she is bound to go with them. That
girl likes me--she believes in me.”
“Do you think she believes that you are what they call you here, a
millionaire?”
“What a grossly coarse way of putting it! Well, I should not be
surprised if she did!”
“Then if that is the case, don’t you think the sooner you undeceive her
the better!”
“Excellent high-minded youth! But why?”
“Because it strikes me that we have played this little game long
enough.”
“And you languish for the good old board ship and Poonah days over
again! Shall we publish who is really who, in the papers, and send a
little ‘para’ to the _Pioneer_?” with angry sarcasm.
“No; but don’t you see that when I took what you called a ‘back seat,’
I never supposed it would develop into a regular sort of society fraud,
or lead us on to such an extent. I’m always on the point of blurting
out something about money, and pulling myself up. If I speak the
truth people will swear I am lying. I don’t mind their thinking me an
insignificant, idle young ass; but when they talk before me of dire
poverty, and then pause apologetically--when they positively refrain
from asking me to subscribe to entertainments or charities--I tell
you I don’t _like_ it. I am a rank impostor. There will be an awful
explosion some day, if we don’t look out.”
“A pleasant explosion for you. Surely you are not quite such a fool as
to suppose that any one would think the worse of you because you are a
rich man.”
Mark’s thoughts wandered to Honor Gordon, and he made no answer.
“We have gone too far to go back,” continued Waring, impressively, “at
least as far as Shirani is concerned. We might shift our sky and go to
Simla, and then after a time allow the truth to ooze out.”
“I am desperately sorry I ever tampered with the truth,” cried the
other, starting to his feet and beginning to walk about the verandah.
“I have never told a direct lie, and no one has ever suspected
_me_--I have not a rich air, nor the tastes of a wealthy man; now,
you”--suddenly halting before Clarence, and looking him all over--“have
both.”
“True, oh king! and people jumped at their own conclusions. Can _we_
help that? It has given me a ripping good time, and saved you a lot of
bother and annoyance. Why, the girl in the plaid waistcoat would have
married you months ago.”
“Not she! I’m not so easily married as all that!” rejoined the other
indignantly.
“I am much relieved to hear it. I am glad you remember Uncle Dan’s
instructions. I was afraid they were beginning to slip out of your
head, and bearing them in mind, I think the sooner, for _all_ parties,
that you clear out of Shirani the better.”
“I am not going to budge,” said Jervis resolutely; “and you know the
reason.”
Waring blew away a mouthful of smoke, and then drawled out--“Of
course--Miss Gordon.”
“No; my father,” reddening like a girl. “You know he lives within forty
miles of this, and that was what made me so keen to come to Shirani.”
“Yes, I understand perfectly; and so keen to _stay_!”
“I wrote to him,” ignoring this innuendo, “and said I would wait on
here till October, hoping to see him.”
“You’ll never see him,” now bringing a volume of smoke down his
nostrils.
“Time will tell--I hope I shall.”
“And time stands still for no man! The Athertons and Miss Potter
start in ten days, and I shall accompany them; there is nothing like
travelling with a young lady for advancing one’s interests--as _you_
know, my boy. Now, don’t be angry. Yes, I’m off. I’m not heir to a
millionaire, and I must consult _my_ interests. If you will take my
advice, you will join the little party.”
“No, thank you; I shall stay here.”
“Do you mean to say that you will stick to this dead-and-alive place
for the next four months?”
“I do--at any rate till my father sends for me”--and he paused for a
second--“or until the end of the season.”
“In fact, in plain English, _until the Brandes go down_,” repeated
Clarence significantly; and rising, and tossing away the end of his
cigarette, he strolled over to the adjacent mess.