your home. Don't be frightened," he went on at Jasmine's expression of
alarm, "I didn't ask for you. I rang the bell and asked if they had a
vacant apartment, and how much the board was a day. Luck was on my side.
The maid was just coming to from her swoon when an old boy looking like
a turkey that's nearly had its neck wrung came shouting through the
garden that he had lost Jasmine on the Promenade. I didn't wait to hear
any more, but hurried down as fast as I could. And here I am, full of
schemes. But I decided not to put any of them into practice until I'd
seen you again."
"Oh, but it's all turned out much worse than what I expected," said
Jasmine hurriedly. "You mustn't come and call or do anything like that.
Why, I'm almost frightened to ring the bell myself, and if I heard any
of my friends ring a bell I don't know what I should do. I'm not a bit
of a success. I heard my aunt say _sotto voce_ that she distrusted dark
people. I lost a season ticket this morning which cost I don't know how
many shillings. I've lost my uncle now. If you come and call, _saro
perduta io_. And now I must say good-bye and go back."
"Well, don't break into Japanese like that. Let's sit down and talk over
the situation."
"No, no, no! I must say good-bye and hurry back."
"I don't want to compromise you and all that," the young man protested,
"but it seems a pity not to enjoy this weather."
"No, please go away," Jasmine begged. "It's all perfectly different to
anything I ever imagined. Quite different. I'm sorry I gave you my
address this morning."
Jasmine was getting more and more nervous. She had an idea that Cousin
Edith would be sent to look for her; if Cousin Edith found her talking
to Mr. Vibart by the deserted bandstand she would suppose that the
assignation had been made that morning. All sorts of ideas swirled into
Jasmine's mind, and she began to hurry towards the winding path up the
cliff.
"At any rate you might let me walk back with you as far as the
entrance," he suggested.
"No, please, really. You make me nervous. You don't in the least
understand my position."
Mr. Vibart looked so sad that Jasmine hesitated.
"Don't you play a game called golf?" she asked.
"Yes, I do play a game called golf," he laughed.
"Well, I believe they're going to teach me, so perhaps we might meet on
the golf grounds," said Jasmine. "My cousins went there this morning and
didn't come back for lunch, and I think they go every day."
"I see the notion. I must get to know them, what?"
"Yes, I don't think it will be very difficult," Jasmine answered. She
was speaking simply, not maliciously. "They seem to know lots of people
who play this game. But if you do meet them, for goodness' sake don't
say you know me. Turn round! Turn round!" she cried in agony. "Turn
round straight away in the other direction without looking back! Do what
I tell you! Do what I tell you!"
Round the next bend of the laurel-edged walk Jasmine met Cousin Edith,
who, unencumbered by Spot, was floating towards her as a daddy-longlegs
floats towards a lamp.
Jasmine found it difficult to make her uncle understand how she had been
lost.
"I cannot think where you got to," he said. "I looked about everywhere.
Most extraordinary!"
"I'm sure she didn't mean to get lost, Sir Hector," Cousin Edith put in
with just enough accent on the intention to create a suspicion of
Jasmine's sincerity.
"No, of course she didn't mean to get lost," Sir Hector gobbled. "Nobody
means to get lost. But you'll have to learn to keep your head, young
lady. However, all's well that ends well, so we'll say no more about it.
Where are the girls?"
Just then the girls came in, and Jasmine hoped that she was going to be
invited to partake of the mysterious game that occupied so much of their
time. All indeed promised well, for several allusions were made in the
course of dinner to the necessity of introducing her to the joys of
golf. Next morning, however, Lettice and Pamela went off as usual, and
as an intoxicating treat for Jasmine it was proposed that Cousin Edith
should show her the Castle.
"It might be a little far for Spot," Cousin Edith humbly objected.
"Yes, I think you are right," Lady Grant agreed. "So Spot shall take a
little walk with his mother."
It was supposed to be necessary for Cousin Edith to translate into baby
language for Spot his mother's wishes, after which she turned to Lady
Grant and proclaimed intensely:
"He knows."
Spot was standing on three legs and scratching himself with the fourth,
which was presumably his method of acknowledging the success of Cousin
Edith's interpretation.
The walk up to the Castle was long and hot; the Castle was a little more
uninteresting than most ruins are. Cousin Edith poetized upon the
romance of the past; Jasmine counted two hundred and nine paper bags.
