JIM LASCELLES TAKES A DECISIVE STEP
Caroline Crewkerne’s “Wednesdays” had not been so thronged for many
years past. They had been in their heyday twenty years earlier in the
world’s history, when the spacious mansion in Hill Street was the fount
of the most malicious gossip to be obtained in London. But the passing
of the years had bereft Caroline of something of her vigor and of even
more of her _savoir faire_. She had grown difficult and rather out of
date.
However, it had recently been decreed in the interests of human nature
that Caroline Crewkerne should come into vogue again. People were to be
seen at her “Wednesdays” who had not been seen there for years.
There was George Betterton for one. And the worldly wise, of course,
were very quick to account for his presence, and to turn it to pleasure
and profit. Cheriton and he were both popular men; and about the third
week in May two to one against George and three to one against Cheriton
were taken and offered.
“Cheriton is the prettier sparrer,” said students of form, “but Gobo,
of course, has the weight.”
“I assure you, my dear,” said a decidedly influential section of
the public, “the creature is a perfect simpleton. I assure you she
couldn’t say ‘Bo!’ to a goose. It is inconceivable that two men as old
as they are and in their position should make themselves so supremely
ridiculous. And both of them old enough to be her father.”
“Caroline Crewkerne is behind it all,” said the philosophical. “Her
hand has lost nothing of its cunning. Really it is odious to aid and
abet them to make such an exhibition of themselves.”
It is regrettable, all the same, to have to state that the exhibition
was enjoyed hugely. And when the _Morning Post_ announced that on a
certain evening the Countess of Crewkerne would give a dance for Miss
Perry, there was some little competition to receive a card.
Cards were liberally dispensed, but when they came to hand many persons
of the quieter and less ostentatious sort found that a little fly had
crept into the ointment. “Fancy dress” was to be seen written at the
top in a style of caligraphy not unworthy of Miss Pinkerton’s academy
for young ladies. Miss Burden had been commanded to do this at the
eleventh hour.
“That man Cheriton is responsible for this,” complained those who
desired neither the expense nor the inconvenience of habiting
themselves in the garb of another age, “because he thinks he looks well
in breeches.”
That may have been partly the reason; but in justice to Cheriton it is
only right to state that, unless he had found a weightier pretext to
advance, Caroline Crewkerne would never have assented to this somewhat
eccentric condition. Indeed, it was only after a heated argument
between them that Cheriton contrived to get his way.
“You must always be flamboyant and theatrical,” grunted Caroline, “at
every opportunity. All the world knows you look well in breeches.”
“I protest, my dear Caroline,” said the mellifluous Cheriton; “it is
merely my desire to put another plume in your helmet. The creature will
look ravishing as Araminta, Duchess of Dorset. Pelissier shall come
this afternoon to copy the picture _de haut en bas_.”
“It has been copied once already.”
“Ah, no! It supplied an idea or two merely. When you see it in
every detail precisely as Gainsborough saw it, you will observe the
difference.”
“People must be as sick of the picture as I am by this time.”
“Nonsense! They are only just beginning to realize that you’ve got a
picture.”
Let it not be thought an injustice to Cheriton if one other motive is
advanced for his insistence upon a somewhat singular course. When the
cards of invitation had been duly issued he rather let the cat out of
his bag.
“Of course, Caroline, you would be obstinate,” said he, “and have your
own way about that fellow George Betterton, but you know as well as I
do that in any kind of fancy clothes he looks like a boa-constrictor.”
At first Cheriton professed himself unable to decide whether he should
appear as Charles II. or as John Wesley. In the end, however, he
decided in favor of the former. Miss Burden had not been so excited for
years. The subject filled her thoughts day and night for a whole week
after the momentous decision was taken. She then submitted one day to
his lordship at luncheon a peculiarly difficult problem.
“Not a problem at all,” said he. “Simplest thing in the world, my dear
lady. There is only one possible person you can go as.”
