June was drawing to a close in a week of magnificent weather. It was
too hot to do much during the middle of the day, and the Park was full
of riders every morning from eight till ten. Dodo' was frequently to be
seen there, usually riding a vicious black mare, that plunged and shied
more than Lord Chesterford quite liked. But Dodo insisted on riding it.
"The risks one runs every moment of one's life," she told him, "are so
many, that one or two more really don't matter. Besides, I can manage
the brute."
On this particular morning Dodo descended the stairs feeling unusually
happy. The period of enforced idleness was over, and she was making
up for lost time with a vengeance. They had given a dance the night
before, and Dodo had not gone to bed till after four; but for all
that she was down again at half-past eight, and her mare was waiting
for her. She turned into the dining-room to have a cup of tea before
starting, and waited somewhat impatiently for Lord Chesterford to join
her. He came in, in the course of a few minutes, looking rather worried.
"You look as if you had not gone to bed for a week," said Dodo, "and
your hair is dreadfully untidy. Look at me now. Here I am a weak little
woman, and I feel fit to move mountains, and you look as if you wanted
quinine and iron. Don't come, if you'd rather not. Stop at home and
play with the baby."
"I'm all right," said he, "but I'm rather worried about the boy. The
nurse says he's not been sleeping much all night, but kept waking and
crying, and he looks rather flushed. I think I'll send for the doctor."
Dodo felt a little impatient.
"He's as right as possible," she said. "You shouldn't worry so,
Chesterford. You've wanted to send for the doctor a hundred times in
the last month, either for him or me. But don't come if you'd rather
not. Vivy is coming to breakfast at half-past nine; I quite forgot
that. If you feel inclined to stop, you might give her breakfast, and
I'll lengthen my ride. I shall be back at half-past ten. She's going
to take me to see Wainwright's new Turner."
"Are you sure you don't mind, Dodo?" said he, still wavering. "If you
don't, I really think I will stop, and perhaps see the doctor about
him. The nurse says she would like to have the doctor here."
"Just as you like," said Dodo. "You'll have to pay a swinging bill
anyhow. Good-bye, old boy. Don't worry your silly old head. I'm sure
it's all right."
Dodo went off perfectly at ease in her mind. Chesterford was rather
fussy, she thought, and she congratulated herself on not being nervous.
"A pretty pair we should make if I encouraged him in his little ways,"
she said to herself. "We should one of us, live in the nursery." She
put her horse into a quick trot, and felt a keen enjoyment in managing
the vicious animal. The streets were somewhat crowded even at this
hour, and Dodo had her work cut out for her.
However, she reached the Park in safety, and went up the Row at a
swinging gallop, with her horse tearing at the rein and tossing its
head. After a time the brute grew quieter, and Dodo joined a well-known
figure who was riding some way in front of her.
"Good old Jack," she cried, "isn't it splendid! I had no idea how I
loved motion and exercise and dancing and all that till I began again.
Didn't you think our ball went off rather well? Did you stop, to the
end? Oh, of course you did. That silly dowager What's-her-name was
quite shocked at me, just because we had the looking-glass figure in
the cotillion. It's the prettiest of the lot, I think. Old Major Ewart
gave me a pair of ivory castanets with silver mountings last night,
the sweetest things in the world. I really think he is seriously gone
on me, and he must be sixty if he's an hour. I think I shall appeal to
Chesterford for protection. What fun it would be to make Chesterford
talk to him gravely like a grandson. He stopped at home this morning
to look after the baby. I think I shall get jealous of the nurse, and
pretend that he's sweet on her, and that's why he goes to the nursery
so much."
Jack laughed.
"Between you, you hit the right average pretty well," he said. "If it
wasn't for Chesterford, the baby would certainly have fallen downstairs
half a dozen times. You don't half realise how important he is."
"Oh, you're entirely wrong, Jack," said Dodo calmly. "It's just that
which I do recognise; what I don't recognise is that I should be
supposed to find ineffable joys in watching it eat and sleep and howl.
You know one baby is very much like another."
"In other words, supposing the boy had no expectations," said Jack,
"and was not the heir-apparent of half Staffordshire, you would find
him much less interesting."
"Would you think me very heartless if I said 'Yes'?" asked Dodo.
"Well, I never held a very high opinion of your heart, you know," said
Jack, laughing, "and I don't know that I think much worse of it now."
"You judge so stupidly," said Dodo; "you elevate matrimony into a
sacrament. Now I don't. It is a contract for mutual advantage. The
husband gives wealth, position and all that, and the wife gives him a
housekeeper, and heirs to his property. Don't frown, Jack. That's my
eminently common-sense view of the question. It answers excellently,
as I find by experience. But, of course, there are marriages for
love. I suppose most of the lower middle-class marry for love, at
least they haven't got any position or wealth to marry for. But we,
the disillusioned and unromantic upper classes, see beyond that. I
daresay our great grandfathers married for love, but the fact that so
many of us don't, shows that ours is the more advanced and probably
correct view. You know all wine-tasters agree on the superiority
of one wine, and the inferiority of another. That's the result of
education. The amateur thinks they are all more or less alike, and very
probably prefers some sweet bad kind. That's the middle-class view
of love-marriages. The more I think of it, the more I feel that love
is an illusion. Think of all the people who marry for love, and get
eternally tired of each other afterwards. They can't keep it up. The
lovers grow into friends, and the friends into enemies. Those are the
enviable ones who remain friends; but it is better to marry as a friend
than as a lover, because in the latter case there is a reaction and a
disappointment, which may perhaps ruin the friendship. Aren't I a wise
woman, Jack? I think I shall set up a general advice office."
Jack was, rather pale, and his fingers twitched nervously at his reins.
"Have you never felt that illusion?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Really, Jack," said Dodo, "you behave as if you were the inquisition.
But I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. For Chesterford I never
have. He is the most excellent husband, and I esteem and admire him
immensely. Don't make your horse so fidgety, Jack. As I was saying,
I don't see why I shouldn't tell you, considering you proposed to me
once, and confessed to the same illusion yourself. Have you got over
it, by the way? If I had married you, you certainly would have by this
time."