When they got back to Strathspey House it was obvious that something
unpleasant had occurred during their absence. Cousin Edith tried all
through lunch to give her impression of the delight Jasmine had tasted
in going to the Castle; but her account of the morning's entertainment
was received so coldly by her patrons that in the end she was silent,
shrinking into such insignificance and humility that the faint clicking
of her false teeth was her only contribution to actuality. After lunch a
few whispers were exchanged between her and Lady Grant, at the
conclusion of which she danced on tiptoe out of the dining-room, and
Lady Grant turned to her niece.
"Your uncle wishes to speak to you," she announced gravely.
Sir Hector, who during these preliminaries had been hiding behind the
newspaper, jumped up and took a letter from his pocket.
"Can you explain this?" he demanded.
His wife had moved over to the window and was looking out at the sky in
the way that ladies look at the East window when something in the
preacher's sermon is particularly applicable to a neighbour. Jasmine
read the letter, which was from the director of the Spa:
Spa Gardens Company, Limited,
Spaborough,
_August 15th._
_Dear Sir Hector Grant,_
_I am writing to you personally and confidentially to ask you
whether season ticket 17874 is really held by one of your family
party. The caretaker of the Concert Room has complained to me that
a young lady holding season ticket 17874, which was traced to the
name of Miss Jasmine Grant, Strathspey House, removed the green
baize cover from the big drum yesterday afternoon the 14th inst.
and struck it several times. We have not been able to trace any
reason for her behaviour, and I should be much obliged if you would
give the matter your kind attention. The Company has of course no
wish to take any action in the matter, and is content to leave all
the necessary steps in your hands. I may add that the drum has been
examined carefully, and I am glad to be able to assure you that it
is quite uninjured. At the same time we rely on our season ticket
holders to set an example to the casual visitors, and I am sure you
will appreciate the delicacy of my position._
_Believe me, my dear Sir Hector Grant,_
_Yours very faithfully,_
_John Pershore,_
_Managing Director._
"Yes, I did bang the drum," Jasmine confessed.
Now if Sir Hector Grant had been asked by one of his patients to cure an
uncontrollable impulse to beat big drums he would have known how to
prescribe for her, and within a week or two of her visit ladies would
have been going round each asking the other if she had heard of Sir
Hector Grant's latest and most wonderful cure. His niece, however, did
not present herself to him as a clinical subject; he had no desire to
analyse her psyche for her own benefit or for the elucidation of the
Flatus Complex.
"No wonder you were lost," he said bitterly. "I don't suppose you
expected me to look for you among the drums? I don't wish to make a
great fuss about nothing, but I should like to point out that you cannot
accuse me of being backward in coming forward to ... er ... show our ...
er ... affection, and we look, not unreasonably, I hope, for a little
... er ... sympathy on your side. I shall write to Mr. Pershore and
explain that you were brought up in Italy and did not appreciate the
importance of what you were doing. That will, I hope, close the matter.
I cannot think why you don't go and play golf with the girls," he added
fretfully.
"I should love to go and play golf," Jasmine declared.
Lady Grant now came forward from the window: perhaps, during this
painful scene she had made up her mind that her niece must be added to
the list of her charities.
"You must try to realize, my dear child," she said, shaking her head,
"that our only idea is for you to be happy. Have you already forgotten
that you lost your first season ticket? Have you forgotten even that it
was your Uncle Hector himself who immediately offered to buy you another
one? He has not said very much about the drum; but his restraint does
not mean that he has not felt it all dreadfully. And he has had other
things to upset him this morning. Only yesterday one of his oldest
patients jumped out of a fourth storey window and was dashed to pieces.
So we must all be a little considerate. Don't you think that you're too
old to play with drums? What would you think if I went about beating
drums? However, enough has been said."
Sir Hector blew his nose very loudly, and Jasmine on her way up to her
room thought that if she could trumpet like that with her nose, she
should be content to let drums alone.
_Chapter Four_
It seemed to be the general opinion of Strathspey House that Jasmine was
reckless, and in order to counteract a propensity that might one day
cause serious trouble to her protectors it was decided to sow the seeds
of prudence by making her a quarterly allowance of L10, on which she was
to dress and provide herself with pocket money. The announcement of the
largesse was made in such a way that if the first ten golden sovereigns
had lain within her reach Jasmine would have been tempted to pick them
up and fling them back at the donors. In order, however, that the
possession of wealth might bring with it a sense of wealth's
responsibilities it had been decided to open an account for her at the
Post Office Savings Bank, and without even so much as an account book to
throw, Jasmine found that all her verbal protestations were interpreted
as a becoming sign of gratitude.