“I had been thinking of Mary Queen of Scots,” said Miss Burden, hardly
daring to hope that Lord Cheriton would give his sanction.
“Mary Queen of who!” snarled Caroline.
“No, my dear Miss Burden,” said the eminent authority, “the only
possible person you can go as is Katharine of Aragon.”
“Nonsense, Cheriton!” said Caroline. “I shall not permit Burden to
appear in any such character. A Jane Austen spinster will be far more
appropriate and far less expensive.”
“My dear Caroline,” said Cheriton, “how it would help everybody if you
did not insist on airing your views upon matters of art! Do you wish
Miss Burden to forfeit entirely her natural distinction?”
Miss Burden blushed most becomingly at his lordship’s remark.
“I was not aware that she had any,” said the ruthless Caroline.
“Upon my word, Caroline, even I begin to despair of you. I assure you
Miss Burden is quite one of the most distinguished-looking women of my
acquaintance.”
Miss Burden looked almost as startled as a fawn. Cheriton had never
seen her display so much color as when he made her a little bow
to attest his _bona fides_. It was rather a pity that his smile
unconsciously resembled that of a satyr; not, however, that it really
mattered, for although the ever-observant Caroline duly noted it Miss
Burden did not.
“It is twenty-five minutes past two, Lord Cheriton,” said Miss Perry,
putting a sugar-plum in her mouth, “and you have promised to take me to
the circus.”
“Cheriton,” said the old lady, “I forbid you to do anything of the
kind. To spend three afternoons a week at a circus is outrageous.”
“They are so educational,” said Cheriton. “Develop the mind. Show how
intelligence can be inculcated into the most unlikely things. Horses
good at arithmetic, dogs playing whist, cats indulging in spiritualism.
Very educational indeed. Clown imitating monkey in lifelike manner.
Illustration of the origin of species. One more sugar-plum, my dear
Miss Araminta, and then Marchbanks will summon a taximeter, if
possible, with a tonneau painted pink.”
“Gobo is going to take me to the Horse Show to-morrow,” Miss Perry
announced.
“Who, pray, is Gobo?” Aunt Caroline and Lord Cheriton demanded in one
breath.
“He asked me to call him Gobo,” said Miss Perry, helping herself
calmly to sugar-plums, “and I asked him to call me Goose.”
Cheriton’s countenance was unmistakably a study. The same might be said
of that of Aunt Caroline.
“My dear young lady,” said Cheriton, “this cannot be. One of the most
dangerous men in London. Really, Caroline, you must forbid that old
ruffian the house. As for the Horse Show to-morrow, it is clearly out
of the question.”
“I promised Gobo,” said Miss Perry, “and I don’t like to break a
promise; do you?”
“My dear young lady, you are much too young and inexperienced to make a
promise, let alone to keep one. I speak as I feel sure your papa would
do were he in my place, and as I know I should do were I in the place
of your papa. Your aunt is quite of that opinion; I speak for her also.
You must not call that man Gobo, he must not call you Goose, and as for
the Horse Show, it is out of the question.”
“But everybody calls me Goose,” said Miss Perry, “because I am _rather_
a silly.”
“Caroline,” said Cheriton, with much gravity, “if you will take the
advice of your oldest friend you will forbid that man the house. My
dear Miss Araminta, let us try to obliterate a very disagreeable
impression by spending a quietly educational afternoon at the circus.”
When on the morning of the great day of the fancy ball Miss Perry
entered the presence of Jim Lascelles as the faithful embodiment,
down to the minutest particular, of Gainsborough’s masterpiece, that
assiduous young fellow was seized with despair. It took the form of a
gasp.
“Goose Girl,” said he, “I shall have to give up coming here. I paint
you all the morning, I think of you all the afternoon and evening, and
I dream of you all night. You know you have rather knocked a hole in my
little world.”
“There will be ices to-night,” said Miss Perry. “Lord Cheriton _almost_
thinks pink ices are nicest.”
“Confound Lord Cheriton,” said Jim, with unpardonable bluntness, “and
confound pink ices!”
