went our way to Goodwood the sea was a torn sheet of silver seen behind
great downs which the afternoon sun was gilding. Oh, the Lebanon cedars
and the views of Goodwood! If I were there for the races, I think not
even the finest horses, the most beautiful women, and the prettiest
frocks in England could hold my eyes long from that view. I can shut my
eyes now--the day after--and see those Lebanon cedars black against an
opal sky. Another picture I can see, too, is Bosham Church, standing up
tall and pure as a gray nun singing an _Ave Maria_ beside the clear
water. It comes back to me from my studies of English history that
Vespasian had a villa there, and that Harold sailed from Bosham. Do you
know, he's in the act of doing it on the Bayeux tapestry? Once, the
Danes stole the Bosham church bells, and the dear things still ring at
the bottom of the sea, because the robber ship was wrecked, and went
down with the chime, in mid channel. I like that story. It matches the
picture and the tapestry.
Our day stopped at Chichester, and my letter must stop, too, for all
this I tell you of was only yesterday. We arrived last evening, and now
it's nearly midnight of the next day. I began to write just after
dinner, sitting in my dear old-fashioned room, and if I don't soon say
good-night I shan't get much beauty sleep. To-morrow morning, at
half-past nine, we're going on; but before we start I'll scribble a
Chichester postscript. So you see, I must be up bright and early,
especially as I mean to fly out for one more glimpse of the
cathedral--though I spent most of this afternoon in it.
I wonder if you are sparing a few minutes to-night to dream of
Your Audrie?
P. S.--Eight-twenty in the morning, and I've been up for two hours.
You'd like Chichester immensely. I don't say "love," for it hasn't
engaged my affections, somehow; but I do love the beautiful jewel of a
market cross, and some of the tombs in the cathedral. The cross is quite
a baby compared with lots of others, it seems, being only just born at
the time Henry VIII. was cutting off pretty ladies' heads when he had
tired of their hearts. Several tombs are so lovely, you almost want to
be dead, and have one as like as possible; but, though part of the
cathedral is satisfyingly old (eleventh century), its new spire reminds
one of a badly chosen hat, and the whole building somehow looks cold and
dull, like a person with a magnificent profile who never says anything
illuminating.
[Illustration: "_The jewel of a market cross_"]
As for Chichester itself, except the market cross, the only thing that
has touched my heart was St. Mary's Hospital, surely the quaintest old
almshouse on earth. The town has rather a self-conceited air to me, and
unless one were wise, one mightn't realize without being informed that
it's immemorably old. Of course, though, if one _were_ wise, one would
know the Romans had had a hand in the making or re-making of it, because
of the geometric, regular way in which it's built. Sir Lionel Pendragon
told me that. He seems to remember all he ever learned, whereas ever so
many little bundles are already knocking about in dusty corners of my
brain, with their labels lost.
There couldn't be a more thrilling road than the road along which we
came to Chichester, and by which we will leave it in a few minutes now.
Think of Roman Stane Street, and listen for the rumble of ghostly
chariot wheels! Then--if you've not come this way for Goodwood
races--you can throw your mind a little further ahead to the days of the
crusaders and the pilgrims; and to kings' processions glittering with
gold and glossy with velvets; to armies on their way to fight; and
further ahead, to coaches plying along the Portsmouth road. I wonder how
many people in the hundreds of motors that flash back and forth each day
do think of it all? I pity those who don't, because they lose a thought
that might embroider their world with rich colours.
P.P.S.--I met Sir Lionel, accidentally, of course, in the cathedral this
morning, where he, too, was saying good-bye to the most fascinating of
the old tombs. And wasn't it odd, we had the same favourites? They
looked even nicer and queerer than yesterday, with no Mrs. Norton to
spatter inappropriate remarks about.
We walked back to the hotel together, and he asked me, just as we were
coming in, whether my allowance was enough, or would I like to have
more?
I had burst out that it was heaps, before I stopped to realize that he
was asking that question really of Ellaline, not of me. Perhaps I ought
to have temporized, and said I would make up my mind in a few
days--meanwhile writing to her. I suppose she must be quite an heiress;
but he can't be as mercenary as she thinks, or he wouldn't have made
such a suggestion.
I'm called! The motor's ready. I'll post this from the hotel.
IX
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
_Southsea_,
_July 19th_
Dearest: This address isn't part of our plan of campaign. We'd
meant to pass through, after pausing on the way just long enough to see
Portsmouth Harbour, and Dickens's birthplace; but we've stopped here on
my account, and now I wish we hadn't. I'll tell you why, in a minute;
but if I don't mention a few other things first, they'll be crowded out,
and I shall forget them.
