Lady Smith-Evered's dance was a social event of much importance, and
those members of the English community who were not invited had perforce
to regard themselves as outside the ranks of the elect: a fact which led
that night to much moodiness on the part of ambitious young women who
wandered about their creditable little flats and houses, hating their
mediocre husbands. On the other hand, those to whom invitations had come
somewhat unexpectedly, vied with one another in their efforts to
indicate that their presence at the General's house was to be regarded
as a matter of course; and herein, perhaps, lay the explanation of those
curious demonstrations of nonchalance which were so frequently to be
observed--the careless attitudes, the friendly words to the servants
behind the supper buffet, the assumed knowledge of the plan of the house
and garden, and the casual remarks to host and hostess.
Muriel, of course, was the outstanding figure of the ball: not so much
because of her looks, for there were many well-favoured young women in
the ballroom, nor because of her charming frock, for the beginning of
the winter season in Cairo is notable for a general display of recent
purchases; but rather because she was her father's daughter, and, as his
heiress, one of the most frequent victims of the familiarities of the
London Press.
She paid little attention, however, to the many pairs of eyes which
scrutinized her; for she had come here to enjoy herself, and her dancing
program was full.
As an opening to the ball, she danced with the General; but her efforts
to avoid having her toes trodden upon caused her to indulge in such
antics that she speedily manoeuvred him to a convenient sofa, where he
puffed and blew until the military band had ceased and again renewed its
conscientious din.
There are few noises so dispiriting as a British military band's
rendering of American ragtime; but, as has already been stated, Muriel
was determined to enjoy herself, and, save for an occasional desire to
sandbag the conductor, she was entirely untroubled by ill-humoured
thoughts as her elegant partners swung her around the room, or led her
out to rest in the illuminated garden, where a hundred gaily coloured
Chinese lanterns dispelled the mystic sorrow of the moonlight.
After some two or three hours of dancing, however, she began to grow
weary; and when something went wrong temporarily with the suspender
which held up one of her stockings, she was glad enough to come to rest
in the supper-room. Here she seated herself next to her hostess, who was
just forming a big party at a little table, and who was jovially
endeavouring to pretend that there was much fun to be derived from
jamming oneself into the smallest possible space and eating with one
hand.
Lady Smith-Evered, having swallowed during the evening quite a lot of
champagne, was in a talkative and even confidential mood. On several
occasions she nudged Muriel, and whispered loudly to her from behind her
fan, calling her attention to the General, who, at a neighbouring table,
was flirting resolutely with Kate Bindane.
"He's such a Lothario," she whispered: "I'm quite thankful he's growing
old; though, mind you, he doesn't often show signs of age yet." She
laughed hoarsely, and turned her eyes upwards with a nod to express
admiration for his virility.
Muriel, as she looked at her, conceived a violent horror of old age; and
inwardly she prayed that in her own case she would know when to abandon
the thoughts which only Youth can make beautiful.
"Women used to be mad about him," Lady Smith-Evered went on presently,
still speaking in husky asides, "but I don't think he was unfaithful to
me, except, perhaps, when he was in India." She munched her
lobster-salad in silence for a few moments. "One can't blame him for
that, poor dear," she mused at length. "Men will be men--especially in
that climate...!"
Muriel turned away in shame, and at once caught the eye of Lord
Barthampton, who was one of the party. He was staring at her from the
opposite side of the table.
"Lady Muriel," he said, raising his glass to her, "Your very good
health. Cheerio!"
Muriel thanked him, and busied herself in prodding at the food upon her
plate which was a full arm's length away from her.
"Do let me feed you," said the good-looking youth who was sitting beside
her, and who had managed to ram himself closer to the table.
He picked up her plate, and, screwing himself round on his chair,
presented a morsel on the end of the fork to her lips. The intimate
operation delighted him, and as he repeated it, Muriel observed the
excitement in his face. It is a most dangerous thing to feed a woman: it
arouses the dormant instincts of the Pliocene Age.
Lady Smith-Evered patted her hand archly. "You mustn't let him do that,"
she whispered. "That's the way doves begin. And look at Charles
Barthampton: he's madly jealous."
