lurking, ready to pounce. And what bad luck that he should know
Ellaline's guardian, wasn't it?
At first I thought maybe he really had had business at the Gare de Lyon,
and that I'd partly misjudged him. And then it flashed into my head
that, on the contrary, he didn't really know Sir Lionel, but had
overheard the name, and was doing a "bluff" to get introduced to me.
Wasn't that a conceited idea? But neither was true. At least the latter
wasn't, I know, and I'm pretty sure the first wasn't. What I think, is
this: that he simply followed me to the Gare de Lyon for the "deviltry"
of the thing, and because he'd nothing better to do. That he hung about
in sheer curiosity, to see whom I was meeting; and that he recognized
the Dragon as an old acquaintance. I once fondly supposed coincidences
were remarkable and rare events, but I've known ever since I've known
the troubles of life that it's only agreeable ones which are rare, such
as coming across your long-lost millionaire-uncle who's decided to leave
you all his money, just as you'd made up your mind to commit suicide or
marry a Jewish diamond merchant. Disagreeable coincidences sit about on
damp clouds ready to fall on you the minute they think you don't expect
them, and they're more likely to occur than not. That's my experience.
Evidently the Dragon did remember Dick's mother and aunt, for the first
blankness of his expression brightened into intelligence with the
mention of the youth's female belongings. He held out his hand
cordially, and remarked that of course he remembered Mrs. Burden and
Mrs. Senter. As for Dick, he had grown out of all recollection.
"It was a good many years ago," returned the said Dick, hastening to
disprove the slur of youthfulness. "It was just before I went to
Sandhurst. But you haven't changed. I knew you at once."
"On leave, I suppose?" suggested Sir Lionel.
"No," said Dick, "I'm not in the army. Failed. Truth is, I didn't want
to get in. Wasn't cut out for it. There's only one profession I care
for."
"What's that?" the Dragon was obliged to ask, out of politeness, though
I don't think he cared much.
"The fact is," returned Mr. Burden (a most appropriate name, according
to my point of view), "it's rather a queer one, or might seem so to you,
and I've promised the mater I won't talk of it unless I do adopt it. And
I'm over here qualifying, now."
It was easy to see that he hoped he'd excited our curiosity; and he must
have been disappointed in Sir Lionel's half-hearted "Indeed?" As for me,
I tried to make my eyes look like boiled gooseberries, an unenthusiastic
fruit, especially when cooked. I was delighted with the Dragon, though,
for not introducing him.
Having said "indeed," Sir Lionel added that we must be getting
on--luggage to see to; his valet a foreigner, and more bother than use.
I took my cue, and pattered along by my guardian's side, his tall form a
narrow yet impassable bulwark between me and Mr. Dick Burden. But Mr. D.
B. pattered too, refusing to be thrown off.
He asked Sir Lionel if he were staying on in Paris; and in the short
conversation that followed I picked up morsels of news which hadn't been
given me yet. It appeared that the Dragon's sister (who would suspect a
dragon of sisters?) had wired to Marseilles that she would meet him in
Paris, and he "expected to find her at an hotel." He didn't say what
hotel, so it was evident Mr. Dick Burden need not hope for an invitation
to call. Apparently our plans depended somewhat on her, but Sir Lionel
"thought we should get away next day at latest." There was nothing to
keep him in Paris, and he was in a hurry to reach England. I was glad to
hear that, for fear some more coincidences might happen, such as meeting
Madame de Maluet or one of the teachers holiday-making. Conscience does
make you a coward! I never noticed mine much before. I wish you could
take anti-conscience powders, as you do for neuralgia. Wouldn't they
sell like hot cakes?
At last Mr. Dick Burden had to go away without getting the introduction
he wanted, and Sir Lionel was either very absent-minded or else very
obstinate not to give it, I'm not sure which; but if I were a betting
character I should bet on the latter. I begin to see that his
dragon-ness may be expected to leak out in his attitude toward Woman as
a Sex. Already I've detected the most primitive, almost primæval, ideas
in him, which probably he contracted in Bengal. Would you believe it, he
insisted on my putting on a veil to travel with?--but I haven't come to
that part yet.
