A CHANCE MEETING
It was worse for the General when Sir Robin Drummond left Oxford and
settled in London, with an avowed intention of reading for the Bar, and
at the same time making politics his real career.
"A man ought to do something in the world," he said to his irate uncle.
"The Bar is always a stepping-stone. I confess I don't look to practice
very much; my real bent is for politics. But the law interests me, and
it is always a stepping-stone."
"I should have thought that the profession of arms, which your father
and your grandfather adorned, as well as a good many of your forbears,
might serve you as well," Sir Denis said, hotly.
"You leave out my uncle, sir," the young man replied, with urbane good
humour. "Yes, the Drummonds have done very well for the profession of
arms. Still, with my beliefs on the subject of war----"
"Pray don't air them, don't air them. You know what I think about them.
Your father's son ought to be ashamed of professing such sentiments."
"One must abide by one's sentiments, one's convictions, if one is to be
good for anything. Uncle Denis," Sir Robin said, patiently.
"You'll have no chance in politics. No constituency will return you.
What we want now is a strong Government that will strengthen us, through
our Army and Navy, sir, against our enemies. Such a Government will come
in at the next election a-top of the wave. The people, or I am much
mistaken, are not going to see the bulwarks of our power tampered with.
The country is all for war. Where do you come in?"
Sir Robin smiled ever so slightly. It was that smile of his, with its
faintest hint of intellectual superiority, that riled the General to
bursting point.
"I don't believe there is a war feeling, Uncle Denis," he said. "The
country has had enough of war. However, I should not come in on top of a
wave of war feeling in any case. You would be quite right in asking
where I should come in. To be sure, I look to come in on top of the
anti-war wave. My side is pledged against war. The working man----"
"You don't mean to say that you're going to appeal to _him_!" Sir Denis
shouted. "You don't mean to say that you're going to side with the
Radicals! I've lived to see many strange things, but--Gerald's son a
Radical!"
He brought out the ejaculations with the sound of guns popping. His face
was red with indignation, his eyes leaping at his degenerate nephew. The
next words did not tend to calm him.
"Do you know, Uncle Denis, I believe that if my father had been a
politician he would have been a Radical? His profound feeling for
Christianity, his adherence to the creed of its Founder, Whose whole
life was a glorification of toil----"
"Spare me, spare me!" cried the General, restraining himself with
difficulty. "So a man can't be a Christian and a gentleman! And you
think your father would have been a Radical! I can tell you, young
gentleman----"
At this moment Nelly came into the room, charming in her short-waisted
frock of white satin, with a little cap of pearls on her hair. Both men
turned and stared at her, pleasure and affection in their eyes.
"So you've been heckling poor Robin as usual," she said, stroking her
father's cheek. "Heckling poor Robin and getting your hair on end like a
fretful porcupine. I'll never be able to make you into a nice, sweet,
quiet old gentleman."
"Turn your attention to him," said the General, indicating his nephew by
an unfriendly nod. "What do you think, Nell? He's a Radical. He's going
to contest a seat for the Radicals. What do you say now?"
"Pooh!" said Nelly, with her pretty chin in the air. "Pooh! Why
shouldn't he? Lots of nice people are Radicals. If he feels that way, of
course he ought to do it."
Robin's unpractical eyes thanked her mutely. He was as plain-looking a
man as he had been a boy, more hatchet-faced than ever. He was long and
lean and angular, and his positions were ungraceful. But his eyes were
the eyes of Don Quixote. The eyes had appealed to Nelly as long as she
could remember.
"Oh, if you're against me, Nell!" said Sir Denis, lamely. "Ah! there's
the bell! And a good thing, too. I couldn't eat my lunch to-day for old
Grogan of the Artillery. He's a man with a grievance. It soured my wine
and spoilt my food. Well, well, Robin, if you're under Nelly's
protection you may do what you like--join the Peace Society, if you
like."
"I mean to, sir," Sir Robin said, placidly. "In fact, I'm speaking on
'The Ideal of a Universal Peace' on Monday evening at the Finsbury
Democratic Debating Club."
When Sir Robin came to town there had been an apprehension in his
uncle's breast, too well-founded, that the Dowager would follow him. She
was devoted to her son, and not at all disposed to take the General's
views about his recreancy in politics.
