THE heart of the Deputy seemed to stop beating as she heard the
sinister words of the hostess. But again as her lips sought the brim
of her glass she took courage. No matter what to-morrow had in store
she must live this wonderful hour. She would lose her situation for a
certainty, perhaps she would have to go to prison, but this evening,
come what might, she was determined to yield to a signal experience.
She felt like a flower that expands to the sun. To be young, to be
rich, to be highly born, to be beautifully dressed, in a word to be the
veritable daughter of a marquis--what a supreme destiny! Nor was it a
silly and vulgar snobbishness that made her think so. Such a life as
the one she was living now meant poetry, romance, color, joy. To-morrow
she would return inevitably to what she was; to-morrow the endless
dreary days of governessing would begin again; but to-night--to-night
she would drink of the cup!
Nevertheless the shrewd northern forebears insisted that one glass of
champagne must be Girlie’s limit. But it was not easy to compute the
precise measure with the butler always on the watch to keep it up to
the brim. Rigidly on guard as she was, a glorious, devil-may-care
sort of feeling stole over her. A flush crept on her cheek, her soul
leapt to her eyes, so that in the sight of more than one beholder the
youngest of the Catkin girls looked uncommonly pretty.
It was after dinner, however, that the ordeal of Miss Cass really
began. In the drawing room, over the coffee cups, alone with her own
sex, she had to call out the reserves of her courage. The ladies were
so much more formidable than the gentlemen! Somehow their manner
towards her seemed curiously quizzical! Their lightest remarks, even
their way of looking at one were singularly embarrassing. Still Girlie
said very little, but smiled a good deal, was content to answer direct
questions with a brief “yes” or a briefer “no,” so that for the time
being she was able to disarm those whom she felt to be her natural
enemies. Nevertheless the advent of the gentlemen came as a particular
relief.
The return of the gentlemen lessened the tension considerably. Their
black coats and white waistcoats seemed to add a subtle quality to the
_mise-en-scène_; somehow they appeared to humanize the atmosphere of
the drawing room. Girlie found them much the easier to get on with. For
one thing the new peer who was on several Boards with her distinguished
parent, the marquis, quite took her under his wing. It seemed he had
promised Lady Elfreda’s father that he would look after her. And from
the outset it was clear that the hostess at any rate was anxious that
Lord Duckingfield should be as good as his word.
He was a plain honest midlander, a man almost wholly without
pretensions, and although not exactly in the first blush of youth
Girlie could not help thinking that he was extremely nice. If she had
not known he was a lord she would never have guessed it. There was
something very straightforward about him, something very considerate,
something very kindly, something very humane. From the first he paid
court to her in his rather heavy, fatherly way; yet in this there may
have been an ulterior motive, for as he presently said, he hoped Lady
Elfreda would teach him to jazz.
“But I don’t know how to,” Girlie confessed with naïve dismay. “I only
know the One Step and I am not at all good at it.”
“Well, you’ll have to teach me that,” said my lord, looking straight
into the sweetly serious gray eyes. “Although,” he added with a roguish
smile, “I’ve been told that nowadays you smart young ladies know
everything.”
Exceptions there are to every rule, and in the sight of Lord
Duckingfield the little Catkin lady furnished one. She seemed to know
hardly anything about anything. But he didn’t complain of that. He was
old fashioned enough to prefer that style of young woman; the smart
modern miss was apt to be too well informed on every subject. It was
really a pleasure to meet one quite the reverse; one in fact who was
ready, nay eager, to sit metaphorically at your feet. My lord in common
with most prosperous men of his age liked the sound of his own voice
and this pretty little girl--she really was pretty!--had the subtle art
of making him forget that he was indulging a weakness. She hung on his
words. She laughed at his stories. When he grew reminiscent, round eyes
of serious wonder rewarded him. Yes, quite a nice little filly, both
docile and intelligent, and not at all inclined to rate herself too
highly, which he had rather feared would be the case, having regard to
the stable she came out of.
For a full hour Lord Duckingfield was allowed to monopolize the chief
guest. And no one challenged his right. The hostess had reached the
conclusion already that she was “heavy cake”; the other ladies were
already divided in their minds as to whether Lady Elfreda was or was
not half-witted. She would improve on acquaintance no doubt, but as
Mrs. Spencer-Jobling, a bold lady in pink, found occasion to hint to
Sir Toby, the immediate outlook for his masterpiece was not encouraging.
“But they say she can act like blazes you know.” Sir Toby clung to
that belief in the teeth of growing skepticism. “Monty Jupp says
when he’s coached her a bit more she’ll be quite equal to any of the
professionals.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Mrs. Spencer-Jobling who prided herself on
being without illusion on any subject. “But with Miss Kitwood we should
have been absolutely safe.”
Sir Toby, allowing his eyes to stray to the animated picture on
the distant sofa, was impelled to discount the pessimism of Mrs.
Spencer-Jobling. She was quite the prettiest little Puss he had seen in
a month of Sundays, and old man Duckingfield, that astute midlander,
evidently thought so too.
When bedtime came for the ladies, Sir Toby contrived a broad hint for
Lady Elfreda as he politely opened the drawing room door. “I’m afraid
you have a hard day to-morrow,” he said. “Your part is a long one and
there isn’t much time to study it before the rehearsals begin. So mind
you have a good night’s rest.”
Alas, had it been Sir Toby’s intention to deprive the little lady of
the boon he was so urgently recommending no words could have been
better calculated for the purpose. They almost ensured a sleepless
vigil. At the prospect before her, Girlie felt one more chill along her
spine. All the same as she went up the stairs with the other ladies and
forced herself by sheer power of will to give them a gay good-night,
the paramount emotion was triumph. She had come through a grim ordeal
quite brilliantly. No one had appeared to suspect her, and incredible
as the fact might seem, she had almost enjoyed herself! The morrow,
it was true, was dark indeed, but already her life had known one
unforgettable moment.
“Now mind you sleep well, Lady Elfreda.” The hostess took an effusive
leave of her on the threshold of King Edward’s bedroom. “And no one is
expected to show at breakfast unless they particularly wish to do so.
So we shall not feel offended if you stay in bed all morning and study
your part.”