WHEN Girlie went down to dinner she was sustained by a subtle feeling
of inward power. For the first time in her life she was upheld by
perhaps the most desirable of all human emotions. As she entered the
drawing room she caught the eye of Mr. Montagu Jupp. And, miracle of
miracles, it was an approving eye. There was no doubt about that, since
Girlie belonged to the sex that does not make mistakes in those little
matters!
Yes, it was an approving eye. In the sight of Montagu and his peers,
when the little Catkin lady came into the room timidly, with that
rather hunted-fawn-look in her gray eyes, with the slight flush in her
cheeks that went so well with the smart pink frock and the twist of
ribbon in her fluffy fair hair, she really was a pretty little Puss.
No wonder, thought the critics, that the worthy Duckingfield was up
against his fate.
His prolonged tête-a-tête the previous evening in the alcove under
the hall stairs had not passed without notice. In fact, it had been
commented upon very freely. And while from the demeanor of my lord it
was by no means clear that his suit was prospering, his “dash” was
rather admired. That is to say, it was rather admired by the members of
his own sex, who are always apt to cherish that quality, particularly
in one of their middle-aged representatives. As far as the ladies were
concerned, however, they could see absolutely nothing in the little
noodle and they would not allow “that she was even pretty.” Still the
episode itself, the look of my lord and the flush on the face of the S.
L. C. lent a touch of romance to the evening. And romance is an elusive
thing that is always welcome, even when furnished by the lives of other
people.
Dinner was almost hilarious. All agreed that the great Montagu was
beginning to do wonders already. He had even contrived in his magnetic
way to draw a few sparks out of Lady Elfreda. This evening she was like
a new person. She was a thing of wreathed smiles, of spasmodic giggles,
and there could be no doubt that her acting was improving. But it was
Montagu himself who was the key. He had his jest with everybody. No one
was safe from his chaff. He took upon himself the rôle of the whimsical
father of a comically stupid family. No one resented his humor although
neither age nor sex was spared. He disparaged the food and the wine, he
complained that his hostess was getting fat, he objected to the way in
which Mrs. Spencer-Jobling did her hair. Everybody was sent into fits
of laughter by his knack of saying the things that are not said; but
the audacious art with which he masked their grim and sometimes brutal
candor left him perfect master of the field.
The amazing Montagu, to the delight of the others, even went to
the length of asking Lord Duckingfield “whether he had written yet
to papa?” It was vain for the stolid Midlander to assume an air of
childlike innocence. The table rocked with a laughter whose volume
seemed to imperil the wine glasses and the crockery, when my lord was
told that he had better make haste and do so “or that little Perisher
will get there before you,” the statement being punctuated by an
accusing finger in the direction of Sir Toby.
The revels of the evening, of which a lively meal was the prelude,
were not perhaps the fine flowers of taste, but that they were greatly
enjoyed by all concerned there could be no doubt. If exceptions
there were to the rule they were furnished by the Deputy and Lord
Duckingfield. Yet Lady Elfreda’s suitor was too much a man of the world
to mind particularly; he may even have been rather flattered than
otherwise to find himself so famous; while, as for Girlie, having been
through so much and having so much more to go through, she feasted and
laughed bravely, so that when the time came to retire to the drawing
room with the other ladies she felt that she simply didn’t care what
happened.
All the same, a brief withdrawal from the sphere of influence of Mr.
Montagu Jupp convinced the Deputy that her fit of abandon was but
temporary. Defenseless in the drawing room, at the tender mercies of
her own sex, fear soon laid an icy finger upon her. So resolutely did
the other ladies give her the cold shoulder--even the hostess who
had been so kind appeared for some reason no longer her friend--that
horrible doubts flooded back into her mind. How much did they know?
What had they guessed? Suddenly Mrs. Spencer-Jobling made a sinister
reference to clever thieves who got into smart houses and how they
sometimes flaunted a title for the purpose, whereupon the well-informed
Mrs. Conrad Jones cited the case of an adventurous lady from a hat shop
who was able to steal diamonds by passing herself off as the daughter
of a peer and thereby earned seven years penal servitude.
Icy fingers ran along the spine of the Deputy. Here was the writing
on the wall. The half exultant tones of Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and Mrs.
Conrad Jones seemed to leave no margin of hope. Surely they must know
everything! The coffee cup began to shake in Girlie’s hand. Even the
tall footman eyed her disdainfully. Only a remarkable effort of the
will saved her from dropping the milk jug.