To say that Jasmine longed for the freedom of Sirene is to express
nothing of the fierce ache she suffered every moment of the day for that
happy island. Adam and Eve when their sons first began to quarrel could
not have looked back with a sharper bitterness of desire to their
childless Eden. The possibility of ever being able to go back there did
not present itself even in the most distant future, and the thought that
with each year the sound of Sirenian mandolins, the scent of Sirenian
roses, and the brilliance of Sirenian moonlight would grow fainter
dabbled Jasmine's pillow with tears when she fell asleep in the
sentimental night-time, and when she woke made of the sun a heavy brass
dish that extinguished instead of illuminating the new day.
Jasmine's last hope was that her cousins would offer to take her to the
links; but a fortnight passed, on every evening of which it was decided
that she should accompany Lettice and Pamela the following morning, and
on every morning of which it was decided at the last moment that she had
better wait until to-morrow. Her time was spent partly in dreary walks
with Cousin Edith, partly in what Lady Grant euphemistically called
checking her accounts, a process that consisted in Jasmine's having to
be at her elbow for whatever assistance she required in managing the
household and several of her exacting charities. In a rash moment
Jasmine alluded to Aunt Ellen's suggestion about learning to typewrite.
Aunt May declared that this was a capital notion, and presently Cousin
Edith, on one of what she called her little expeditions, discovered in
an obscure part of the town a second-hand typewriter that was really
very cheap. A long discussion ensued whether or not Lady Grant was
justified in spending the L3 10s. asked by the shopman. Cousin Edith for
three successive days wrestled with him penny by penny until for L3 7s.
6d. she secured that typewriter, of which she was as proud as she would
have been proud of her eldest child, that is, of course, with marriage
previously understood. Once she even described it as graceful; and she
used to play upon it ghostly sonatas, occasionally by mistake pressing
too hard upon one of the stops and uttering a rudimentary scream of
affright when she beheld an ambiguous letter take shape upon the paper.
Jasmine, who was seriously expected to become proficient upon this
machine, was not so fond of it. She put forward a theory that, when it
had ceased to be a typewriter, it had been used by children as a toy,
which shocked Cousin Edith.
"Or perhaps it was saved from a wreck," Jasmine went on.
"Oh, hush!" Cousin Edith breathed. "How can you say such things?"
Gradually Jasmine mastered some of the whims of the instrument; she
learnt, for instance, that if one wanted a capital A, the birth of a
capital A had to be helped by pressing down S at the same time; she also
learnt to control the self-assertiveness of the Z, which used to butt in
at the least excuse as if for years it had resented the infrequency of
its employment and, thriving on idleness, was able now when the more
common stops rattled like old bones to dominate them all.
Jasmine's mastery of the instrument was fatal to her. Nobody else could
use it; and Lady Grant was so pleased with the effect of typewritten
correspondence upon the dignity of her charities that Cousin Edith,
deposed from whatever secretarial state was left to her, found herself
betrayed by her own purchase. Sir Hector, with what was impressed upon
Jasmine as unusual magnanimity even for Sir Hector, had invited his
niece to accompany him once more upon his afternoon walks; but the
arrival of the typewriter kept her so busy that Lady Grant began to say
'To-morrow' to these walks as her daughters said 'To-morrow' to the
links. Finally Jasmine, in a rage, decapitated the Z stop, thereby
producing such a perfect specimen of correspondence that her aunt, much
moved, announced that she really should go to the links on the very next
day, and that she herself would go with her. What happened to the
typewriter between five o'clock that evening and the following morning
was never known; but that epistle was its swan-song. Perhaps the
execution of the Z stop, on whom the others had come to rely so
completely, put too great a strain on their old bones, or perhaps
Cousin Edith in the silence of the night severed the machine's spinal
cord. Anyway, next morning, when Lady Grant, having proposed for the
fifteenth time that visit to the links, asked Jasmine if she would be so
kind as to type out a schedule of the rules of her club for Tired
Sandwichmen, Jasmine announced that the machine was no longer working.