As for Mr. Burden, as I said, he disappeared from our view; but I doubt
if we disappeared from his. You may think this is conceited in me, but,
as he took off his Panama in saying good-bye, he contrived to peer at me
round an unfortified corner of the Dragon, and the look he flung me said
more plainly than words: "This is all right, but I'm hanged if I don't
see it through," or something even more emphatic to that effect.
Sir Lionel was surprised when he saw my luggage, which we picked up when
he'd claimed his own.
"I thought young ladies never went anywhere without a dozen boxes," said
he.
"Oh, mamma and I travelled half over Europe with only one trunk and two
bags between us," I blurted out, before I stopped to think. Then I
wished the floor would yawn and swallow me up.
He did stare!--and his eyes are dreadfully piercing when he stares. They
are very nice-looking gray ones; but I can tell you they felt like
hatpins.
"I should have thought you were too young in those days to know anything
about luggage," said he.
That gave me a straw to clutch. "Madame de Maluet has told me a great
deal." (So she has, about one thing or another; mostly my own faults.)
"Oh, I see," he said. It must have seemed funny to him, my saying that
about the trunks, as Ellaline's mother died when E. was four.
He hadn't much luggage, either; no golf clubs, or battle-axes, or
whatever you play about with in Bengal when you aren't terrorizing the
natives. He sent the brown servant off in one cab with our things, and
put me in another, into which he also mounted. It did seem funny driving
off with him, for when I came to think of it, I was never alone with a
man before; but he was gawkier about it than I was. Not exactly shy; I
hardly know how to express it, but he couldn't help showing that he was
out of his element.
Oh, I forgot to tell you, he'd shaken hands with the Mock Dragon, and
shunted him off just as ruthlessly as he did the boy. "See you in
London, sooner or later," said he. As if anyone could want to see such a
disagreeable old thing! Yet, perhaps, if I but knew, the Mock Dragon's
character may be the nobler of the two. If I were to judge by
appearances, I should have liked the real Dragon's looks, and thought
from first sight that he was rather a brave, fine, high-principled
person, even unselfish. Whereas I know from all Ellaline has told me
that his qualities are quite the reverse of these.
We were going to the Grand Hotel, and driving there he pumped up a few
perfunctory sort of questions about school, the way grown-up people who
don't understand children talk to little girls. You know: "Do you like
your lessons? What do you do on holidays? What is your middle name?"
sort of thing. I was afraid I should laugh, so I asked him questions
instead; and all the time he seemed to be studying me in a puzzled,
surprised way, as if I were a duck that had just stepped out of a
chicken egg, or a goblin in a Nonconformist home. (If he keeps on doing
this, I shall _have_ to find out what he means by it, or _burst_.)
I asked him about his sister, as I thought Bengal might be a sore
subject, and he appeared to think that I already knew something of her.
If Ellaline does know, she forgot to tell me; and I hope other things
like that won't be continually cropping up, or my nerves won't stand it.
_I_ shall take to throwing spoons and tea-cups.
He reminded me of her name being Mrs. Norton, and that she's a widow. He
hadn't expected her to come over, he said, and he was surprised to get
her telegram, but no doubt he'd find out that she'd a pretty good
reason. And it was nothing to be astonished at, her not meeting him at
the Gare de Lyon, for she invariably missed people when she went to
railway stations. It had been a characteristic of hers since youth. When
they were both young they were often in Paris together, for they had
French cousins (Ellaline's mother's people, I suppose), and then they
stopped at the Grand Hotel. He hadn't been there, though, he added, for
nearly twenty years; and had been out of England, without coming back,
for fifteen. That made him seem old, talking of what happened twenty
years ago--almost my whole life. Yet he doesn't look more than
thirty-five at most. I wonder does the climate of Bengal preserve
people, like flies in amber? Perhaps he's really sixty, and has this
unnatural appearance of youth.
"Does Mrs. Norton know about--me?" I asked.
"Why; of course she does," said he. "I wrote her she must come and live
with me when I found I'd got to have----" He shut up like a clam, on
that, and looked so horribly ashamed of himself that I burst out
laughing.
"Please don't mind," said I. "I know I'm an incubus, but I'll try to be
as little trouble as possible."
"You're _not_ an incubus," he contradicted me, almost indignantly.
