AFTERNOON TEA
The Secretary had stated that he had several calls to make, but they
resolved themselves into one, the fact being that the day was
disagreeable and the prospect of riding vast distances in hansom cabs,
interspersed with short intervals of tea, not alluring. He therefore
decided to confine his attentions to one hostess, and selected his
missing chaperon, Lady Rainsford, whose indisposition had come so near
wrecking his little dinner. Her Ladyship had much to commend her. Her
house was central and large, one knew one would meet friends there, and
there were plenty of nooks and corners for tete-a-tetes, while, as her
circle was most select, and she received frequently, there was a fair
chance that her rooms would not be crowded.
Stanley found his hostess quite recovered, and standing by the side of a
bright fire in a diminutive fireplace, for the rain had made the day a
bit chilly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary," she cried, as he entered. "I was
beginning to think you'd not forgiven me for leaving you in the lurch
last night."
"Don't speak of it, I beg," he said, hastening to deprecate her
apologies. "I should have called to enquire the first thing this
morning."
"You should most certainly, and I ought to tax you with base desertion,"
she went on.
"That would be impossible, but I'm a victim of stern necessity. Society
demands all my spare time, and I'm forced, as one always is in London,
to neglect my friends for my acquaintances."
"You deserve a thorough rating, and if it were not for my duties as
hostess, I'd give it to you here and now."
"I claim the protection of your hearth," he rejoined, laughing.
"Oh! But it's such a tiny hearth," she remonstrated.
"And I," he added, "am such an insignificant personage."
"I won't have you run yourself down in that way. I believe you are a
great social lion. Come, confess, how many teas have you been to in the
last seven days?"
"Fifty-six."
"Good gracious! How do you men stand it, and having something to eat and
a cup of tea at every place?"
"Shall I enlighten you as to the professional secrets of the habitual
tea-goer? We don't."
"But surely you can't always refuse."
"I never refuse. I always accept the cup--and put it down somewhere."
"For another guest to knock over. You're a hardened reprobate, but this
time you shall not escape. You know Miss Campbell, who is pouring tea
for me this afternoon? No? Then I'll introduce you. Miss Campbell, this
is Secretary Stanley, a member of the Diplomatic Corps, who has just
confessed to me that he habitually eludes the trustful hostess and the
proffered tea. You'll give him a cup and see that he drinks it before he
leaves the room," and the vivacious little woman departed, leaving him
no alternative but to accept his fate meekly.
"How do you like your tea?" inquired Miss Campbell, a young lady deft of
hand, but with few ideas.
"Lemon and no sugar."
"How nasty! But then, I forgot you never really drink it, Lady Rainsford
says. But this time----"
"This time," he replied, "I'm a lamb led to the slaughter."
Miss Campbell said, "Really?" Then there followed an awkward silence.
Looking around for some means of escape, he saw a face in the crowd,
that caused him to start, so utterly unexpected and out of place did it
seem, considering what he had heard that afternoon. It was the face of
Colonel Darcy.
He did not think the man knew him, and for obvious reasons he did not
care to be introduced; so he turned again to Miss Campbell, who, seeing
no alternative, rose to the occasion and continued the conversation by
remarking:--
"Is it true that you go to such an enormous number of teas? What do you
find to talk about?"
"Oh, I don't find much. I talk about the same thing at every tea. If you
meet other people it makes no difference."
"How clever of you!"
"On the contrary it's simply dulness, and because I'm lazy--I----" but
he left his sentence unfinished, for Miss Campbell's attention was
palpably wavering, and her glance spoke of approaching deliverance. He
looked over his shoulder to see Darcy advancing with Lieutenant
Kingsland.
The two officers had met in the crush a few minutes before, and the
Colonel had lost no time in taking Kingsland to task for his stupidity
of the past night.
"I'm no end sorry," the Lieutenant said, in very apologetic tones.
"That doesn't give me my letter," growled the Colonel.
"I know I'm an awful duffer," assented Kingsland, "but when he came up
behind me and asked questions about it, I was so staggered I let him
take it right out of my hands. It wasn't addressed, you know, and I
naturally couldn't say who gave it to me."
"I should hope not indeed."
"Well, what shall I do--ask him for it?"
"No, no, leave it alone; you've blundered enough. You all meet at a
country house to-morrow."
