The Langham Hotel
"What an abominable climate," Mrs. Boncassen had said when they were
quite alone at Maidenhead.
"My dear, you didn't think you were to bring New York along with you
when you came here," replied her husband.
"I wish I was going back to-morrow."
"That's a foolish thing to say. People here are very kind, and you
are seeing a great deal more of the world than you would ever see at
home. I am having a very good time. What do you say, Bell?"
"I wish I could have kept my stockings clean."
"But what about the young men?"
"Young men are pretty much the same everywhere, I guess. They never
have their wits about them. They never mean what they say, because
they don't understand the use of words. They are generally half
impudent and half timid. When in love they do not at all understand
what has befallen them. What they want they try to compass as a cow
does when it stands stretching out its head towards a stack of hay
which it cannot reach. Indeed there is no such thing as a young man,
for a man is not really a man till he is middle-aged. But take them
at their worst they are a deal too good for us, for they become men
some day, whereas we must only be women to the end."
"My word, Bella!" exclaimed the mother.
"You have managed to be tolerably heavy upon God's creatures, taking
them in a lump," said the father. "Boys, girls, and cows! Something
has gone wrong with you besides the rain."
"Nothing on earth, sir,--except the boredom."
"Some young man has been talking to you, Bella."
"One or two, mother; and I got to be thinking if any one of them
should ask me to marry him, and if moved by some evil destiny I were
to take him, whether I should murder him, or myself, or run away with
one of the others."
"Couldn't you bear with him till, according to your own theory, he
would grow out of his folly?" said the father.
"Being a woman,--no. The present moment is always everything to me.
When that horrid old harridan halloaed out that somebody was smoking,
I thought I should have died. It was very bad just then."
"Awful!" said Mrs. Boncassen, shaking her head.
"I didn't seem to feel it much," said the father. "One doesn't look
to have everything just what one wants always. If I did I should go
nowhere;--but my total life would be less enjoyable. If ever you do
get married, Bell, you should remember that."
"I mean to get married some day, so that I shouldn't be made love to
any longer."
"I hope it will have that effect," said the father.
"Mr. Boncassen!" ejaculated the mother.
"What I say is true. I hope it will have that effect. It had with
you, my dear."
"I don't know that people didn't think of me as much as of anybody
else, even though I was married."
"Then, my dear, I never knew it."
Miss Boncassen, though she had behaved serenely and with good temper
during the process of Dolly's proposal, had not liked it. She had a
very high opinion of herself, and was certainly entitled to have it
by the undisguised admiration of all that came near her. She was not
more indifferent to the admiration of young men than are other young
ladies. But she was not proud of the admiration of Dolly Longstaff.
She was here among strangers whose ways were unknown to her, whose
rank and standing in the world were vague to her, and wonderful
in their dimness. She knew that she was associating with men very
different from those at home where young men were supposed to be
under the necessity of earning their bread. At New York she would
dance, as she had said, with bank clerks. She was not prepared to
admit that a young London lord was better than a New York bank clerk.
Judging the men on their own individual merits she might find the
bank clerk to be the better of the two. But a certain sweetness of
the aroma of rank was beginning to permeate her republican senses.
The softness of a life in which no occupation was compulsory had
its charms for her. Though she had complained of the insufficient
intelligence of young men she was alive to the delight of having
nothings said to her pleasantly. All this had affected her so
strongly that she had almost felt that a life among these English
luxuries would be a pleasant life. Like most Americans who do not as
yet know the country, she had come with an inward feeling that as an
American and a republican she might probably be despised.