"You're entirely different from what I thought you would be."
"Oh, then you thought I _would_ be an incubus?" I couldn't resist the
temptation of retorting. Maybe it was cruel, but there's no society for
the prevention of cruelty to dragons, so it can't be considered wrong in
humane circles.
"Not at all. But I--I don't know much about women, especially girls,"
said he. "And I told you I thought of you as a child."
"I hope you haven't gone to the trouble of engaging a nurse for me?" I
suggested. And if he were cross at being teased, he didn't show it. He
said he'd trusted all such arrangements to his sister. He hadn't seen
her for many years, but she was good-natured, and he hoped that we would
get on. What I principally hoped was that she wouldn't prove to be of a
_suspicious_ nature; for a detective on the hearth would be
inconvenient, and women can be so sharp about each other! I've found
that out at Madame de Maluet's; I never would from you, dear. You
weren't a cat in any of your previous incarnations. I think you must
have "evoluted" from that neat blending of serpent and dove which
eventually produces a perfect Parisienne.
We went into the big hall of the Grand Hotel, where Sir Lionel said in
"his day" carriages used to drive in; and suddenly, to my own surprise,
I felt gay and excited, as if this were life, and I had begun to live. I
didn't regret having to play Ellaline one bit. Everything seemed great
fun. You know, darling, I haven't had much "life," except in you and
books, since I was sixteen, and our pennies and jauntings finished up at
the same time; though I had plenty before that--all sorts of "samples,"
anyhow. I suppose it must have been the bright, worldly look of the
hotel which gave me that tingling sensation, as if a little wild bird
had burst into song in my heart.
Although it's out of season for Parisians, the hall was full of
fashionable-seeming people, mostly Americans and other foreigners. As we
came in, a lady rose from a seat near the door. She was small, and the
least fashionable or well-dressed person in the room, yet with the air
of being satisfied with herself morally. I saw at once she was of the
type who considers her church a "home from home"; who dresses her house
as if it were a person, and upholsters herself as if she were a sofa. Of
course, I knew it was Mrs. Norton, and I _was_ disappointed. I would
almost have preferred her to be catty.
She and her brother hadn't seen each other for fifteen years, but they
met as calmly as if they had lunched together yesterday. I think,
though, that was more her fault than his, for when he held out his hand
she lifted it up on a level with her chin to shake; and of course that
would have taken the "go" out of a grasshopper. I suppose it wouldn't
have been "good form" to kiss in a hotel hall, but if _I_ retrieved a
long-lost brother in any sort of hall, I don't believe I could resist.
Her hair was so plainly drawn back, it was like a moral influence, and
her toque sat up high on her head like a bun or a travelling pincushion.
The only trimming on her dress was buttons, but there were a large
family of them.
Sir Lionel introduced us, and she said she was pleased to meet me. Also,
that I was not at all like my mother or father. Then she asked if I had
ever been to England; but luckily, before I'd had a chance to compromise
myself by saying that I'd lived a few months in London, but had been
nowhere else (there's where our money began to give out), her brother
reminded her that I was only four when I left England.
"Of course, I had forgotten," said Mrs. Norton. "But don't they ever
take them over to see the British Museum or the National Gallery? I
should have thought it would be an education--with cheap returns."
"Probably French schoolmistresses believe that their pupils get their
money's worth on the French side of the Channel," replied Sir Lionel.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Norton; and looked at me as if to see how the system had
answered. I'm sure she approved of the gray serge and the sailor hat
more than she approved of the girl in them. You see, I don't think she
sanctions hair that isn't dark brown.
We didn't sit down, but talked standing up. Sir Lionel and his sister
throwing me words out of politeness now and then. She has a nice voice,
though cold as iced water that has been filtered. Her name is Emily. It
_would_ be!
He said he was surprised as well as pleased to get her telegram on
arriving at Marseilles, and it was very good of her to come to Paris and
meet him. She said not at all, it was no trouble, but a pleasure, or
rather it would be, if it weren't for the sad reason that brought her.
"Why, is anybody dead?" asked Sir Lionel, looking as if he were running
over a list in his head, but couldn't call up a name which concerned him
personally.
"There's been a thinning off among old friends lately, I'm sorry to say;
I've told you about most of them, I think, in postscripts," replied Mrs.