"A good many good people are on the Radical side, after all," she said,
"and there is, perhaps, more room, too, for a young man of Robin's
ambitions in the Radical party."
"So far as I can see," said the General, acidly, "his ambitions are
rather to succeed at the bottom than at the top. The applause of the
multitude appeals to him more than the praise of his equals or
superiors."
Lady Drummond glanced coldly at his heated face.
"I fancy you've an attack of gout coming on, Denis," she said. "I should
send for Sir Harley Dix, if I were you."
She had stopped the General just as he was on his own doorstep, setting
his face cheerfully eastwards on his way to Pall Mall. He had come back
with her. He knew his duty to his brother's widow better than to do
anything else. It was Wednesday, and on Wednesday there was always a
particular curry at lunch which he much affected. He was a connoisseur
in curries, and the _chef_ always made this with an eye to Sir Denis's
approval. He would have to shorten his walk and 'bus part of the way, or
the curry would be cold. He hated to be put out in his daily routine.
"I never was freer from gout in my life, Matilda," he said, with
indignation. "I don't trouble the doctors much. When I want their advice
I shall ask for it. I always ask for advice when I want it."
She looked at him with unconcern.
"Do you think Nelly will soon be back?" she asked.
"I don't know. When she takes the dogs for a walk she is often out for a
couple of hours. Perhaps it would be too long a time to wait."
In his mind he could see the curry disappearing before the other men who
liked it as much as he did. Grogan would always eat curry--that special
curry--to the General's indignation. Why, curry was the last thing
Grogan ought to eat! Wasn't he as yellow as the curry itself with
chronic liver? Grogan was greedy over that curry--a greedy fellow, the
General said to himself, remembering the many occasions when it had been
impossible for him to break away from Grogan and his grievances. If her
Ladyship was going to sit on endlessly! The General's manners were too
good to leave her to sit by herself. And she was untying her bonnet
strings! He might as well lunch at home. No, he wouldn't do that, not if
her Ladyship was going to stay to lunch. He supposed he could have lunch
somewhere, if not at his club.
"Pray, don't put yourself out for me, Denis," her Ladyship was saying,
with what passed for graciousness in her. "I know your usual habits. At
your age a man doesn't like to be put out of his habits. Don't mind me,
pray. I can amuse myself very well till Nelly comes in. Plenty of books
and papers, I see. You subscribe to Mudie's. I thought no one subscribed
to Mudie's now that we have so many Free Libraries. I have never been
able to afford myself a library subscription, even although we lived in
the country. Now that I am going to settle in town----"
"Settle in town!" The General's eyes were almost starting from his head.
"I'd no idea, Matilda, you were going to settle in town. What's going to
become of the Court?"
"I have an idea of letting it for a few years. Mr. Higbid, the very rich
hide merchant, has taken a fancy to the place. I have yet to hear what
Robin will say. Mr. Higbid is prepared to pay a fancy price----"
"He'd have to before I'd let him into my drawing-room," said the
General, with disgust. "Imagine letting the Court! And to a man who
sells hides!"
"His money is as good as anybody else's. And he is received everywhere.
You are really too old-fashioned, Denis. Your ways need altering."
"I am too old to change, ma'am," said the General, getting up and giving
himself a shake like a dog. "If you don't really mind being left----" He
wanted to get away to think over the fact that the Dowager was going to
settle in town. He could hardly keep himself from groaning. His peace
was all at an end. If he had not been too old to change, he would have
fled from London and left it to the Dowager. But big as it was, it was
too little to contain himself and the Dowager with any prospect of
peace.
"I'll stay and have lunch with Nelly," the Dowager went on, quite
ignorant of his perturbation. "Afterwards, I'm going to take her to see
houses with me. _Of course_, I shall settle in your immediate
neighbourhood, if I can find anything suitable. I'm going to take Nelly
off your hands a bit, take her about and advise her as to her frocks.
She was wearing white chiffon the last time we dined here--a most
perishable material. I don't think your purse is long enough for white
chiffon, Denis. Then the young people ought to see more of each other.
We ought to be talking about trousseaux----"
But at this point the General fled. If he had stayed another second he
would have said things that his kind and chivalrous heart would have
grieved over later. He fled, and left her Ladyship staring after him in
amazement.