"Yes."
"Well, trust its recovery to her; she'll get it, if he has it with him.
If he leaves it behind in London so much the easier for me."
"But I thought you were coming down----"
"You think a great deal too much, and your actions are----"
"Sh!" whispered the Lieutenant, laying his hand on Darcy's arm. "He's
looking our way, he'll hear us."
Stanley had not caught a word of the previous conversation, but a
whisper sometimes carries much farther than the ordinary tones of the
voice, and he heard the caution and saw the gesture which accompanied
it, very distinctly.
The Colonel and the Lieutenant were close upon him by this time, and
Stanley, who had no wish to be recognised, began to move off, and
disappeared in the crowd, determined to make the best of his way to the
door. He was terribly bored.
He was not destined to escape quite so easily, however, for Lady
Isabelle McLane sighted him in transit, and in a moment more had drawn
him into a protecting corner with two seats, and settled down to a
serious conversation.
"I hear you're going down to the Roberts'," she said; "I'm invited too."
"Then I'm all the more sorry that I'm not to be there," he replied.
"You surprise me; I supposed your acceptance was of some standing. I
hope there's nothing wrong, that your chief hasn't forgotten his
position, and turned fractious?"
"Oh, no, my chief behaves very well," Stanley hastened to assure her,
"but the fact is--I, well, I don't find it convenient."
"Or, in other words, you've some reason for not wanting to go."
He assented, having learned by long and bitter experience, that when a
woman makes up her mind to exert her faculties of instinct, it is easier
by far to acquiesce at once in any conclusion to which she may have
jumped, however erroneous.
"Will you be shocked if I say I'm glad of it?"
The Secretary shrugged his shoulders; he thought he knew what was
coming.
"It certainly isn't complimentary to me," he replied; "but you've always
exercised the prerogative of a friend to tell disagreeable truths."
"Now, that's very unkind, Mr. Stanley. I'm sure I only do it for your
good."
"My dear Lady Isabelle, if you'll allow a man who is older than your
charming self, and who has seen more of the world than I hope you'll
ever do----"
"To tell a disagreeable truth?" she queried, filling out the sentence,
as pique prompted her.
"To make a suggestion."
"It's the same thing. Go on."
"It's merely this. That you'll never achieve a great social success till
you've realised that the well-being of your friends is your least
important consideration."
"Dear me, Mr. Secretary, I had no idea you were so tender in regard to
Miss Fitzgerald."
"Who said anything about Miss Fitzgerald?"
"I did. I don't suppose you knew she was to be at Roberts' Hall."
"Certainly I know it. That is the very reason why I'm not going."
"I'm unfeignedly rejoiced. I've watched your progress in London with
much interest, and believe me, Miss Fitzgerald is a stumbling-block in
your path."
"All my friends, all the people who have my good at heart," he replied a
trifle testily, "seem to think it their duty to warn me against Miss
Fitzgerald."
"I should hate to see you become entangled."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's not even the shadow of a
chance of such an event coming to pass. Miss Fitzgerald and I are both
philosophers in our way. We attend to the serious business of society
when we are apart, and indulge in a little mild and harmless flirtation
when we occasionally meet, quite understanding that it means nothing,
and is merely a means of relaxation, to keep our hands in, as it were."
"You say that so glibly, that I'm sure you must have said it before.
It's flippant, and, besides that, it's not strictly true."
"Really!"
"Oh, excuse me if I've said anything rude, but this is a very, very
serious matter, according to my way of thinking! and I do wish you'd
consent to be serious about it just for once, won't you, to please me?"
"Certainly, if you wish it, and I'm amazingly honoured that you should
have spent so much of your valuable time over my poor affairs."
"That isn't a promising beginning," she said reflectively, "for a man
who has agreed to be serious; but really now, you must know that I'm
distressed about you. Your attentions to this lady are the talk of
London."
"I've told you," he replied, "that I've refused this invitation to the
house-party. Isn't that a sufficient answer, and won't it set your mind
at rest?"
"Ye-es. Would you object if I asked just one more question? If you think
it horribly impertinent you're just to refuse to answer it."
"Ask away."
"Had you, before refusing, previously accepted this invitation of Mrs.
Roberts?"
"Yes," he replied, a trifle sheepishly.