"Jealous?--Why?" asked Muriel, glancing at Lord Barthampton, who was
scowling at her across the table.
"My dear, haven't you eyes? Can't you see that he is making a dead set
at you?"
"Oh, nonsense," said Muriel, a little crossly. "I've only met him once
or twice, and this evening I've had half a dance with him."
Lady Smith-Evered smiled knowingly. "He's a very eligible young man,"
she purred.
"He drinks," Muriel remarked, shortly.
"Oh, but he has turned over a new leaf," her hostess replied. "Didn't
you notice he drank your health in soda-water just now? He's a very good
sort. What a difference there is between him and that extraordinary
cousin of his!"
"There is, indeed," Muriel answered, with feeling.
The youth beside her had abandoned his attempts to feed her, and was
excitedly filling his own mouth with good things, women and food being
associated ideas in his pristine young mind.
"Did you notice how he apologized to me?" Lady Smith-Evered remarked.
"Who?" asked Muriel. Her thoughts were wandering.
"Mr. Lane," she answered. "It was a great triumph."
"Who for? You, or Mr. Lane?" Muriel's heart beat as she asked the
question, for it was meant to be a blow in defence of the man she was
beginning to regard as her good friend.
Lady Smith-Evered was too befogged to divine her meaning. "It was a
triumph for me," she declared. "People generally find it better to be in
my good books." She made a menacing gesture to the company at large; and
three or four young officers, not quite catching her words, but judging
by her expression that she was demanding their approbation, nodded their
heads wisely. "But of course he's not quite right in his head," she went
on. "He has lived alone in the desert too much. Why, my dear, do you
know what I saw him doing yesterday in the street?"
"What?" asked Muriel, at once alert.
"It was just outside the Residency," she said. "I was talking to him,
when a donkey, left alone in a native vegetable cart, got its leg over
the shaft and started kicking. Well!... He lifted the creature clean off
the ground, got its leg back between the shafts, and then took hold of
its ear and whispered into it: 'Oh, you absurd ridiculous ass!' It
sounded quite uncanny."
Lord Barthampton got up ponderously from his seat and came round the
table to Muriel. "The music's started again," he said. "It's our dance,
isn't it? Are you ready?"
Muriel rose, somewhat relieved to take her departure from the
supper-table. As she did so her hostess again nudged her heavily.
"Just look at the General!" she whispered.
Kate Bindane turned round, and, catching Muriel's eye, burst out
laughing; while the General, finding his wife's gaze fixed upon him, put
his hand playfully over his face.
"What's the joke?" Muriel asked.
"Sir Henry is telling risky stories," replied Kate.
"It's all right, my dear," said the General, waving his hand to his
wife. "It's only the one about the little boy and the Sunday school
teacher."
Lady Smith-Evered laughed huskily. "I'm glad it's no worse," she
declared. "Henry, you must behave yourself."
"She's egging me on," he replied, slapping his thigh.
"Now then, now then!" exclaimed Kate, "none o' your sauce."
Muriel put her hand on Lord Barthampton's arm, and turned away. She was
feeling an indefinable sense of disgust; and she was glad to merge once
more into the revolving mass of dancers, and to allow the brazen music
to beat the thoughts out of her brain. Her partner did not speak. He was
turning over in his mind the possibilities of future happiness, and the
effort absorbed his attention, so that his dancing, never of a high
standard, became atrocious.
The only solution of his perplexing problem was for him to marry a rich
wife: then, if Daniel were to reveal the secret of his birth, he would
not suffer a knock-out blow. He would lose his title and the fortune
which went with it, but he would have refeathered his nest, and all
would be well. And the partner with whom he was now dancing was an
heiress, and a jolly fine girl into the bargain.
He was making praiseworthy efforts to check the downward course of his
career, and ever since his interview with his cousin, he had been on the
water-waggon; but, even though his reform were complete, was Daniel to
be trusted not to dispossess him? He doubted it: the temptation would be
too great. What a dirty trick his father had played him! But he wasn't
so easily floored: he would obtain another fortune by marriage, and then
he could tell Cousin Daniel to go to hell.
