"Oh it's none of _his_ business!" Peter protested.
"He had better take you home to your mother."
"I'm going home--I shan't stay here to-day," Biddy went on. Then to
Peter: "I came in a hansom, but I shall walk back. Come that way with
me."
"With pleasure. But I shall not be able to go in," Peter added.
"Oh that's no matter," said the girl. "Good-bye, Nick."
"You understand then that we dine together--at seven sharp. Wouldn't a
club, as I say, be best?" Peter, before going, inquired of Nick. He
suggested further which club it should be; and his words led Biddy, who
had directed her steps toward the door, to turn a moment as with a
reproachful question--whether it was for this Peter had given up
Calcutta Gardens. But her impulse, if impulse it was, had no sequel
save so far as it was a sequel that Peter freely explained to her, after
Nick had assented to his conditions, that her brother too had a desire
to go to Miss Rooth's first night and had already promised to accompany
him.
"Oh that's perfect; it will be so good for him--won't it?--if he's going
to paint her again," Biddy responded.
"I think there's nothing so good for him as that he happens to have such
a sister as you," Peter declared as they went out. He heard at the same
time the sound of a carriage stopping, and before Biddy, who was in
front of him, opened the door of the house had been able to say to
himself, "What a bore--there's Miriam!" The opened door showed him that
truth--this young lady in the act of alighting from the brougham
provided by Basil Dashwood's thrifty zeal. Her mother followed her, and
both the new visitors exclaimed and rejoiced, in their demonstrative
way, as their eyes fell on their valued friend. The door had closed
behind Peter, but he instantly and violently rang, so that they should
be admitted with as little delay as possible, while he stood
disconcerted, and fearing he showed it, by the prompt occurrence of an
encounter he had particularly sought to avert. It ministered, moreover,
a little to this sensibility that Miriam appeared to have come somewhat
before her time. The incident promised, however, to pass off in a fine
florid way. Before he knew it both the ladies had taken possession of
Biddy, who looked at them with comparative coldness, tempered indeed by
a faint glow of apprehension, and Miriam had broken out:
"We know you, we know you; we saw you in Paris, and you came to my
theatre a short time ago with Mr. Sherringham!"
"We know your mother, Lady Agnes Dormer. I hope her ladyship's very
well," said Mrs. Rooth, who had never struck Peter as a more
objectionable old woman.
"You offered to do a head of me or something or other: didn't you tell
me you work in clay? I daresay you've forgotten all about it, but I
should be delighted," Miriam pursued with the richest urbanity. Peter
was not concerned with her mother's pervasiveness, though he didn't like
Biddy to see even that; but he hoped his companion would take the
overcharged benevolence of the young actress in the spirit in which,
rather to his surprise, it evidently was offered. "I've sat to your
clever brother many times," said Miriam; "I'm going to sit again. I
daresay you've seen what we've done--he's too delightful. _Si vous
saviez comme cela me repose_!" she added, turning for a moment to Peter.
Then she continued, smiling at Biddy; "Only he oughtn't to have thrown
up such prospects, you know. I've an idea I wasn't nice to you that day
in Paris--I was nervous and scared and perverse. I remember perfectly; I
_was_ odious. But I'm better now--you'd see if you were to know me. I'm
not a bad sort--really I'm not. But you must have your own friends.
Happy they--you look so charming! Immensely like Mr. Dormer, especially
about the eyes; isn't she, mamma?"
"She comes of a beautiful Norman race--the finest, purest strain," the
old woman simpered. "Mr. Dormer's sometimes so good as to come and see
us--we're always at home on Sunday; and if some day you found courage to
come with him you might perhaps find it pleasant, though very different
of course from the circle in which you habitually move."
Biddy murmured a vague recognition of these wonderful civilities, and
Miriam commented: "Different, yes; but we're all right, you know. Do
come," she added. Then turning to Sherringham: "Remember what I told
you--I don't expect you to-night."
"Oh I understand; I shall come,"--and Peter knew he grew red.
"It will be idiotic. Keep him, keep him away--don't let him," Miriam
insisted to Biddy; with which, as Nick's portals now were gaping, she
drew her mother away.
Peter, at this, walked off briskly with Biddy, dropping as he did so:
"She's too fantastic!"
"Yes, but so tremendously good-looking. I shall ask Nick to take me
there," the girl said after a moment.
"Well, she'll do you no harm. They're all right, as she says. It's the
world of art--you were standing up so for art just now."
"Oh I wasn't thinking so much of that kind," she demurred.
"There's only one kind--it's all the same thing. If one sort's good the
other is."