Norton. "But it wasn't their loss, poor dears, which brought me over. It
was the fire."
"What fire?" her brother wanted to know.
"Why, _your_ fire. Surely you must have seen about it in to-day's London
papers?"
"To-day's London papers won't get to Marseilles till to-morrow, and I
haven't been long enough in Paris to see one yet," explained Sir Lionel.
"Have I had a serious fire, and what has been burnt?" He spoke as coolly
as if it were the question of a mutton chop.
"Part of the house," returned Mrs. Norton, not even trying to break it
to him.
"I hope not the old part," said he.
"No, it is the new wing. But _that_ seemed to me such a pity. Such a
beautiful bathroom, hot and cold, spray and shower, quite destroyed; and
a noble linen closet, heated throughout with pipes, and fully stocked."
"The bathroom may have been early Pullman, and the linen closet late
German Lloyd, my dear Emily; but the rest of the house is Tudor, and
can't be replaced," said Sir Lionel; and I was sure, as he looked down
at his sister, of a thing I'd already suspected: that he has a sense of
humour. That's a modern improvement with which you wouldn't expect a
dragon to be fitted; but I begin to see that this is an elaborate and
complicated Dragon. Some people are Pharisees about their sense of
humour, and keep harping on it till you wish it were a live wire and
would electrocute them. _He_ would rather be ashamed of his, I fancy,
and yet it must have amused him, and made him feel good chums with
himself, away out in Bengal.
Mrs. Norton said that Warings had very handsome Tudor dining-rooms in
one or two of their model houses, so nothing was irrevocable nowadays;
but she was pleased, if he was, that only the modern wing was injured.
It had happened yesterday morning, just too late for the newspapers,
which must have annoyed the editors; and she had felt that it would be
best to undertake the journey to Paris, and consult about plans, as it
might make a difference (here she glanced at me); but she hadn't
mentioned the fire when wiring, because things seemed worse in
telegrams, and besides, it would have been a useless expense. No doubt
it had been stupid of her, but she had fancied he would certainly see it
in the paper, with all details, and therefore guess why she was meeting
him.
"We have nowhere to take Miss Lethbridge," said she, "since Graylees
Castle will be overrun with workmen for some time to come. I didn't know
but you might feel it would be best, after all, for us to put her again
in charge of her old schoolmistress for a few weeks."
If hair could really rise, mine would have instantly cast out every
hairpin, as if they were so many evil spirits, and have stood out all
around my head like Strumpelpeter's. Yet there was nothing I could say.
If I were mistress of a dozen languages, I should have had to be
speechless in every one. But I saw Sir Lionel looking at me, and I
hastily gave him a silent treatment with my eyes. It had the most
satisfactory effect.
"No, I don't think we will take her back to Madame de Maluet's," said
he. "Madame may have made other plans for the holiday season. Perhaps
she is going away."
"I'm sure she is," said I. "She is going to visit her mother-in-law's
aunt."
Sir Lionel was still looking at me, lost in thought. (I forget if I
mentioned that he has nice eyes? I haven't time to look back and see if
I did, now. I'm scribbling as fast as I can. We shall soon land, and I
want to post this at Dover, if I can get an English stamp "off" someone,
as "Sissy" Williams, our only British neighbour, says.)
"How would you like a motor-car trip?" Sir Lionel asked abruptly.
The relief from suspense was almost too great, and I nearly jumped down
his throat, so, after all, it would have been my own fault if the Dragon
had eaten me. "I should _adore_ it!" I said.
"My dear!" protested Mrs. Norton, indulgently. "One adores Heavenly
Beings."
"I'm not sure a motor-car isn't a heavenly being," said I, "though
perhaps without capitals."
The Dragon smiled, but she looked awfully shocked, and no doubt blamed
Madame de Maluet.
"I've a forty-horse Mercédès promised to be ready on my arrival," said
Sir Lionel, still reflective. "You know, Emily, the little
twelve-horse-power car I had sent out to East Bengal was a Mercédès. If
I could drive her, I can drive a bigger car. Everybody says it's easier.
And young Nick has learned to be a first-rate mechanic."
I suppose young Nick must be the Dragon's pet name for the bronze image.
