Lady Jim was not at all offended. She made every allowance for the
querulous temper of old age, and still smiled.
"I rather like cats myself," she observed casually. "They know what
they want."
"But they don't always get it, my dear," snapped Lady Canvey; adding
inconsequently, "when the cat's in the dairy, she's after the cream."
"I don't think that's an original remark," said Leah, languidly, and
loosening her furs, for the room really was heated like the
conservatory, in which the lovers talked Chinese metaphysics. "Didn't
George Eliot say something of the sort?"
"I never knew him," retorted Lady Canvey, wilfully dense. "You and
your Chinese metaphysics indeed! I won't have it----"
"Have them," corrected Leah, gently, and unable to resist the
opportunity.
Lady Canvey scowled like the fairy Caraboss, and continued, without
heeding the impertinence, "Joan is the daughter of Lionel's vicar."
"I see, and he intends to be the vicar's son-in-law."
"What is that to you?"
"News!" expressed Lady Jim, serenely. "I never knew such a prig as
Lionel could fall in love."
"His love is the love of an honest man," declared the old dame,
striking her crutch on the carpet.
"I hope so, for the sake of his cloth."
"Chinese metaphysics indeed!" grumbled Lady Canvey. "The poor child
did not know what you meant."
"She certainly seems to be somewhat dull."
"Dull yourself, Leah. She's a sweet-tempered, good, thoughtful girl."
"Oh, I didn't mean to say she was so dull as all those qualities
imply," said Lady Jim, sweetly.
Lady Canvey looked wrathfully round for something to throw at her
visitor's head. But the tea-table was too far away, and the old woman
prized her cups and saucers. Finally she took refuge in a spiteful
speech.
"_She's_ an honest girl."
"I sincerely hope so, seeing she is your companion," replied Leah, not
caring to take up so ridiculous a challenge. "When did you start her?"
"Leah!" Lady Canvey thumped the ground again. "Don't talk slang. If
you wish to know, although I don't think it is any of your business,
Joan Tallentire came to me two months ago, during which time you have
not come to see me."
"I was abroad," apologised Lady Jim, stifling a yawn.
"Gambling at Monte Carlo, I'll be bound."
"I did meet Jim there. He lost heavily on the red. I won, and came
home with enough to see me through the last month."
"Who were you living on abroad?" asked the old woman, contemptuously.
Lady Jim leaned back and placed her muff-chain between two very red
lips.
"Let me think," she murmured, not put out in the least. "Oh, that
little dowdy Australian woman, who is trying to get into society on
her husband's money, asked me to stop at their villa."
"And you did?"
"For four weeks."
"And borrowed money, I'll be bound."
Lady Jim nodded blandly. "You can't expect me to live with pigs for
nothing," she said, with the greatest coolness.
"You'd live with the devil and borrow from him, I believe," cried the
exasperated Lady Canvey, glaring.
"I _do_ live with one," assented her god-daughter; "but he's a
stony-broke devil."
"More modern flowers of speech!"
"I didn't create the language."
"You can help using it."
"No. People wouldn't understand if I talked like Lady Jane Grey or
Elizabeth Fry."
"They were good women."
"But so dull," objected Lady Jim. "Why is it good women are always
dull and dowdy?"
"They are getting ready for the next world," mumbled Lady Canvey,
solemnly.
"Their outfit can't cost much, then," declared Leah, flippantly; "but
aren't we going to talk business? Think of that poor French, sitting
in the motor-car all this time."
"You're sorry for him, I'm sure," said the old woman, ironically.
"Horribly," replied Lady Jim, calmly; "but at least the poor creature
is cooler than I am. This room is stifling."
"Don't call your fellow-sinner a creature, Leah."
"Ah! Even had I not seen Lionel I could guess he had been with you,
godmother. He loves the dirty and disreputable."
"And you love the rich and disreputable."
"That obvious speech is hardly worthy of your reputation," was Lady
Jim's reply. Then she crossed her legs, rested her muff on her knee,
and protested, "I can't wait here much longer----"
"On account of French?"
"No; but I'm going to dine at the Cecil to-night, with a boy in the
Lancers. He's a nice boy."
"And a rich boy?"
"Of course! I don't like boys without money. But this business," she
went on hurriedly. "Jim and I are in a hole."
