When, that same evening, Wyndham was ushered into the Robinsons'
drawing-room, he was mildly surprised to find a sedate gentleman there
in familiar conversation with the family. The stranger vibrated with
neuter lights; yet dry, clean lights. Tall spare figure, hair and
close-trimmed beard, tailed morning coat and sharp-creased trousers,
brow and visage, air and movement--all a chiaroscuro in grey;
accentuated curiously, too, against the host's correct black and white,
and the laces and chiffons and shimmering brilliance of the ladies.
"My friend, Mr. Shanner," said Mr. Robinson, introducing them; and
Wyndham remembered at once that the Robinsons had mentioned Mr. Shanner
occasionally as an intimate of the house who was away in the New World
for the interests of the concern in which he was junior partner.
But Mr. Shanner, though he shook hands cordially, yet gave him a swift
look up and down that had something of antagonism in it. And in Wyndham,
too, arose some obscure enmity, likewise masked by the conventional
friendliness of greeting.
"As I was just telling Mr. Robinson," said Mr. Shanner, with an
obviously forced smile that yet illumined the man, broke through and
flashed away the greyness for an instant, "I hadn't the least idea that
I was going to stumble on an evening party. I feel quite out of it." His
voice was full of affable vibrations, and he smiled again, with a
general nod that indicated all this ceremonial get-up around him.
"I am sure we shall do our best to amuse you," returned Wyndham,
naturally associating himself with the family, but feeling hopelessly
out of sympathy with the new-comer.
Miss Robinson had reddened as the two men approached each other, but on
her father's again mentioning that Mr. Shanner was just back from his
tour in the New World, she came into the conversation bravely, and rose
above her shade of embarrassment.
"Have _you_ ever crossed to America, Mr. Wyndham?" she asked, smiling at
him.
"No," he confessed; "though America has largely crossed to me."
Mr. Shanner looked puzzled.
"How do you mean--America has crossed to you, Mr. Wyndham?" he asked.
"Oh, I hope I did not seem to suggest that I have been a centre of
pilgrimage," laughed Wyndham. "Only, in past years, when I was running
a good deal about the Continent, I often used to live with New York,
Chicago, and Boston, for considerable periods."
"Mr. Wyndham has often given us charming sketches of the Americans,"
chimed in Miss Robinson.
"Oh, I don't pretend to be much of a hand at that sort of thing," said
Mr. Shanner, with pleasant humility. "I can only just give my
impressions as a plain observer. But then I'm a man of affairs, and
nothing at all of an artist or a literary man." Wyndham observed how
careful and honeyed his delivery was; it seemed to advertise a perpetual
self-consciousness of being a gentleman.
"Mr. Shanner is unduly modest," put in Mr. Robinson. "His descriptions
are most entertaining."
"Well, of course, I can speak of things within my experience, and make
myself fairly clear--in my own way, of course. But, from all that you
people have been telling me, I shouldn't attempt to emulate Mr.
Wyndham."
Mr. Shanner gave a strange little laugh, full of insincere echoes; which
failed in its implication of good-fellowship, and only emphasised the
ill-nature it was meant to cover. Wyndham was not a little bewildered;
conscious of some suppressed excitement in the man, some ruffling of the
ashen chiaroscuro. This impression was deepened when dinner was
announced, and Mr. Shanner made what was perilously like a dart to the
side of Miss Robinson and offered his arm. Wyndham stepped out of their
way, bowing as they passed him.