What fun that he should be a chauffeur! Fancy an Indian Idol squatted on
the front seat of an up-to-date automobile. But when you come to think
of it, there have been other gods in cars. I only hope, if I'm to be
behind him, this one won't behave like Juggernaut. He wears almost too
many clothes, for he is the type that would look over-dressed in a
bangle.
"We might have an eight or ten weeks' run about England," the Dragon
went on, "while things are being made straight at Graylees. It would be
good to see something of the blessed old island again before settling
down."
"One would think you were quite pleased at the fire, Lionel," remarked
his sister, who evidently believes it wrong to look on the bright side
of things, and right to expect the worst--like an undertaker calling for
a client before he's dead.
"What is, is," returned he. "We may as well make the best of it. You
wouldn't mind a motor tour, would you, Emily?"
"I would go if it were my duty, and you desired it," she said, looking
as if she ought to be on stained glass, with half a halo, "only I am
hardly young enough to consider motoring as a pleasure."
"There aren't many years between us," replied her brother, too polite to
say whether he were in front or behind, "but I confess I do regard it as
a pleasure."
"A man is different," she admitted.
Thank goodness, he is!
Then they talked more about the fire, which, it seems, happened through
something being wrong with a flue, in a room where Mrs. N. had told a
servant to build a fire on account of dampness. It must be a wonderful
old place from what they both let drop. (I told you in another letter
how Sir Lionel had inherited it, about the same time as his title, or a
little later. The estate, though, comes from the mother's side, and her
people were from Warwickshire.) His cool British way of saying and
taking things is a good deal on the surface, I think. He would have
hated us to see it, but I'm sure he worked himself up to quite a pitch
of joyful excitement over the idea of the motor trip, as it developed in
his mind. And it is splendid, isn't it, darling?
You know how sorry you were we hadn't been more economical, and made our
money last long enough to travel in England, instead of having to stop
short after a splash in London. Now I'm going to see bits in spite of
all, until I'm "called away," and I'll try my best, in letters, to make
you see what I do. Ellaline wouldn't have enjoyed such a tour, for she
hates the country, or any place where it isn't suitable to wear high
heels and picture hats. But I--oh, I! Twenty dragons on the same seat of
the car with me couldn't prevent my revelling in it--though it may be
cut short for me at any minute. As for Mrs. Norton----
But the stewardess has just said we shall be in, in five minutes. I had
to come down to the ladies' cabin with Mrs. N. Now I haven't time to
tell you any more, except that they both (Sir L. and his sister, I mean)
wanted to get to England as soon as possible. I know _she_ was
disappointed not to fling her brother's ward back to Madame de Maluet,
and probably wouldn't have come over to Paris if she hadn't hoped to
bring it off; but she resigns herself to things easily when a man says
they're best. It was Sir Lionel who wanted particularly to cross
to-night, though he didn't urge it; but she said, "Very well, dear. I
think you're right."
So here we are. A large bell is ringing, and so is my heart. I mean it's
beating. Good-bye, dearest. I'll write again to-morrow--or rather
to-day, for it's a lovely sunrise, like a good omen--when we get settled
somewhere. I believe we're going to a London hotel. Yes, stewardess. Oh,
I ought to have said that to her, instead of writing it to you. She
interrupted.
Love--love.
_Your_ Audrie,
_Their_ Ellaline.
V
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Ritz Hotel, London_,
_July 8th_
Angel: May your wings never moult! I hope you didn't think me
extravagant wiring yesterday, instead of writing. I was too busy baking
the yeasty dough of my impressions to write a letter worth reading; and
when one has practically _no_ money, what's the good of being
economical? You know the sole point of sympathy I ever touched with
"Sissy" Williams was his famous speech: "If I can't earn five hundred a
year, it's not worth while worrying to earn anything"; which excused his
settling down as a "remittance man," in the top flat, at forty francs a
month.
Dearest, the Dragon hasn't drag-ged once, yet! And, by the way, till he
does so, I think I won't call him Dragon again. It's rather gratuitous,
as I'm eating his bread--or rather, his perfectly gorgeous _à la
cartes_, and am literally smeared with luxury, from my rising up until
my lying down, at his expense.