"You ought to be in gaol," was the angry reply.
"That _would_ be a hole," said Leah, good-humouredly; "but you don't
want to see Jim and me in the bankruptcy court."
"Why should I bother? It's nothing to do with me!"
"I'm your god-daughter."
"You're a heartless cat," said Lady Canvey, angrily, and with her eyes
scintillating like jewels. "It's no use, Leah. I've helped you and
that rascal Jim over and over again. Apply to the Duke."
"Oh, we've done that. He won't give us a penny."
"Then ask some of those nice boys you talk of."
Lady Jim sat very upright in her chair, and a becoming colour
heightened her beauty.
"I don't ask any men for money," she declared; "you know perfectly
well, Lady Canvey, that I am any honest woman."
"And how dull that sounds," chuckled Lady Canvey, turning the tables;
"you should be more original, Leah."
"I don't mind going out to dinner with a man," cried Lady Jim, feeling
herself much aggrieved, "nor do I mind a box at the theatre, or some
gloves or things of that sort, so long as Jim doesn't object.'
"Pooh! Much you care for Jim."
"I do. Jim's got a temper. He told me this very morning he'd screw my
neck if I broke loose."
"Then I respect him for saying it," said Lady Canvey, energetically;
"and I'd respect him still more if he did it."
"That's what I said to him," retorted Leah, grimly. "All the same, I
am straight enough. No one can say a word against me."
"I'm glad to hear it. You have your good points, Leah," observed Lady
Canvey, in a more kindly tone; "but you show your worst side to the
world. Why not turn over a new leaf?"
"I'm just about to do so, and there's bankruptcy on the other side,
unless you help us, dear godmother," she ended coaxingly.
"I won't," was the firm response. "It's like pouring water into a
sieve. I've given you and Jim at least five thousand pounds. Where is
it, I ask--where?"
"We must pay our bills."
"You ought to, but you don't."
"Money will go."
"In ways it shouldn't go," snapped the old woman, feeling herself
mistress of the situation. "Don't talk nonsense to me, Leah. You and
that rascal are a couple of spendthrifts. The Duke, bless him, started
you both with a good home and a good income, and now----"
"Now we're on the rocks, as Jim cleverly puts it," said Leah, who could
not help seeing the humour of the dilemma. "You didn't think Jim was
so original, did you, godmother?"
"Leah, you're impossible!"
"I'm sure I don't know why you should say that," remonstrated Lady
Jim. "I must keep up my position."
"It's not as if you had been expensively brought up," went on Lady
Canvey, unheeding. "Your father was a wasteful pauper, for he got
precious little off that estate of his in Buckinghamshire."
"And what he did get went into his own pocket," said Lady Jim,
supplementing the family history; "but as my mother was dead, and I
was his only daughter, he might have treated me better."
"Geoffrey Wain was like yourself, Leah--a hard-hearted, selfish----"
"Oh, spare me these adjectives," interrupted Lady Jim, rising. "My
father is dead, so there's nothing more to say. If you can't help me,
at least you needn't call me names."
"I beg your pardon," said Lady Canvey, very politely. "As I don't
intend to give you a shilling, I have no right to tell you what I
think of your doings. Will you ring the bell, please? I want Joan."
When Lady Canvey took this tone Leah knew well that the case was
hopeless. In spite of senile weeping, it appeared that the old woman
was not so easily beguiled as might have been expected. There seemed
nothing for it but to leave in silence; but remembering how desperate
was the position, Lady Jim refrained from ringing the bell and made a
last appeal--this time on business grounds.
"If you will give me a thousand pounds for six months," she proposed,
"my husband and I will pay it back with interest."
"And the security, my dear?"
"Our joint names," said Leah, with dignity.
"Ring the bell," was all the answer that Lady Canvey vouchsafed to
this proposal; "and goodnight, my dear."
Lady Jim recognised that she was beaten, and nothing remained, but to
retire with dignity. Pressing the button of the bell, she crossed to
Lady Canvey and kissed her withered cheek with a caressing smile. "I
am so pleased to see you looking so well," she said gently; "but I see
signs of failing in your conversation."
