BEATING HER WINGS
Never was a young man more pleased with himself than Stephen Hurd, on
the night he dined at Thorpe-Hatton. He had shot well all day, and been
accepted with the utmost cordiality by the rest of the party. At dinner
time, his hostess had placed him on her left hand, and though it was
true she had not much to say to him, it was equally obvious that her
duties were sufficient to account for her divided attention. He was
quite willing to be ignored by the lady on his other side--a little
elderly, and noted throughout the country for her husband-hunting
proclivities. He recognized the fact that, apart from the personal side
of the question, he could scarcely hope to be of any interest to her.
The novelty of the situation, Wilhelmina's occasional remarks, and a
dinner such as he had never tasted before were sufficient to keep him
interested. For the rest he was content to twirl his moustache, of which
he was inordinately proud, and lean back in his chair with the
comfortable reflection that he was the first of his family to be offered
the complete hospitality of Thorpe-Hatton.
Towards the close of dinner, his hostess leaned towards him.
"Have you seen or heard anything of a young man named Macheson in the
village?" she asked.
"I have seen him once or twice," he answered. "Here on a missionary
expedition or something of the sort, I believe."
"Has he made any attempt to hold a meeting?" she asked.
"Not that I have heard of," he replied. "He has been talking to some of
the people, though. I saw him with old Gullimore yesterday."
"That reminds me," she remarked, "is it true that Gullimore has had
trouble with his daughter?"
"I believe so," young Hurd admitted, looking downwards at his plate.
"The man was to blame for letting her leave the place," Wilhelmina
declared, in cold, measured tones. "A pretty girl, I remember, but very
vain, and a fool, of course. But about this young fellow Macheson. Do
you know who he is, and where he came from?"
Stephen Hurd shook his head.
"I'm afraid I don't," he said doubtfully. "He belongs to some sort of
brotherhood, I believe. I can't exactly make out what he's at. Seems a
queer sort of place for him to come missioning, this!"
"So I told him," she said. "By the bye, do you know where he is
staying?"
"At Onetree farm," the young man answered.
Wilhelmina frowned.
"Will you execute a commission for me to-morrow?" she asked.
"With pleasure!" he answered eagerly.
"You will go to the woman at Onetree farm, I forget her name, and say
that I desire to take her rooms myself from to-morrow, or as soon as
possible. I will pay her for them, but I do not wish that young man to
be taken in by any of my tenants. You will perhaps make that known."
"I will do so," he declared. "I hope he will have the good sense to
leave the neighbourhood."
"I trust so," Wilhelmina replied.
She turned away to speak once more to the man on her other side, and did
not address Stephen Hurd again. He watched her covertly, with tingling
pulses, as she devoted herself to her neighbour--the Lord-Lieutenant of
the county. He considered himself a judge of the sex, but he had had few
opportunities even of admiring such women as the mistress of Thorpe. He
watched the curve of her white neck with its delicate, satin-like skin,
the play of her features, the poise of her somewhat small, oval head. He
admired the slightly wearied air with which she performed her duties and
accepted the compliments of her neighbour. "A woman of mysteries" some
one had once called her, and he realized that it was the mouth and the
dark, tired eyes which puzzled those who attempted to classify her. What
a triumph--to bring her down to the world of ordinary women, to drive
the weariness away, to feel the soft touch, perhaps, of those wonderful
arms! He was a young man of many conquests, and with a sufficiently good
idea of himself. The thought was like wine in his blood. If only it
were possible!
He relapsed into a day-dream, from which he was aroused only by the soft
flutter of gowns and laces as the women rose to go. There was a
momentary disarrangement of seats. Gilbert Deyes, who was on the other
side of the table, rose, and carrying his glass in his hand, came
deliberately round to the vacant seat by the young man's side. In his
evening clothes, the length and gauntness of his face and figure seemed
more noticeable than ever. His skin was dry, almost like parchment, and
his eyes by contrast appeared unnaturally bright. His new neighbour
noticed, too, that the glass which he carried so carefully contained
nothing but water.
"I will come and talk to you for a few minutes, if I may," Deyes said.
"I leave the Church and agriculture to hobnob. Somehow I don't fancy
that as a buffer I should be a success."
Young Hurd smiled amiably. He was more than a little flattered.
"The Archdeacon," he remarked, "is not an inspiring neighbour."
Deyes lit one of his own cigarettes and passed his case.
"I have found the Archdeacon very dull," he admitted--"a privilege of
his order, I suppose. By the bye, you are having a dose of religion from
a new source hereabouts, are you not?"
"You mean this young missioner?" Hurd inquired doubtfully.
Deyes nodded.
"I was with our hostess when he came up to ask for the loan of a barn to
hold services in. A very queer sort of person, I should think?"
"I haven't spoken to him," Hurd answered, "but I should think he's more
or less mad. I can understand mission and Salvation Army work and all
that sort of thing in the cities, but I'm hanged if I can understand any
one coming to Thorpe with such notions."