At table Mr. Shanner gave no undue signs of modesty or self-distrust,
but talked about "things within his experience" with the utmost
unconstraint. An unmistakable note of assurance animated the honeyed
voice, which soared away occasionally, yet sedulously recollected
itself; drew back within bounds, reverted to the lesser pitch and the
deliberate pace. Mr. Shanner was at pains to let it be seen that he was
a man of affairs on the grand scale, one to be ranked with diplomatists
and ambassadors. In the course of business he had come into contact with
exalted personages of almost every kingdom, and had corresponded
voluminously with some of them. He carried an assortment of their
letters in his pocketbook, which lay on the table as a perpetual source
of illustration. He spoke of some of these great ones of the earth with
extreme familiarity--he had been closeted with them on confidential
business, and he flattered himself he had counted for something in
certain important decisions of policy. And, as he warmed to the
conversation, far from being "out of it," he was king of the table, his
honeyed words emerged endlessly. There was a distinct flash of challenge
in his occasional glances at Wyndham--he was not to be overborne by the
presence of any aristocrat on earth. And not content with all this
insistent implication of his personal importance, he even related by way
of pleasant interlude how, with ear to one private telephone and mouth
to another, he had smartly seized a sudden opportunity, and, buying an
incoming cargo through the first telephone and selling it through the
second, had netted twenty thousand pounds for his firm. Whereas Wyndham
amused himself trying to measure the depths of Mr. Shanner's contempt
should he suspect that the sole resources of his vis-a-vis were the
guineas to be paid him from Mr. Robinson's treasury.
It was evident, too, that Mr. Shanner was more familiarly at home in the
house than Wyndham. He called its master "Robinson"; most significant of
all, Miss Robinson was Alice to him. Indeed, his manner, as he sat next
to her, was almost proprietorial; at any rate it had easy, affectionate
suggestions about it. She, however, had fallen back into a shy
constraint; though she emerged at moments, lifting her deep-glancing
eyes to Wyndham and flashing him the friendliest of messages. Wyndham
understood by now; knew also that it was clear to Mr. Shanner that they
were rivals--that a mutual detestation lurked beneath their pleasant
amenities. He had gathered also that Mr. Shanner meant to show that he
did not concern himself one jot about the new star that had appeared in
the firmament during his absence. But Wyndham came off easily the
victor, displaying for Mr. Shanner a charming deference, and pursuing
the unruffled tenour of his entertaining conversation without
manifesting in the slightest degree any of the emotions that the evening
had raised in his breast. Such perfect unconsciousness of matters
intensely present, Mr. Shanner could not hope to emulate. It was clear
he was uneasily alive to the contrast--that he had the growing
consciousness of defeat. His note of self-emphasis rang louder, though
smothered continuously.
The war continued after dinner; Mr. Shanner eagerly turning the pages of
Miss Robinson's music, and so entirely appropriating her that Wyndham
could scarcely contrive to approach her during the rest of the evening.
However, Wyndham smilingly kept his place in the background, disdaining
to assert himself or to enter openly into emulation; though there were
opportunities he, the socially experienced, might have seized adroitly.
After all, why annoy this admirable, upright gentleman? Even as it was,
poor Mr. Shanner was fated to receive one or two sharp slashes; as when,
in the course of describing the sittings, Mrs. Robinson let it be
clearly seen that she was not always present to chaperone her daughter
in the studio. At that moment Mr. Shanner's face was an extraordinary
face to look upon; although he affected to laugh and smile, and packed
even more honey into his voice. All of which forced sweetness
notwithstanding, it began to be evident that the topic of the picture,
and of Wyndham's work in general, bored him considerably. At last, when
Mrs. Robinson innocently suggested that Wyndham should ask him to come
to see the portrait at the studio, he deprecated the idea with some
degree of vehemence. He really was very busy in the daytime now.
Besides, he added pleasantly, on principle he never cared to see an
article whilst yet on order; time enough to examine it when it was
tendered for delivery. He smiled meaningly at Wyndham as if to
accentuate that these commercial metaphors were merely by way of
pleasantry.
"And then it's so extremely difficult for an outsider to get any idea of
an unfinished picture, and of course I don't profess to be a judge of
art in any case, though I know what I like."
So, if Mr. Wyndham would excuse him, he added, he would rather wait till
the portrait had come home, and had been hung in the house.
It was not without difficulty that Wyndham found his opportunity of
arranging the little tea-party at which the ladies were to meet his
sister. Miss Robinson was to give him the final sitting on the Tuesday;
so it was therefore agreed that the tea should take place on that day
after work was over. The sitter herself crimsoned deeply at learning
that Mary "had admired her immensely," and her eyes glistened in a way
that showed her pleasure and rapturous appreciation.