He clean forgot about the curry in the fretting and fuming of his mind,
or it occurred to him only to be consigned to Grogan, as though Grogan
were a synonym for something much stronger. His fiery indignation
between Sherwood Square and Pall Mall was quite amazing. The Dowager in
the next street! Why, he might as well order his coffin. And talking
about taking Nelly from him. That muff, Robin, too! When had the fellow
shown any impatience? He didn't want the girl to marry an oyster. He
remembered the glory and glamour of his own love affair, of that golden
year of marriage. His Nelly ought to be loved as her mother had been
before her, as her mother's daughter deserved to be. He wasn't going to
yield her to a fellow who would only give her half his tepid heart, who
would leave her to spend her evenings alone while he spouted in Radical
clubs or in that big talking shop, the House of Commons. He wouldn't
have it. And still----Robin was poor Gerald's son, and there was nothing
against him but his politics. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, the
General recognised the fact that he could have forgiven the politics if
it had not been for the Dowager.
He had almost reached the doors of his club--Grogan might eat the curry
for him, and be hanged to him!--when he saw advancing towards him the
spare, elegant figure that sat its horse in front of the regiment below
the General's window every morning. The oddest gleam came into his eyes.
The young man had recognised him, and was blushing like a girl as he
came towards him. He had velvety brown eyes and regular features, was a
handsome lad, the General said to himself as young Langrishe lifted his
hat from his sleek, well-shaped head. He had the barest acquaintance
with Sir Denis, and he would have passed by if the old soldier had not
stopped him.
"How do you do, Captain Langrishe?" he said. "I am very much obliged to
you for the pleasure you give me every morning. I take it as uncommonly
kind of you to bring 'the boys' past my house. I assure you I quite look
forward to it--I quite look forward to it."
Langrishe stammered something about the regiment delighting to do honour
to its old General, growing redder and redder as he did so. His
confusion became him in the General's eyes. He was certainly a
pleasant-looking, well-mannered boy, the General decided, and the
confusion of the young soldier in the presence of the old soldier an
entirely natural and creditable thing.
"I'll tell you what, my lad," said Sir Denis, putting his arm within the
other's: "if you've nothing better to do, supposing you come and lunch
with me. I'm just going in to the club. And you--on your way to it? I
thought so. You'll give me the pleasure of your company?"
The General was half an hour late, yet he found a small table in a
window recess unappropriated. It was set for two, and a screen was drawn
about it so that the two could be as retired as they wished. More--the
General had not been forgotten in the distribution of the curry. Their
portions came up piping hot. From where they sat the General could see
Sir Rodney Vivash and Grogan button-holing each other. They were the
bores of the club, and for once they had foregathered, willingly or
unwillingly.
After all, there were compensations--there were compensations; and the
General was hungry. His manner towards young Langrishe had an air of
fatherly kindness. There was a gratified flush on the young fellow's
lean, dark cheek. What was it the General had heard about Langrishe? Oh,
yes, that he had had rough luck--that his old uncle. Sir Peter--the
General remembered him for a curmudgeon--had married and had a son,
after rearing the young fellow as his heir. No wonder the lad looked
careworn. The regiment was an expensive one; not too expensive for Sir
Peter Langrishe's heir, but much too expensive for a poor man.
However, it was no business of the General's--not just yet.
"You have met my daughter, I think?" he said. They were at the cheese by
this time, and the General was apparently divided between the merits of
Gruyère and Stilton. He did not glance at Captain Langrishe, but he knew
quite as well as if he had that the colour came again to his cheek, that
the brown eyes looked unhappily conscious.
"I have met Miss Drummond several times," he answered.
"Ah, you must dine with us one evening."
Young Langrishe looked at him in a startled way.
"Thank you very much, sir," he said, "but, as a matter of fact, I am
negotiating a change into an Indian regiment. I don't know how long I
shall be here. And I shall be very busy, I'm afraid."
"Ah! Just as you like--just as you like." The General, by the easiest of
transitions, passed on to the subject of soldiering in India. He had an
unwontedly exhilarated feeling which later had its reaction in a
consciousness of guilt.
"What would poor Gerald have said?" he thought, as he walked homewards
that evening. "And I've nothing against Robin--I've nothing really
against Robin, except his Peace Societies and all the rest of it. And
the Dowager--yes, there's always the Dowager. I should like to know what
on earth ever induced poor Gerald to marry the Dowager."