“I thought I would just put on my new frock,” said Miss Perry, “to see
if you think it is as nice as you think the lilac is.”
“I have no thoughts at all this morning,” said Jim Lascelles, “about
your new frock or about anything else. My mind is a chaos, my wretched
brain goes round and round, and what do you suppose it is because of?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Perry.
“It is because of you,” said Jim Lascelles. “Look at that canvas you’ve
ruined. Yellow hair--Gainsborough hat--lilac frock--full-fledged
cream-bun appearance. You will lose me my commission, which means a
cool hundred pounds out of my pocket, and my mamma has denied herself
common necessaries to pay for my education. Goose Girl,” Jim Lascelles
concluded a little hoarsely, “I am growing afraid of you. You are a
sorceress. Something tells me that you will be my ruin.”
“I wish you had seen Muffin’s mauve,” said Miss Perry, who showed very
little concern for Jim’s ruin.
“I have not the least desire to see Muffin’s mauve,” said Jim
Lascelles. “In fact, I thank the God who looks after poor painters--if
there is such a Deity, which I take leave to doubt--that I have not
seen it. But I intend to ask you this question: What right have you,
Goose Girl, to grow so extravagantly perfect, to get yourself up in
this ravishing and entrancing manner, and then to come to ask a poor
wight of a painting chap, who is daubing away for dear bread and
butter, whether he thinks your new frock is as nice as the lilac was?”
“Muffin’s mauve----” said Miss Perry.
“Answer me,” said Jim, sternly. “You can’t. You are a sorceress. You
are a weaver of spells. Well, it so happens that I am susceptible
to them. I am going to take a decisive step. Goose Girl, it is my
intention to kiss you.”
Without further preface or ado Jim Lascelles stepped towards Miss
Perry with extended arms and eyes of menace. He hugged her literally,
new frock and all, in the open light of the morning; and further, he
gave her one of the most resounding busses that was ever heard in that
dignified apartment.
“Get rid of that if you are able,” said he, brazenly. “And now sit
there, as good as pie, while I put that new gown upon canvas.”
Miss Perry did as she was told in a manner that rather implied that she
approved decidedly of the whole proceedings.
“Goose Girl,” said Jim, attacking the canvas, “you will either make me
or mar me. Sometimes I feel it might be the former, but more often I am
convinced it will be the latter.”
“Muffin’s mauve cost a lot of money,” said Miss Perry.
“Paws down,” said Jim. “The question now for gods and men is, can that
hair and that frock live together?”
Jim took up a little looking-glass and turned his back upon the canvas.
He sighed with relief.
“Yes, they can by a miracle,” said he. “And yet they out-Gillet Gillet.”
“What will you be to-night, Jim?” asked Miss Perry.
“Achilles, sulking in my tent.”
“Where will you put your tent?” said Miss Perry. “One can’t dance in a
tent. And what will you do when you are sulky?”
“Gnash my teeth and curse my luck.”
“I will dance with you twice if you would like me to,” said Miss Perry
with charming friendliness.
“I shall not be there,” said Jim, whose studied unconcern was rather a
failure.
“Not be there!” said Miss Perry, with consternation.
“Aunt Caroline has not axed me.”
It was some kind of solace to Jim Lascelles that dismay and incredulity
contended upon the usually calm and unruffled countenance of Miss
Perry.
“Miss Burden has forgotten you,” said she. “I must speak to her.”
Miss Perry rose for that purpose.
“Sit down, you Goose,” Jim commanded her. “Don’t speak a word about it
to anybody, unless you want to get me sacked from the house. I am here
on sufferance, a poor painting chap, copying a picture to get bread
and cheese; and this ball to-night is being given by the Countess of
Crewkerne, for her niece Miss Perry.”
“But, Jim----”
“Goose Girl,” said Jim, “keep Mouth Piece immovable. Move not the Chin
Piece, the Young Man said. Think of cream buns.”
“But, Jim----” said Miss Perry.