"You won't see any signs of lending," was the grim response. "Oh, here
you are, Joan," as that young lady entered the room with Lionel at her
heels. "Send these people away, and read me a chapter out of that new
novel which came yesterday."
"Goodnight," said Lionel, bending over the old lady, and kissing her
hand with the tenderness of a son.
She twitched it away. "There--there--goodnight. Take Leah to that
miserable creature who is perishing in her motor-car, and don't make
love to her. She is one of those women who are a crown to their
husbands."
Lady Jim did not wait to hear the old woman's chuckle as she fired
this last shot, but swept out of the room, smiling kindly on Miss
Tallentire. The curate followed her, and Leah began to consider what
use she could make of him to farther her plans.
"Let me drive you to Lambeth," she said, while arranging her sables at
the door.
Lionel laughed. "Lambeth would be shocked to see me arrive at my
lodgings in such an up-to-date style," said he, pulling up the collar
of his coat. "No, thank you, Lady James. I'll walk for a time, and
then take a Westminster Bridge 'bus."
"No, you won't," she contradicted, in an imperious tone. "I wish to
talk to you. Come, get in. French, you can go home."
"But the car, my lady?"
"I'll look to that. Do as you're told."
Looking rather apprehensively at the machine, which was humming and
shaking in the bitter cold, French touched his cap and moved away.
Leah stepped lightly in, and beckoned to Lionel with one hand, while
she gripped the steering-wheel with the other.
"Come along."
The curate did not display much eagerness to come. "Is it safe?" he
asked; "you've sent the man away."
"Because I want to talk privately with you. Safe!" she echoed in a
tone of impatient scorn; "I'd drive a car against Edge himself."
"Oh, very well," said Kaimes, carelessly, and placed himself beside
her. He was utterly devoid of fear, and if there was to be a smash, he
was not unprepared to enter the next world. Lady Jim gave the wheel a
twirl, and the car glided through the square under the grey muffling
of the fog. Reckless as she was, Lady Jim had to steer carefully and
move slowly, lest she should run into something, for the fog was a
trifle thicker than it had been during the afternoon. All the same,
her keen eyes could see clearly enough, and she was not at all afraid.
Cool under all circumstances, Lady Jim would have hummed a ditty on
the streaming bridge of a plunging, bucking tramp-steamer, going down
in the bitter North Atlantic weather. Lionel marvelled at her
composure, and wondered if even her dear intellect could grasp the
meaning of death and its hereafter. But Lady Jim was thinking of this
world rather than of the next, and talked of her troubles while
steering the car down Piccadilly.
"Jim and I are in a hole about money," she announced abruptly, for
there was no need to be diplomatic with this simpleton.
"That is not unusual," murmured Lionel.
She laughed and nodded. "No. We have both a wonderful capacity for
getting through cash. Now we've got down to what an American girl
called the bed-rock, and we want help."
"I never knew you when you did not want help," said the curate,
wondering what was best to say; "and in some ways, your want is very
dire."
"Don't preach, Lionel. Money is better than sermons."
"To such as you and Jim, no doubt. But setting aside the spiritual
need, a sermon on your extravagance would do you good."
"I'm afraid not," rejoined Lady Jim, putting on the brake for the St.
James's Street incline; "it would only go in at one ear and out of the
other. When I want sermons I'll come and hear you preach in that dirty
little church of yours. Meantime, you must help to get Jim and me out
of this scrape."
Lionel was annoyed by her reference to his church, but from experience
he knew it was worse than useless to argue with Lady Jim. "I cannot
help you," he said stiffly; "you know my small means."
"Bless the man, I don't mean you to put your hand in your pocket. I am
quite aware that the clergy are better at asking than at giving."
"You have no right to say that," remonstrated Kaimes, warmly. "We help
the poor and needy."
"In that case you have now a chance of practising what you preach."
Lady Jim negotiated Cockspur Street and felt her way along Trafalgar
Square in the hope of hitting Whitehall. Only when the car was buzzing
down that thoroughfare did Lionel speak.
"I am sitting in a most expensive machine," he said, indignantly,
"swathed in a costly rug, and beside a woman with a fortune on her
back in the way of clothes."
"Then you ought to be very happy," said Leah, calmly; "but I'll drop
you at Lambeth soon, and then you can get back to the mud and rags,
which you seem to prefer."