Her aunt seemed unable to believe her, and insisted that the schedule
should be done. Jasmine showed her the first four lines, which looked
like a Magyar proclamation, and Lady Grant exclaimed, "What a waste of
L3 7s. 6d.!" Cousin Edith, whose _amour propre_ was wounded by this
imputation, observed with the bitter mildness of pale India ale:
"Not altogether wasted, May. Jasmine has learnt typewriting. I wish that
when I was young I had had such an opportunity."
"Well, perhaps we can go to the links after all," Lady Grant sighed.
"The girls always take the tram, but we'll drive in the car. I don't
think that you had better come, Edith. The last time, don't you
remember, you received that nasty blow with the ball. Hector," she
called, "you wouldn't mind if Cousin Edith gave you your lunch?"
Sir Hector bowed gallantly, and vowed that he should be delighted to be
given his lunch by Cousin Edith. He was in a good temper that morning,
for he had just been reading the obituary of a rival baronet of
medicine. Cousin Edith did her best to make Jasmine sensible of the
gratitude she owed to her aunt for this wonderful treat, and herself
came as far as the front gate, holding Spot by the collar and waving
until the car was out of sight.
Jasmine did not much enjoy her drive, because every time they turned a
corner or a child crossed the road a quarter of a mile ahead, or a dog
barked, or a sparrow flew up in front, her aunt gasped and clutched her
wrist. And even when the road was straight and clear as far as they
could see the drive was tiresome, because her aunt could talk about
nothing except Nuckett's carefulness.
"Nuckett is such a careful driver. But of course he knows that your
uncle would not keep him for a moment otherwise. We hesitated for a long
time before we bought the car, and in fact it wasn't until we had given
Nuckett a month's trial.... Oh, now there's a flock of sheep! Thank
goodness it's Nuckett, who's always particularly careful with sheep ...
ah!..."
And so on, in a mixture of complacency and terror, until they reached
the links and Jasmine was really there.
Travellers have often related the alarm they felt at first when some
savage chief, wishing to pay his distinguished visitors a compliment,
arranged for a war-dance by the young men of his tribe. It was that kind
of alarm which Jasmine felt when she found herself for the first time on
golf links. She knew that it was a game. She kept assuring herself that
it was only a game. But the Italian strain in her was continually
asserting itself and making her wonder whether people who behaved thus
in jest might not at any moment be seized with an extension of their
madness and take to behaving thus in earnest.
Lady Grant, however, made her way calmly toward the club-house and put
her name down for lunch with one guest, explaining to Jasmine that no
doubt the girls would have arranged a luncheon party on their own
account. Then she went into the ladies' room, picked up a ladies' paper,
advised Jasmine to do the same, and ensconced herself comfortably in a
wicker chair on the verandah, where she seemed inclined to stay for the
rest of the morning. Half an hour later she looked up from the fifth
paper and asked Jasmine how she liked golf.
"I don't think I understand it very well yet."
"It's an interesting game," said her aunt. "Your uncle wanted me to take
it up last year, and I did have two lessons; but I think it's really
more a game for young people, and your uncle decided that it was bad for
my rheumatism. Still, I was beginning to realize its fascination--the
holes, you know, and all that--and I believe that when you actually do
hit the ball each time it's much less tiring. I tried to persuade your
uncle to take it up himself, but he felt it was too late to begin,
although of course he's a member of the club and plays bridge here every
Thursday afternoon."
Another half-hour went by.
"Really," Lady Grant declared, "I think the advertisements nowadays are
wonderful. Dear me, how you'll enjoy your first visit to London. You
mustn't spend your allowance too quickly, my dear. You mustn't believe
everything you see in the advertisements."
While Lady Grant was speaking, the rich voice of Lettice close at hand
was unmistakably heard.
"He stimied me on the ninth."
Jasmine looked up apprehensively on an impulse to warn Lettice of her
mother's presence before she gave herself away any more; but at that
moment Lettice saw them and exclaimed rather crossly:
"Hullo, mother! Are _you_ here?"
"Yes, dear, I have paid our long-promised visit. Did you have a good
game?"
Lettice made a gesture of indifference, and there was a short pause. "I
suppose you'll be going home for lunch?" she enquired.
"No, I've ordered lunch for Jasmine and myself here. But don't let that
disturb you, dear. We shall amuse each other if you and Pamela are
already engaged. We shall understand, shan't we, Jasmine?"
