There may perhaps be a few survivals of that period: _old_ nouveaux
riches, who are still modestly jocose on the subject of each other's
millions when they meet, and indulge in pompous little pleasantries
about their pet economics, and drop a pompous little _h_ now and
then, and pretend they only did it for fun. But, dear me, there are
other things to be vulgar about in this world besides money and
uncertain aspirates.
If to be pompous and pretentious and insincere is to be vulgar, I really
think the vulgar of our time are not these old plutocrats--not even
their grandsons, who hunt and shoot and yacht and swagger with the
best--but those solemn little prigs who have done well at school or
college, and become radicals and agnostics before they've even had time
to find out what men and women are made of, or what sex they belong to
themselves (if any), and loathe all fun and sport and athletics, and
rave about pictures and books and music they don't understand, and would
pretend to despise if they did--things that were not even _meant_ to be
understood. It doesn't take three generations to make a prig--worse
luck!
At the Gibsons' there was neither pompousness nor insincerity nor
pretension of any kind, and therefore no real vulgarity. It is true
they were a little bit noisy there sometimes, but only in fun.
When we arrived at that most hospitable house the two pretty
drawing-rooms were already crammed with young people, and the
dancing was in full swing.
I presented Barty to Mrs. Gibson, who received him with her usual
easy cordiality, just as she would have received one of her
husband's clerks, or the Prime Minister; or the Prince Consort
himself, for that matter. But she looked up into his face with such
frank unabashed admiration that I couldn't help laughing--nor could
he!
She presented him to Mr. Gibson, who drew himself back and folded
his arms and frowned; then suddenly, striking a beautiful stage
attitude of surprised emotion, with his hand on his heart, he
exclaimed:
"Oh! Monsewer! Esker-voo ker jer dwaw lah vee?--ah! kel bonnure!"
And this so tickled Barty that he forgot his manners and went into
peals of laughter. And from that moment I ceased to exist as the
bright particular star in Mr. Gibson's firmament of eligible young
men: for in spite of the kink in my nose, and my stolid gravity,
which was really and merely the result of my shyness, he had always
looked upon me as an exceptionally presentable, proper, and goodly
youth, and a most exemplary--that is, if my sister was to be trusted
in the matter; for she was my informant.
I'm afraid Barty was not so immediately popular with the young
cavaliers of the party--but all came right in due time. For after
supper, which was early, Barty played the fool with Mr. Gibson, and
taught him how to do a mechanical wax figure, of which he himself
was the showman; and the laughter, both baritone and soprano, might
have been heard in Russell Square. Then they sang an extempore
Italian duet together which was screamingly droll--and so forth.
Leah distinguished herself as usual by being attentive to the
material wants of the company: comfortable seats, ices, syrups,
footstools for mammas, and wraps; safety from thorough draughts for
grandpapas--the inherited hospitality of the clan of Gibson took
this form with the sole daughter of their house and home; she had no
"parlor tricks."
We remained the latest. It was a full moon, or nearly so--as usual
on a balcony; for I remember standing on the balcony with Leah.
A belated Italian organ-grinder stopped beneath us and played a tune
from _I Lombardi_, called "La mia letizia." Leah's hair was done up
for the first time--in two heavy black bands that hid her little
ears and framed her narrow chinny face--with a yellow bow plastered
on behind. Such was the fashion then, a hideous fashion enough--but
we knew no better. To me she looked so lovely in her long white
frock--long for the first time--that Tavistock Square became a broad
Venetian moonlit lagoon, and the dome of University College an old
Italian church, and "La mia letizia" the song of Adria's gondolier.