"My meaning is, that if you were poor you could not afford these
luxuries."
"Nonsense. It is only poor people who _can_ afford them. The rich make
their money by self-denial, and wearing clothes which don't fit, in
houses furnished with the riff-raff of auction-rooms. Jim and I have
been brought up to better things."
"To better worldly things," corrected Lionel, bitterly.
"And very pleasant they are, my dear man."
"It is people such as you and your husband who make the poor
discontented," insisted the curate.
"I'm sure I don't see why the poor should be," murmured Lady Jim,
vaguely; "there are lots of shelters and soup-kitchens and workhouses.
And I always put ten shillings into the plate on Hospital Sunday, not
to speak of the way in which I've danced and sung at performances--got
up to help people who don't need the money so much as I do."
"Nero fiddling, while Rome burned."
"Well, and what else could the poor man have done?" retorted Leah.
"There were no fire-brigades in those days, were there?"
Lionel felt helpless. "You don't understand!"
"Oh yes, I do. You mean to be nasty. If I were a vindictive woman I
would drop you into the river, car and all"--they were crossing
Westminster Bridge by this time--"but I always like to be nice. Being
nasty brings wrinkles, and makes one so old. But about our trouble,"
she went on, determined to have her own way. "Lady Canvey won't help
us, and no one else either. There's the Duke----"
"He has done enough for you."
"Not at all," Lady Jim assured him coolly. "He's kept us on bread and
water--that's all."
"Oh!" Lionel was shocked at this ungrateful speech. "And you prefer
_pâté de foie gras_ and champagne?"
"Naturally! Not that I like _pâté de foie gras_. They torture the
geese to get it, I believe, and it seems cruel to eat it."
"You have a tender heart," said Kaimes, sarcastically.
"It has been my ruin. But this trouble----" She harked back again to
the one subject which occupied her thoughts. "Will you see the Duke,
and ask him to give us--say--er--er--well, two thousand pounds?"
"No, I won't. You'll only waste it."
"That's so like you parsons," said Lady Jim snappishly: "we ask for
bread, and you give us a stone."
"Two thousand pounds' worth of bread is a trifle too much to ask for."
"Not at all, I always ask for twice what I hope to get. But here we
are on the other side of the water. I can't take the machine into your
dirty little slums. Get down."
Lionel did so, and stepped on to the pavement. "Thank you for the
drive," said he, lifting his soft hat.
Lady Jim nodded vaguely. "Won't you speak to the Duke?"
Kaimes hesitated. He did not wish to appear churlish; yet it seemed
useless to interfere. "The Duke is very independent," he explained; "I
don't think he'll listen to me."
"Oh yes, he will. You're a parson, and he is old enough to be afraid
of the next world. Tell him we're cleaned out, and get Jim and me a
thousand. And I tell you what," added Leah, generously. "If you do,
I'll give you a ten-pound note for your charities, though I don't
believe in helping paupers myself."
"Yet you ask help on that ground."
"Oh, I mean the unwashed paupers you're so fond of."
Lionel ruminated. "Do you and Jim go down to Firmingham for
Christmas?"
"Yes. It will be horribly dull. The Duke is so fond of that
old-fashioned Dickens Christmas, with its holly and mistletoe rubbish;
but we must keep in with him. What of it?"
"Why not explain your position, and----?"
"Oh, we've explained it a dozen times. But the Duke doesn't seem to
understand. Now, you can put the thing to him nicely."
"Well," said the curate, slowly. "I go to Firmingham at Christmas to
preach, so I'll speak to the Duke."
"You're a brick," cried Lady Jim, holding out her hand. "I'll come and
hear you preach when we're in Firmingham."
"I hope it will do you good," said Lionel, shaking hands. "You think
me a prig, Lady James, but I assure you----"
"I know you do," said Leah, dreading further sermons; "but I must get
home to dress. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," echoed Lionel, hopelessly, and saw the car glide away
into the fog between the lines of blurred lights. "Poor woman!" he
thought, turning towards his lodgings. "How terribly sad her spiritual
position is! I trust she will get home safely, seeing she is so
worldly."
He need not have troubled. Lady Jim reached Curzon Street in safety,
and in very good spirits. Did not a peacock's feather adorn one of the
motor-car lamps?