I
“We must have Trixy Marsden on the Thursday”--for Mrs. Leslie was
arranging two dinner parties. “She will be in her element that evening;
but what are we to do with Mr. Marsden?”
“Isn't it rather the custom to invite a husband with his wife? he might
even expect to be included,” said John Leslie. “Do you know I'm glad we
came to Putney; spring is lovely in the garden.”
“Never mind spring just now,” as Leslie threatened an exit to the lawn;
“you might have some consideration for an afflicted hostess, and give
your mind to the Marsden problem.”
“It was Marsden brought spring into my mind,” and Leslie sat down
with that expression of resignation on his face peculiar to husbands
consulted on domestic affairs; “he was telling me this morning in the
train that he had just finished a table of trees in the order of their
budding, a sort of spring priority list; his love for statistics is
amazing.
“He is getting to be known on the 9 train; the men keep their eye on
him and bolt into thirds to escape; he gave a morning on the influenza
death-rate lately, and that kind of thing spreads.
“But he's not a bad fellow for all that,” concluded Leslie; “he's
perfectly straight in business, and that is saying something; I rather
enjoy half an hour with him.”
“Very likely you do,” said his wife with impatience, “because your mind
has a squint, and you get amusement out of odd people; but every one
has not your taste for the tiresome. He is enough to devastate a dinner
table; do you remember that escapade of his last year?”
“You mean when he corrected you about the length of the American
passage, and gave the sailings of the Atlantic liners since '80,” and
Leslie lay back to enjoy the past: “it seemed to me most instructive,
and every one gave up conversation to listen.”
“Because no one could do anything else with that voice booming through
the room. I can still hear him: 'the _Columba_ six days, four hours,
five minutes.' Then I rose and delivered the table.”
“It was only human to be a little nettled by his accuracy; but you ought
not to have retreated so soon, for he gave the express trains of England
a little later, and hinted at the American lines. One might almost call
such a memory genius.”
“Which is often another name for idiocy, John. Some one was telling me
yesterday that quiet, steady men rush out of the room at the sound of
his voice, and their wives have to tell all sorts of falsehoods about
their absence.
“Trixy is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and it would be a shame
to pass her over; but I will not have her husband on any account.”
“Perhaps you are right as a hostess; it is a little hard for a frivolous
circle to live up to Marsden, and I hear that he has got up the
temperatures of the health resorts; it's a large subject, and lends
itself to detail.”
“It will not be given in this house. What Trixy must endure with that
man! he's simply possessed by a didactic devil, and ought never to have
married. Statistics don't amount to cruelty, I suppose, as a ground of
divorce?”
“Hardly as yet; by-and-bye incompatibility in politics or fiction will
be admitted; but how do you know, Florence, that Mrs. Marsden does not
appreciate her husband? You never can tell what a woman sees in a man.
Perhaps this woman hungers for statistics as a make-weight She is very
amusing, but a trifle shallow, don't you think?”
“She used to be the brightest and most charming girl in our set, and I
have always believed that she was married to Mr. Marsden by her people.
Trixy has six hundred a year settled on her, and they were afraid of
fortune-hunters. Mothers are apt to feel that a girl is safe with a man
of the Marsden type, and that nothing more can be desired.”
“Perhaps they are not far wrong. Marsden is not a romantic figure,
and he is scarcely what you would call a brilliant _raconteur_; but he
serves his wife like a slave, and he will never give her a sore heart.”
“Do you think it nothing, John, that a woman with ideals should be tied
to a bore all her days? What a contrast between her brother and her
husband, for instance. Godfrey is decidedly one of the most charming men
I ever met.”
“He has a nice tenor voice, I grant, and his drawing-room comedies are
very amusing. Of course, no one believes a word he says, and I think
that he has never got a discharge from his last bankruptcy; but you
can't expect perfection. Character seems to oscillate between dulness
and dishonesty.”
“Don't talk nonsense for the sake of alliteration, John. Trixy's brother
was never intended for business; he ought to have been a writer, and I
know he was asked to join the staff of the _Boomeller_. Happy thought!
I'll ask him to come with his sister instead of Mr. Marsden.”
And this was the note:
“My dear Trixy,--
“We are making up a dinner party for the evening of June 2nd, at eight
o'clock, and we simply cannot go on without you and Mr. Mars-den. Write
_instantly_ to say you accept; it is an age since I've seen you, and my
husband is absolutely devoted to Mr. Marsden. He was telling me only
a minute ago that one reason why he goes by the 9 train is to get the
benefit of your husband's conversation. With much love,
“Yours affectionately,
“Florence Leslie.
“P.S.--It does seem a shame that Mr. Marsden should have to waste an
evening on a set of stupid people, and if he can't tear himself from his
books, then you will take home a scolding to him from me.
“P.S.--If Mr. Marsden _will not_ condescend, bring Godfrey to take care
of you, and tell him that we shall expect some music.”