"You're looking very glum," said Muriel, as they wandered out,
presently, into the garden.
Lord Barthampton braced himself. "Yes, I _am_ a bit down in the mouth,
little woman," he murmured. "You know, even we soldier fellows get the
hump sometimes--sort of lonely."
Muriel glanced at him apprehensively. She saw at once that the moonlight
and the lanterns had had an instant effect upon him, and she presumed
that he would now become sentimental. Self-pity is the token of a fool,
and her feminine intuition told her that, since he was worse than a
fool, he would probably picture himself as a stern, silent Englishman of
heroic mould bravely battling against a deep and poetic loneliness.
She sighed sweetly, for there was always something of the rogue in her.
"Yes, I understand," she whispered, and she pressed her fingers
sympathetically upon his arm.
His line of attack seemed to be justified, and he developed it with
ardour. "Sometimes a chap comes to the end of his tether," he went on,
but paused again and squared his shoulders. "However, one's got to keep
a stiff upper lip, eh? We're out here, far from home, just to do our
duty, so we mustn't grouse. We have to keep the old flag flying."
"The dear old flag," said Muriel fervently, feeling rather a beast thus
to play up to him, but excusing herself on the grounds of curiosity as
to what he would say next.
"Sometimes it's hard, though," he confessed, "and I'm afraid I've been
reduced more than once to the whisky bottle and baccarat and bad
company. Ah! I know that sounds weak," he exclaimed, as she uttered a
little squeak of distress, "but you don't know the temptations of a
lonely man, with nothing to do, cursed with wealth...."
"O, but I can guess," she replied, intoning her words as though she were
speaking Shakespearian lines. "Sunday afternoons, leaning over the
parapet, with nothing to do but spit in the river--why shouldn't you
join in a game of chance, instead of going to church? I can quite
understand it."
He looked at her in astonishment, wondering if she were pulling his leg;
but in the moonlight he saw only a sympathetic girl, gazing into the
distance with an expression of saintly purity.
"It's worse than that," he sighed. "A man has temptations that you
couldn't understand, little woman. What he wants is the pure friendship
of a girl."
"An English girl," she murmured, with fervour.
He bent forward and looked into her eyes. "Lady Muriel," he said, "will
you be a friend to me? Will you be my little English rose?"
"Lord Barthampton ..." she began, wondering how she could terminate a
jest of which she was already tiring.
He checked her. "Please call me 'Charles,'" he begged.
The music began again in the ballroom, and Muriel rose with alacrity.
"Come," she said, dramatically. "Let us go back to the gay and frivolous
world."
"Right-o!" he exclaimed, brightly, inadvertently changing his tone now
that the desired impression seemed to have been made.
As they entered the house they encountered Lord Blair, who had looked in
at the dance for the purpose of demonstrating the perfect agreement
between the diplomatic and the military services, for it so happened
that his own policy and that of the General disagreed on every occasion
and on every essential point. He was standing in the hall, having just
made a parade of the ballroom with his hostess, and the latter was now
talking to him, calling him "George" for the benefit of the guests who
happened to be within earshot.
As the girl and her partner approached, Lady Smith-Evered whispered that
Lord Barthampton seemed very attracted to Muriel; and she repeated her
assertion that he was a very eligible young man.
At this, however, a frown gathered upon Lord Blair's forehead, and he
made a deprecating gesture with his thin hand. He had other plans for
his daughter which, if not yet mature, were already in train; and, it
must be confessed, he wished Barthampton an early and comfortable
demise.
Muriel presently wandered off with her chaperone, Lady Smith-Evered; and
Lord Blair thereupon suggested that her late partner should come with
him into the smoking-room for a quiet cigar. The heavy-jowled young man
was inwardly astonished at the mark of consideration, and the thought
entered his slow-working mind that Lady Muriel's father was taking an
anticipatory interest in him.
The smoking-room not being open to the ordinary guests, the two men
found themselves alone in it; and Lord Blair at once took up his stand,
as was his wont, upon the hearthrug, and made his customary pretence of
warming a certain part of his anatomy before the empty grate. Lord
Barthampton, meanwhile, seated himself upon the arm of a neighbouring
chair, and lit the cigar which had been proffered to him.