After a terrible twenty minutes, in which however nothing happened, the
men came in, and as usual they brought with them an immediate change
of atmosphere. Their geniality again banished for the time being the
awful specter that stalked ever in the background of Girlie’s mind. She
laughed hysterically as Mr. Jupp cakewalked to the piano and proceeded,
by request, to give his famous imitation of a hen laying an egg with
musical accompaniment. He then rolled back his cuffs and struck a
series of dominant chords. “Now, ladies and gemmen.” It was an exact
imitation of “Pony” Moore, the prince of Christy minstrels. “Set to
partners, please. Now, my lord--her ladyship is ready for you. And I’ve
asked the butler to have a curtain drawn across the alcove in the hall,
so you may treat it as a private box.”
Shrieks of approval greeted this sally. Girlie’s mingled with them,
although she was ready to sink through the floor. She dare not look
in the direction of Lord Duckingfield, but that robust gentleman was
made of sterner stuff. There was a light in his eye which informed Mr.
Montagu Jupp that any other man in England would have incurred a punch
on the nose. Montagu, however, a licensed jester who turned the most
sacred things to mirth and ribaldry with none to gainsay him, continued
to bang the piano, and Lord Duckingfield with the air of the very good
fellow he undoubtedly was, turned to Lady Elfreda, bowed and gallantly
offered his arm.
The history of the previous evening repeated itself. If possible, the
proceedings were a little more riotous. Mr. Jupp continued to wave
his magic wand and he had only to do that for mirth and harmony to
prevail. Who could withstand his abounding spirits, his joy in life,
his Gargantuan humor? He was a great natural force, he filled the bill,
the general effect of him was overwhelming, irresistible.
After a few minutes of discreet maneuvering upon the hall floor,
Girlie’s partner, to her intense dismay, steered boldly for the alcove
beneath the stairs. There was no false shame about Lord Duckingfield.
Too many battles had he fought and won to permit a little crude
badinage to turn him from a fixed purpose. He was in deadly earnest,
whether the others guessed it or not; and in any case they didn’t
matter. His mind was made up. If this little girl would marry him she
would make him a very proud and happy man.
“Well?” he said, as he sank into a chair by her side.
How nice he was! That was the thought that passed through Girlie’s mind
as his honest eyes came slowly to the level of hers. She was in a state
of excitement akin to hysteria, but even at that moment his worth and
his kindness dominated her.
Far as she was in the mire she was not quite lost even now to a sense
of shame. As she felt his eyes upon her she realized that this was the
time to tell him all. She must not count the cost. He was far too good
to be played with so cruelly. Besides, she owed it to herself, to her
ignoble self, to make what reparation she could. Let it be made while
there was still an opportunity.
For his own part he was baffled by her odd constraint. There was
something on her mind. He could only guess at what it was. But he was
ready to put his fortune to the proof.
“I am sure I could make you happy.” His hand touched hers, but she had
the wit to keep her eyes from his.
Had she not known before, she knew then that it was in his power to
bring her happiness. And it was just that fact which seemed to catch
her by the heel as she was about to fling herself over the precipice.
If she did her plain duty and confessed everything, and heaven knew
that she was trying now to school her tongue to the task, it would be
at a terrible cost. And, face to face with this necessity, she felt she
simply could not pay the price. She would be bound to lose him. And she
liked this man so much that she could not muster the force of will, at
any rate just then, wantonly to put herself out of court altogether.
Such a failure was illogical, but human weakness is generally that.
She knew perfectly well that whatever happened this man could never be
hers. He was altogether beyond and above her and her circumstances. It
would make no difference really if he learned the truth from her lips
to-night, or if he learned it a few days hence by the logic of events.
She saw her duty now a dead sure thing. But she had not the power of
will to do it, not to-night at least. She heard the odd change in his
voice as her silence began to hurt him; even if she could not actually
see the eyes of anxiety and bewilderment with which he looked at her,
she knew what his feelings were.
For himself he was puzzled, baffled, disconcerted. He was sure that
Lady Elfreda liked him. Her shyness, her blushes, her charming
hesitations told him that. What was it then that held her back? Why
could she not give a straightforward answer to a plain question? There
could be but one explanation. It was one he was loth to accept, yet
being the kind of man he was, he knew how to do so.
“You don’t think I’m good enough.” The pressure of a decidedly
masculine hand tightened upon her fingers. “Well, my dear, I don’t
blame you. I am what I am.” He sighed heavily. “And you are what you
are. All the same, I think I could have made you happy.”
Quick tears sprang to Girlie’s eyes. The problem for her now was not to
let him see them. But this, alas, was beyond her present resources. Her
tears were not to be concealed. Lord Duckingfield permitted himself a
whimsical sigh. She was a little fool. And at that moment it called for
a good deal of self-control not to tell her so.