There is not uncommonly a savageness of self-assertion about
Americans which arises from a too great anxiety to be admitted
to fellowship with Britons. She had felt this, and conscious of
reputation already made by herself in the social life of New York,
she had half trusted that she would be well received in London, and
had half convinced herself that she would be rejected. She had not
been rejected. She must have become quite aware of that. She had
dropped very quickly the idea that she would be scorned. Ignorant
as she had been of English life, she perceived that she had at
once become popular. And this had been so in spite of her mother's
homeliness and her father's awkwardness. By herself and by her own
gifts she had done it. She had found out concerning herself that she
had that which would commend her to other society than that of the
Fifth Avenue. Those lords of whom she had heard were as plenty with
her as blackberries. Young Lord Silverbridge, of whom she was told
that of all the young lords of the day he stood first in rank and
wealth, was peculiarly her friend. Her brain was firmer than that of
most girls, but even her brain was a little turned. She never told
herself that it would be well for her to become the wife of such a
one. In her more thoughtful moments she told herself that it would
not be well. But still the allurement was strong upon her. Park Lane
was sweeter than the Fifth Avenue. Lord Silverbridge was nicer than
the bank clerk.
But Dolly Longstaff was not. She would certainly prefer the bank
clerk to Dolly Longstaff. And yet Dolly Longstaff was the one among
her English admirers who had come forward and spoken out. She did not
desire that any one should come forward and speak out. But it was an
annoyance to her that this special man should have done so.
The waiter at the Langham understood American ways perfectly, and
when a young man called between three and four o'clock, asking for
Mrs. Boncassen, said that Miss Boncassen was at home. The young
man took off his hat, brushed up his hair, and followed the waiter
up to the sitting-room. The door was opened and the young man was
announced. "Mr. Longstaff."
Miss Boncassen was rather disgusted. She had had enough of this
English lover. Why should he have come after what had occurred
yesterday? He ought to have felt that he was absolved from the
necessity of making personal inquiries. "I am glad to see that you
got home safe," she said as she gave him her hand.
"And you too, I hope?"
"Well;--so, so; with my clothes a good deal damaged and my temper
rather worse."
"I am so sorry."
"It should not rain on such days. Mother has gone to church."
"Oh;--indeed. I like going to church myself sometimes."
"Do you now?"
"I know what would make me like to go to church."
"And father is at the Athenæum. He goes there to do a little light
reading in the library on Sunday afternoon."
"I shall never forget yesterday, Miss Boncassen."
"You wouldn't if your clothes had been spoilt as mine were."
"Money will repair that."
"Well; yes; but when I've had a petticoat flounced particularly to
order I don't like to see it ill-treated. There are emotions of the
heart which money can't touch."
"Just so;--emotions of the heart! That's the very phrase."
She was determined if possible to prevent a repetition of the scene
which had taken place up at Mrs. de Bever's temple. "All my emotions
are about my dress."
"All?"
"Well; yes; all. I guess I don't care much for eating and drinking."
In saying this she actually contrived to produce something of a nasal
twang.
"Eating and drinking!" said Dolly. "Of course they are
necessities;--and so are clothes."
"But new things are such ducks!"
"Trowsers may be," said Dolly.
Then she took a prolonged gaze at him, wondering whether he was or
was not such a fool as he looked. "How funny you are," she said.
"A man does not generally feel funny after going through what I
suffered yesterday, Miss Boncassen."
"Would you mind ringing the bell?"
"Must it be done quite at once?"
"Quite,--quite," she said. "I can do it myself for the matter of
that." And she rang the bell somewhat violently. Dolly sank back
again into his seat, remarking in his usual apathetic way that he had
intended to obey her behest but had not understood that she was in so
great a hurry. "I am always in a hurry," she said. "I like things to
be done--sharp." And she hit the table a crack. "Please bring me some
iced water," this of course was addressed to the waiter. "And a glass
for Mr. Longstaff."
"None for me, thank you."
"Perhaps you'd like soda and brandy?"
"Oh dear no;--nothing of the kind. But I am so much obliged to you
all the same." As the water-bottle was in fact standing in the room,
and as the waiter had only to hand the glass, all this created but
little obstacle. Still it had its effect, and Dolly, when the man
had retired, felt that there was a difficulty in proceeding. "I have
called to-day--" he began.
"That has been so kind of you. But mother has gone to church."
"I am very glad that she has gone to church, because I wish to--"
"Oh laws! There's a horse has tumbled down in the street. I heard
it."