"I'm afraid I shall never persuade your cousin Daniel to come to these
sort of functions," the elder man remarked, after a few casual
references had been made to the evening's entertainment.
"No, he's a queer fellow," the other responded, shortly.
"I have the greatest admiration for him," Lord Blair declared. "Tell me,
is he not your heir presumptive?" His words indicated only a polite
interest.
"Yes," said Barthampton, puffing heavily at his cigar, and shifting his
legs. "But, of course, I shall marry soon--when I find the right
girl...."
"Of course, of course," Lord Blair replied. "Very right, very proper.
But ..." he paused, "there is no hurry, is there?"
"I'd like to have a son and heir," the other responded. "You see there's
a good deal of property involved. Luckily, I need not marry for money:
I've got plenty." He was anxious to announce his eligibility.
"Well," said Lord Blair, speaking out of the blacker depths of his
scheming mind, "take my advice, my dear fellow, and don't marry yet
awhile. 'Marry in haste and repent at leisure,' you know--a very true
adage. You have a long life before you ... plenty of time, plenty, to
make your choice with care."
"Yes, I'm pretty healthy," he answered; and Lord Blair looked at him
critically, hoping that he was mistaken.
"Does the climate agree with you out here?" he asked, hopefully.
"Well, I can't say I exactly enjoyed the summer," Lord Barthampton
laughed. "A heavy fellow like me feels the heat."
Lord Blair's spirits rose. "A little tightness, perhaps, at the back of
the head, eh?" His thoughts were running on the possibilities of
apoplexy.
"No," he answered, "but I'm always in such a devil of a sweat."
"Yes, yes, very natural, I'm sure," Lord Blair murmured. "And a little
short of breath sometimes, I dare say?"
The younger man stared at him warily. He was wondering whether the
questions were those of a prospective father-in-law; and he decided that
it was his policy to show as clean a bill of health as possible.
"Oh, I'm as sound as a bell," he laughed.
Lord Blair's face fell. If apoplexy were unlikely to carry him off,
perhaps there was some hope of kidney-trouble: there were ominous
pouches under the young man's eyes.
"Some people," he said, "find that they suffer out here from pains in
the small of the back--stabbing pains, you know, with a sensation of
burning...."
"Do they, now?" the other replied, quite interested. "No, I can't say I
ever felt 'em."
Again Lord Blair's hopes were dashed to the ground. He knew, however,
that Barthampton was a heavy drinker, and he introduced the subject with
manifest interest, and with a disregard of principle which sorely
troubled him.
"Doctors sometimes advise abstemiousness out here," he said, "but
personally I think a little stimulant is a good thing."
Lord Barthampton warmed to him. "So do I," he replied heartily. "Still,
for the present I'm absolutely on the water-waggon."
"Dear, dear!" muttered Lord Blair, fidgetting openly. "Dear me!--dear
me! That's a little drastic, isn't it?--a little unnecessary?"
"I don't suppose I'll keep it up for long," was the reply.
"No, why should you?" Lord Blair commented, and the younger man thought
him very broad-minded.
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the General, in
search of a quiet corner for a smoke, and Lord Blair, much dispirited,
presently made his way back to the ballroom, and thence home to bed. His
daughter, however, remained till past three o'clock in the morning, and
at last was one of the little group of enthusiasts which kept up the
revels to the accompaniment of amateur efforts on the piano, after the
weary band had dispersed.
She traversed the short distance back to the Residency under the
protection of Lord Barthampton; who had managed by sheer obstinacy to
obtain this office for himself; and as she said "good-night," to him
upon the doorstep, he held her hand in his somewhat longer than was
necessary.
"I shall always remember tonight," he said, "as the first time I have
really got to know you."
"Will you?" she replied, feebly, not finding any appropriate comment.
"Yes," he answered. "Good-night, little woman. Think kindly of your
lonely friend." He came closer to her. "If ever you hear anything
against me from Cousin Daniel, take it with a pinch of salt."
"Oh, I always rely on my own judgment," she answered; and with that she
passed into the house.