At a latish seven, when the Grill had become nicely filled with a
representative crowd, the Belknap-Jacksons arrived with his lordship.
The latter had not dressed and I was able to detect that
Belknap-Jackson, doubtless noting his guest’s attire at the last
moment, had hastily changed back to a lounge-suit of his own. Also I
noted the absence of the Mixer and wondered how the host had contrived
to eliminate her. On this point he found an opportunity to enlighten
me before taking his seat.
“Mark my words, that old devil is up to something,” he darkly said,
and I saw that he was genuinely put about, for not often does he fall
into strong language.
“After pushing herself forward with his lordship all through tea-time
in the most brazen manner, she announces that she has a previous
dinner engagement and can’t be with us. I’m as well pleased to have
her absent, of course, but I’d pay handsomely to know what her little
game is. Imagine her not dining with the Earl of Brinstead when she
had the chance! That shows something’s wrong. I don’t like it. I tell
you she’s capable of things.”
I mused upon this. The Mixer was undoubtedly capable of things.
Especially things concerning her son-in-law. And yet I could imagine
no opening for her at the present moment and said as much. And Mrs.
Belknap-Jackson, I was glad to observe, did not share her husband’s
evident worry. She had entered the place plumingly, as it were,
sweeping the length of the room before his lordship with quite all the
manner her somewhat stubby figure could carry off. Seated, she became
at once vivacious, chatting to his lordship brightly and continuously,
raking the room the while with her lorgnon. Half a dozen ladies of the
North Side set were with parties at other tables. I saw she was
immensely stimulated by the circumstance that these friends were
unaware of her guest’s identity. I divined that before the evening was
over she would contrive to disclose it.
His lordship responded but dully to her animated chat. He is never
less urbane than when hungry, and I took pains to have his favourite
soup served quite almost at once. This he fell upon. I may say that he
has always a hearty manner of attacking his soup. Not infrequently he
makes noises. He did so on this occasion. I mean to say, there was no
finesse. I hovered near, anxious that the service should be without
flaw.
His head bent slightly over his plate, I saw a spoonful of soup
ascending with precision toward his lips. But curiously it halted in
mid-air, then fell back. His lordship’s eyes had become fixed upon
some one back of me. At once, too, I noted looks of consternation upon
the faces of the Belknap-Jacksons, the hostess freezing in the very
midst of some choice phrase she had smilingly begun.
I turned quickly. It was the Klondike person, radiant in the costume
of black and the black hat. She moved down the hushed room with
well-lifted chin, eyes straight ahead and narrowed to but a faint
offended consciousness of the staring crowd. It was well done. It was
superior. I am able to judge those things.
Reaching a table the second but one from the Belknap-Jacksons’s, she
relaxed finely from the austere note of her progress and turned to her
companions with a pretty and quite perfect confusion as to which chair
she might occupy. Quite awfully these companions were the Mixer,
overwhelming in black velvet and diamonds, and Cousin Egbert,
uncomfortable enough looking but as correctly enveloped in evening
dress as he could ever manage by himself. His cravat had been tied
many times and needed it once more.
They were seated by the raccoon with quite all his impressiveness of
manner. They faced the Belknap-Jackson party, yet seemed unconscious
of its presence. Cousin Egbert, with a bored manner which I am certain
he achieved only with tremendous effort, scanned my simple menu. The
Mixer settled herself with a vast air of comfort and arranged various
hand-belongings about her on the table.
Between them the Klondike woman sat with a restraint that would
actually not have ill-become one of our own women. She did not look
about; her hands were still, her head was up. At former times with her
own set she had been wont to exhibit a rather defiant vivacity. Now
she did not challenge. Finely, eloquently, there pervaded her a
reserve that seemed almost to exhale a fragrance. But of course that
is silly rot. I mean to say, she drew the attention without visible
effort. She only waited.
The Earl of Brinstead, as we all saw, had continued to stare. Thrice
slowly arose the spoon of soup, for mere animal habit was strong upon
him, yet at a certain elevation it each time fell slowly back. He was
acting like a mechanical toy. Then the Mixer caught his eye and nodded
crisply. He bobbed in response.
“What ho! The dowager!” he exclaimed, and that time the soup was
successfully resumed.
“Poor old mater!” sighed his hostess. “She’s constantly taking up
people. One does, you know, in these queer Western towns.”
“Jolly old thing, awfully good sort!” said his lordship, but his eyes
were not on the Mixer.
Terribly then I recalled the Honourable George’s behaviour at that
same table the night he had first viewed this Klondike person. His
lordship was staring in much the same fashion. Yet I was relieved to
observe that the woman this time was quite unconscious of the interest
she had aroused. In the case of the Honourable George, who had frankly
ogled her--for the poor chap has ever lacked the finer shades in these
matters--she had not only been aware of it but had deliberately played
upon it. It is not too much to say that she had shown herself to be a
creature of blandishments. More than once she had permitted her eyes
to rest upon him with that peculiarly womanish gaze which, although
superficially of a blank innocence, is yet all-seeing and even shoots
little fine arrows of questions from its ambuscade. But now she was
ignoring his lordship as utterly as she did the Belknap-Jacksons.
To be sure she may later have been in some way informed that his eyes
were seeking her, but never once, I am sure, did she descend to even a
veiled challenge of his glance or betray the faintest discreet
consciousness of it. And this I was indeed glad to note in her.
Clearly she must know where to draw the line, permitting herself a
malicious laxity with a younger brother which she would not have the
presumption to essay with the holder of the title. Pleased I was, I
say, to detect in her this proper respect for his lordship’s position.
It showed her to be not all unworthy.
The dinner proceeded, his lordship being good enough to compliment me
on the fare which I knew was done to his liking. Yet, even in the very
presence of the boiled mutton, his eyes were too often upon his
neighbour. When he behaved thus in the presence of a dish of mutton I
had not to be told that he was strongly moved. I uneasily recalled now
that he had once been a bit of a dog himself. I mean to say, there was
talk in the countryside, though of course it had died out a score of
years ago. I thought it as well, however, that he be told almost
immediately that the person he honoured with his glance was no other
than the one he had come to subtract his unfortunate brother from.
The dinner progressed--somewhat jerkily because of his lordship’s
inattention--through the pudding and cheese to coffee. Never had I
known his lordship behave so languidly in the presence of food he
cared for. His hosts ate even less. They were worried. Mrs.
Belknap-Jackson, however, could simply no longer contain within
herself the secret of their guest’s identity. With excuses to the deaf
ears of his lordship she left to address a friend at a distant table.
She addressed others at other tables, leaving a flutter of sensation
in her wake.
Belknap-Jackson, having lighted one of his non-throat cigarettes,
endeavoured to engross his lordship with an account of their last
election of officers to the country club. His lordship was not
properly attentive to this. Indeed, with his hostess gone he no longer
made any pretence of concealing his interest in the other table. I saw
him catch the eye of the Mixer and astonishingly intercepted from her
a swift but most egregious wink.
“One moment,” said his lordship to the host. “Must pay my respects to
the dowager, what, what! Jolly old muggins, yes!” And he was gone.