"He has got up again," said Dolly, looking leisurely out of the
window. "But as I was saying--"
"I don't think that the water we Americans drink can be good. It
makes the women become ugly so young."
"You will never become ugly."
She got up and curtsied to him, and then, still standing, made him a
speech. "Mr. Longstaff, it would be absurd of me to pretend not to
understand what you mean. But I won't have any more of it. Whether
you are making fun of me, or whether you are in earnest, it is just
the same."
"Making fun of you!"
"It does not signify. I don't care which it is. But I won't have it.
There!"
"A gentleman should be allowed to express his feelings and to explain
his position."
"You have expressed and explained more than enough, and I won't have
any more. If you will sit down and talk about something else, or
else go away, there shall be an end of it;--but if you go on, I will
ring the bell again. What can a man gain by going on when a girl has
spoken as I have done?" They were both at this time standing up, and
he was now as angry as she was.
"I've paid you the greatest compliment a man can pay a woman," he
began.
"Very well. If I remember rightly I thanked you for it yesterday. If
you wish it, I will thank you again to-day. But it is a compliment
which becomes very much the reverse if it be repeated too often. You
are sharp enough to understand that I have done everything in my
power to save us both from this trouble."
"What makes you so fierce, Miss Boncassen?"
"What makes you so foolish?"
"I suppose it must be something peculiar to American ladies."
"Just that;--something peculiar to American ladies. They don't
like--well; I don't want to say anything more that can be called
fierce."
At this moment the door was again opened and Lord Silverbridge was
announced. "Halloa, Dolly, are you here?"
"It seems that I am."
"And I am here too," said Miss Boncassen, smiling her prettiest.
"None the worse for yesterday's troubles, I hope?"
"A good deal the worse. I have been explaining all that to Mr.
Longstaff, who has been quite sympathetic with me about my things."
"A terrible pity that shower," said Dolly.
"For you," said Silverbridge, "because, if I remember right, Miss
Boncassen was walking with you;--but I was rather glad of it."
"Lord Silverbridge!"
"I regarded it as a direct interposition of Providence, because you
would not dance with me."
"Any news to-day, Silverbridge?" asked Dolly.
"Nothing particular. They say that Coalheaver can't run for the
Leger."
"What's the matter?" asked Dolly vigorously.
"Broke down at Ascot. But I daresay it's a lie."
"Sure to be a lie," said Dolly. "What do you think of Madame
Scholzdam, Miss Boncassen?"
"I am not a good judge."
"Never heard anything equal to it yet in this world," said Dolly. "I
wonder whether that's true about Coalheaver?"
"Tifto says so."
"Which at the present moment," asked Miss Boncassen, "is the greater
favourite with the public, Madame Scholzdam or Coalheaver?"
"Coalheaver is a horse, Miss Boncassen."
"Oh,--a horse!"
"Perhaps I ought to say a colt."
"Oh,--a colt."
"Do you suppose, Dolly, that Miss Boncassen doesn't know all that?"
asked Silverbridge.
"He supposes that my American ferocity has never been sufficiently
softened for the reception of polite erudition."
"You two have been quarrelling, I fear."
"I never quarrel with a woman," said Dolly.
"Nor with a man in my presence, I hope," said Miss Boncassen.
"Somebody does seem to have got out of bed at the wrong side," said
Silverbridge.
"I did," said Miss Boncassen. "I got out of bed at the wrong side.
I am cross. I can't get over the spoiling of my flounces. I think
you had better both go away and leave me. If I could walk about
the room for half an hour and stamp my feet, I should get better."
Silverbridge thought that as he had come last, he certainly ought to
be left last. Miss Boncassen felt that, at any rate, Mr. Longstaff
should go. Dolly felt that his manhood required him to remain. After
what had taken place he was not going to leave the field vacant for
another. Therefore he made no effort to move.
"That seems rather hard upon me," said Silverbridge. "You told me to
come."