"Our hostess is annoyed about it, I imagine," Deyes remarked.
"She seems to have taken a dislike to the fellow," Hurd admitted. "She
was speaking to me about him just now. He is to be turned out of his
lodgings here."
Gilbert Deyes smiled. The news interested him.
"Our hostess is practical in her dislikes," he remarked.
"Why not?" his neighbour answered. "The place belongs to her."
Deyes watched for a moment the smoke from his cigarette, curling
upwards.
"The young man," he said thoughtfully, "impressed me as being a person
of some determination. I wonder whether he will consent to accept defeat
so easily."
The agent's son scarcely saw what else there was for him to do.
"There isn't anywhere round here," he remarked, "where they would take
him in against Miss Thorpe-Hatton's wishes. Besides, he has nowhere to
preach. His coming here at all was a huge mistake. If he's a sensible
person he'll admit it."
Deyes nodded as he rose to his feet and lounged towards the door with
the other men.
"Play bridge?" he asked his companion, as they crossed the hall.
"A little," the young man answered, "for moderate stakes."
They entered the drawing-room, and Deyes made his way to a secluded
corner, where Lady Peggy sat scribbling alone in a note-book.
"My dear Lady Peggy," he inquired, "whence this exceptional industry?"
She closed the book and looked up at him with twinkling eyes.
"Well, I didn't mean to tell a soul until it was finished," she
declared, "but you've just caught me. I've had such a brilliant idea.
I'm going to write a Society Encyclopaedia!"
Deyes looked at her solemnly.
"A Society Encyclopaedia!" he repeated uncertainly. "'Pon my word, I'm
not quite sure that I understand."
She motioned him to sit down by her side.
"I'll explain," she said. "You know we're all expected to know something
about everything nowadays, and it's such a bore reading up things. I'm
going to compile a little volume of definitions. I shall sell it at a
guinea a copy, pay all my debts, and become quite respectable again."
Deyes shook his head. His attitude was scarcely sympathetic.
"My dear Lady Peggy, what nonsense!" he declared. "Respectable, indeed!
I call it positively pandering to the middle classes!"
Lady Peggy looked doubtful.
"It is a horrid word, isn't it?" she admitted, "but it would be lovely
to make some money. Of course, I haven't absolutely decided how to spend
it yet. It does seem rather a waste, doesn't it, to pay one's debts, but
think of the luxury of feeling one could do it if one wanted to!"
"There's something in that," Deyes admitted. "But an encyclopaedia! My
dear Lady Peggy, you don't know what you're talking about. I've got one
somewhere, I know. It came in a van, and it took two of the men to
unload it."
Lady Peggy laughed softly.
"Oh! I don't mean that sort, of course," she declared. "I mean just a
little gilt-edged text book, bound in morocco, you know, with just those
things in it we're likely to run up against. Radium, for instance. Now
every one's talking about radium. Do you know what radium is?"
Deyes swung his eyeglass carefully by its black riband.
"Well," he admitted, "I've a sort of idea, but I'm not very good at
definitions."
"Of course not," Lady Peggy declared triumphantly. "When it comes to the
point, you see what a good idea mine is. You turn to my textbook," she
added, turning the pages over rapidly, "and there you are. Radium! 'A
hard, rare substance, invented by Mr. Gillette to give tone to his
bachelor parties.' What do you think of that?"
"Wonderful!" Deyes declared solemnly. "Where do you get your information
from?"
"Oh! I poke about in dictionaries and things, and ask every one
questions," Lady Peggy declared airily. "Would you like to hear some
more?"
"Our hostess is beckoning to me," Deyes answered, rising. "I expect she
wants some bridge."
"I'm on," Lady Peggy declared cheerfully. "Whom shall we get for a
fourth?"
"Wilhelmina has found him already," Deyes declared. "It's the new young
man, I think."
Lady Peggy shrugged her shoulders.
"The agent's son?" she remarked. "I shouldn't have thought that he would
have cared about our points."
"He can afford it for once in a way, I should imagine," Deyes answered.
"I can't understand, though----"
He stopped short. She looked at him curiously.
"Is it possible," she murmured, "that there exists anything which
Gilbert Deyes does not understand?"
"Many things," he answered; "amongst them, why does Wilhelmina patronize
this young man? He is well enough, of course, but----" he shrugged his
shoulders expressively; "the thing needs an explanation, doesn't it?"
"If Wilhelmina--were not Wilhelmina, it certainly would," Lady Peggy
answered. "I call her craving for new things and new people positively
morbid. All the time she beats her wings against the bars. There are no
new things. There are no new experiences. The sooner one makes up one's
mind to it the better."
Gilbert Deyes laughed softly.
"If my memory serves me," he said, "you are repeating a cry many
thousand years old. Wasn't there a prophet----"
"There was," she interrupted, "but they are beckoning us. I hope I don't
cut with the young man. I don't believe he has a bridge face."