"As a matter of fact," said Lettice, "we are lunching with Harry Vibart
and Claude Whittaker. We've a foursome on afterwards."
"Delightful," said her mother genially. "Don't you bother about us. I
don't think I've looked at this week's _Country Life_ yet; have you
finished with it?" she asked Jasmine, who, having for some time been
listlessly turning over the pages had suddenly found _Country Life_ to
be of such absorbing interest that she had buried her face in its faint
oily smell. Lady Grant never really enjoyed looking at a paper unless
she had taken it away from somebody else, and when her niece surrendered
it she smiled at her.
"My dear Jasmine, how pale you are!" she exclaimed, and bade her ring
the bell for a glass of water.
Jasmine, with a reproach for her treacherous Southern heart, tried to
appear composed.
"No, really please, Aunt May," she murmured.
"But I insist, Jasmine. If you won't look after yourself, I must look
after you. Ring the bell at once, there's a good girl, and you shall
have a glass of water."
Jasmine, to conceal her emotion, accepted the excuse that her aunt
offered, and did as she had been told.
"A glass of water for my niece, please, Frank," said Lady Grant to the
waiter, and she managed to convey in the tone of her command that a
glass of water for her niece would be different somehow from ordinary
water. Perhaps it was, for when Frank brought it, all the people round
looked up to watch Jasmine drinking it; and everyone who has drunk water
in similar circumstances will know that it does then have a peculiar
taste of its own, rather like that positive nothingness which is the
flavour of permanganate of potash and peroxide of hydrogen.
Soon after this Pamela came out on the verandah, and she, like her
sister, had to be reassured of the sanctity of her lunch.
"But at least," Jasmine thought, "he'll be able to see me, and perhaps
when he sees me he'll ask to be introduced to Aunt May."
At this moment Frank appeared again and asked Lady Grant in an
awe-struck whisper if she had not ordered cold chicken.
"Yes, Frank. Cold chicken for two."
"The head steward asks me to say, my lady, that unfortunately there is
no more cold chicken left."
"Dear me," Lady Grant exclaimed, "what a disappointment! Well, perhaps
Jasmine and I had better go home to lunch after all."
Neither Lettice nor Pamela made any attempt to detain her; and Jasmine
decided to forget all about Mr. Vibart, and all about everything indeed
that could ever for one moment lighten her future.
But Frank protested:
"I beg pardon, my lady, only the head steward requested me to inform
your ladyship that there is cold duck."
"Then in that case I think we may as well stay," said her ladyship.
"The ducks are very tough," Lettice snapped.
"I beg pardon, Miss Grant," Frank respectfully argued, "the head
steward is now procuring our ducks for the club from another farm. Will
you take apple sauce, my lady?"
Lady Grant nodded decidedly.
"Very good, my lady."
And Frank glided away, leaving in Jasmine's mind the thought of a
powerful and sympathetic personality.
Ten minutes later they went into the dining-room of the club, where a
quantity of women with bright woollen jerseys and bright harsh voices
shouted across the room the tale of their prowess, or gobbled down their
food in a hurry to get off before the links became crowded. The men too
seemed much excited by what they had achieved so far that morning. For
the first time since she had been in England Jasmine divined that
underneath the stolid Anglo-Saxon exterior palpitated ambition and
romance and the dark emotions of Southern passion. These rosy barbarians
who vied with one another in making their legs ridiculous with fantastic
knickerbockers, whose cheeks were rasped by east winds, who illustrated
with knife and fork and salt-cellar the vicissitudes of their pastime,
became intelligible to her as the leaders of civilization. In Sirene she
had always been proud of being English; but hitherto in Spaborough she
had congratulated herself on being far more Italian. Now with the
consciousness that one of these paladins had turned aside from his
purposeful sport to observe herself, she was eager to join in all this;
and if to smite a ball farther than other women was to be accounted
desirable in the eyes of men, or if to stand on a hillock looking like a
scarecrow in a gale was an invitation to love, then so be it; she should
not disdain such wiles.
Lady Grant had chosen a small table in the window, one of those small
tables with such a large vase of flowers in the middle that the feeder
is left with the impression that he is eating off the rim of a
flower-pot. Moreover, with the excuse that she did not like so much
light, she had placed herself in a recess of the window, with the result
that Jasmine had her back to the room and the light full in her eyes.