"I told you to come and ask after us all. You have come and asked
after us, and have been informed that we are very bad. What more can
I say? You accuse me of getting out of bed the wrong side, and I own
that I did."
"I meant to say that Dolly Longstaff had done so."
"And I say it was Silverbridge," said Dolly.
"We aren't very agreeable together, are we? Upon my word I think
you'd better both go." Silverbridge immediately got up from his
chair; upon which Dolly also moved.
"What the mischief is up?" asked Silverbridge, when they were under
the porch together.
"The truth is, you never can tell what you are to do with those
American girls."
"I suppose you have been making up to her."
"Nothing in earnest. She seemed to me to like admiration; so I told
her I admired her."
"What did she say then?"
"Upon my word, you seem to be very great at cross-examining. Perhaps
you had better go back and ask her."
"I will, next time I see her." Then he stepped into his cab, and in
a loud voice ordered the man to drive him to the Zoo. But when he
had gone a little way up Portland Place, he stopped the driver and
desired he might be taken back again to the hotel. As he left the
vehicle he looked round for Dolly, but Dolly had certainly gone. Then
he told the waiter to take his card to Miss Boncassen, and explain
that he had something to say which he had forgotten.
"So you have come back again?" said Miss Boncassen, laughing.
"Of course I have. You didn't suppose I was going to let that fellow
get the better of me. Why should I be turned out because he had made
an ass of himself!"
"Who said he made an ass of himself?"
"But he had; hadn't he?"
"No;--by no means," said she after a little pause.
"Tell me what he had been saying."
"Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind. If I told you all he said,
then I should have to tell the next man all that you may say. Would
that be fair?"
"I should not mind," said Silverbridge.
"I dare say not, because you have nothing particular to say. But
the principle is the same. Lawyers and doctors and parsons talk of
privileged communications. Why should not a young lady have her
privileged communications?"
"But I have something particular to say."
"I hope not."
"Why should you hope not?"
"I hate having things said particularly. Nobody likes conversation so
well as I do; but it should never be particular."
"I was going to tell you that I came back to London yesterday in the
same carriage with old Lady Clanfiddle, and that she swore that no
consideration on earth would ever induce her to go to Maidenhead
again."
"That isn't particular."
"She went on to say;--you won't tell of me; will you?"
"It shall all be privileged."
"She went on to say that Americans couldn't be expected to understand
English manners."
"Perhaps they may be all the better for that."
"Then I spoke up. I swore I was awfully in love with you."
"You didn't."
"I did;--that you were, out and away, the finest girl I ever saw in
my life. Of course you understand that her two daughters were there.
And that as for manners,--unless the rain could be attributed to
American manners,--I did not think anything had gone wrong."
"What about the smoking?"
"I told her they were all Englishmen, and that if she had been giving
the party herself they would have smoked just as much. You must
understand that she never does give any parties."
"How could you be so ill-natured?"
"There was ever so much more of it. And it ended in her telling me
that I was a schoolboy. I found out the cause of it all. A great
spout of rain had come upon her daughter's hat, and that had produced
a most melancholy catastrophe."
"I would have given her mine willingly."
"An American hat;--to be worn by Lady Violet Clanfiddle!"
"It came from Paris last week, sir."
"But must have been contaminated by American contact."
"Now, Lord Silverbridge," said she, getting up, "if I had a stick I'd
whip you."
"It was such fun."
"And you come here and tell it all to me?"
"Of course I do. It was a deal too good to keep it to myself.
'American manners!'" As he said this he almost succeeded in looking
like Lady Clanfiddle.
At that moment Mr. Boncassen entered the room, and was immediately
appealed to by his daughter. "Father, you must turn Lord Silverbridge
out of the room."
"Dear me! If I must,--of course I must. But why?"
"He is saying everything horrid he can about Americans."
After this they settled down for a few minutes to general
conversation, and then Lord Silverbridge again took his leave. When
he was gone Isabel Boncassen almost regretted that the "something
particular" which he had threatened to say had not been less comic in
its nature.