"Thanks, so much," she said, "I quite understand now."
"Then may we talk on some more congenial subject?"
"No, you must take me back to Mamma."
"What, was I only taken aside to be lectured?"
"Oh, no," she hastened to assure him, naively--it was her first
season--"but we have been chatting already fifteen minutes, and that's
long enough."
"Oh, dear!" he said regretfully, "I thought I'd left Mrs. Grundy at the
tea-table."
"You are so careless yourself that you forget that others have to be
careful. Here comes Lieutenant Kingsland to my rescue. You would not
believe it, Lieutenant," she continued, as that officer approached them,
"this gentleman considers himself abused because I will not talk to him
all the afternoon."
"I quite agree with him," said Kingsland, "not that I have ever had that
felicity; it's one of my most cherished ambitions."
"You're as bad as he is; take me to Mamma, at once."
"I'll take you to have some tea. Won't that do as well?" and they moved
away.
Ten minutes later the Secretary met the Dowager Marchioness of Port
Arthur, who bore down on him at once.
"Mr. Stanley, have you seen my daughter?" she demanded. "I'm waiting to
go home, and I can't find her anywhere."
"The last I saw of her she was with Lieutenant Kingsland."
"Oh, you _have_ seen her this afternoon, then."
This last remark seemed tempered with a little disapproval.
"I had the pleasure of fifteen minutes' chat with her," continued the
Secretary imperturbably. The Marchioness raised her eyebrows.
"At least she said it was fifteen minutes"--he hastened to explain--"it
didn't seem as long to me; then Lieutenant Kingsland arrived."
"I knew his mother," she said, "he comes of one of the best families in
the land."
Most young men would have been crushed by the evident implication, but
Stanley rose buoyantly to the occasion.
"He proposed----" he began.
The Marchioness started.
"To get her a cup of tea," continued the Secretary, placidly finishing
his sentence.
"You may escort me to the tea-table," she replied, frigidly, and added:
"We leave town to-morrow."
"Yes, I know," said her companion, as they edged their way through the
crowd. "I'm invited myself."
"I should think you would find it difficult to attend to the duties of
your office, if you make a practice of accepting so many invitations."
"Oh, I haven't accepted," he returned cheerfully.
The Marchioness was manifestly relieved.
They had by this time reached the tea-table. Lady Isabelle was nowhere
in sight.
"I do not see my daughter," said her mother severely. "You told me she
was here."
"Pardon me, I told you that Lieutenant Kingsland offered to get her a
cup of tea."
"Well."
"But they went in the opposite direction."
"I won't detain you any longer, Mr. Stanley." The Dowager's tone was
frigid. "If my daughter is in Lieutenant Kingsland's charge, I feel
quite safe about her. She could not be in better hands."
The Secretary bowed and went on his way rejoicing, and his way, in this
instance, led him to his lodgings.
"I wonder why she is so down on me and so chummy with Kingsland," he
thought. "If she'd seen him on my launch on the Thames, she might think
twice before entrusting her daughter to his charge. Well, it's none of
my business, any more than my affairs are the business of Lady
Isabelle."
He was just a little annoyed at the persistency with which his friends
joined in crying down a woman, who, whatever her faults might be,
possessed infinite fascination, and was, he honestly believed, not half
so bad as she was painted. He told himself that he must seek the first
opportunity that circumstances gave him at Mrs. Roberts' house-party, to
have a serious talk with Miss Fitzgerald and warn her, as gently as he
could, of what was being said about her. Then he recollected with a
start, that he had decided not to go, that he had promised to write a
refusal and--no, that he had _not_ written. He would do so at once. His
latch-key was in his hand.
He opened the door. There was his valet, Randell, standing in the hall,
but with a look on his face which caused Stanley to question him as to
its meaning, before he did anything else.
"Puzzled? I am a bit puzzled. That's a fact, sir," Randell replied to
his question. "And it's about that lady," indicating the Secretary's
sitting-room with a jerk of his thumb.
"What lady?"
"Why, the lady as come here half an hour ago, with her luggage, and said
she was going to stay."
"Randell, are you drunk or dreaming? I know of no lady," cried Stanley,
amazed.
"Well, you can see for yourself, sir," replied the valet, throwing open
the door.
The Secretary stepped in, and confronted--Madame Darcy.