After we'd seen the birthplace, and were seeing the harbour, Sir Lionel
asked if I'd care to go on board a man-o'-war. Of course, my answer was
"Yes"; and he said there was an old friend of his whom he would like to
see, Captain Starlin, of the _Thunderer_, so he'd ask for an invitation.
He scribbled things in pencil on a visiting-card, and sent it on board
the big gray monster, by a nice low-necked sailor. Of course, the
invitation which came back was most cordial, and even Mrs. Norton
appeared pleased with the idea of going over the ship. We were received
by the Captain himself--rather a young-looking man, whose complexion
seemed to have slipped down, like Sir Lionel's, both their foreheads
being quite white, and the rest of their faces tanned brown. He took us
everywhere, showing us interesting things, and presently said that, not
only must we dine with him that evening, but must stay to a dance that
was to be given on board afterward.
"Oh, many thanks, but we're only motoring through, and go on this
afternoon," began Sir Lionel. Then he stopped short, and looked at me.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked.
"She hasn't anything to wear, if she would," Mrs. Norton answered for
me. "You were so strict about luggage, we've only two evening dresses
apiece, plain things for hotel dinners, nothing at all suitable to a
dance."
"Didn't you buy her anything good enough for dances that day in Bond
Street?" snapped the Dragon.
"_You_ bought her several things almost too good for dances, at her
age," retaliated the Dragon's sister, but only in a gentle coo. "They're
left at the Ritz, awaiting instructions to go on to Graylees, with most
of our things, and will probably be all beggars' creases before she has
a chance to wear them."
"She shall have a chance to wear any or all of them to-night, if she
wants to dance," said Sir Lionel.
"Of course she wants to dance," chimed in Captain Starlin. "Did you ever
see a young lady who didn't want to dance, especially on a man-o'-war?"
"_Do_ you want to?" repeated the Dragon.
Between them I was quite dashed, and murmured something non-committal
about its being very nice, if it had been convenient, but----
"There is no 'but,'" said Ellaline's guardian. "That settles it. We stop
the night in Southsea, where there's no doubt a good hotel; and I will
send someone immediately to the Ritz for your boxes, Emily--and yours."
He never calls me by name if he can help it.
Emily was inclined to object that it would be foolish to send, and we
didn't want all our things anyway, till her brother gave her a look--not
cross, but--well, just one of his looks that make you do things, or stop
doing them, whichever he pleases; and she didn't say any more.
I can't help rather liking his masterful ways, though they're
old-fashioned now that we're all supposed to think we need votes more
than frocks; but this time it really would have been ungrateful of me to
disapprove, as the whole fuss was being made for me. And I was dying to
go to the dance!
We went quickly back to the motor, spun into Southsea, and before the
female contingent knew exactly what was happening to it, rooms were
engaged for the night, and a "responsible person" despatched by the
first train to town, with a letter demanding certain articles of our
luggage.
I was quite excited about the evening, but outwardly was "more than
usual calm," as we wandered here and there, after luncheon, seeing
Southsea--which must, by the way, be a most convenient place for girls,
as they can choose between Navy and Army, or play with both if they are
pretty enough. Just as we were going to have a run out to Hayling Island
in the car, whom should we meet in the street, close to our hotel, but
Mrs. Senter and Dick Burden.
She was looking very fetching and young, almost like a girl, certainly
as unlike an aunt as possible. And, mother, I _know_ it wasn't an
accident. I don't mean about her being an aunt, of course, but being in
Southsea and meeting us.
The day she called, in London, when Sir Lionel was in Warwickshire, I
heard her asking Mrs. Norton questions about our route; and when dear
Emily mentioned Winchester, she said, "Oh, won't you be passing through
Southsea?"
Mrs. Norton answered in her vague little way that she was sure she
didn't know. Then Mrs. Senter went on to say that she and Dick were
invited to stay at a house near Southsea, and she thought they would
probably accept. Perhaps, if they did, we might meet. But, as I wrote
you, I thought it more likely we wouldn't, unless Sir Lionel should seem
keen when he heard; and he _didn't_. He apparently took no interest
whatever when his sister repeated the conversation to him next day.
Well, I'm sure Mrs. Senter made up her mind to accept her friend's
invitation (even if she didn't ask for one) the minute she found out
that we were likely soon to pass Southsea. She must have known we would
be sure to stop for a look round Portsmouth and the neighbourhood, and
thought the chance worth taking. If she hadn't, she would have stopped
in London till the end of the season, no doubt, for she's the kind of
person who lives for Society, and only cares for the country when it's
the fashion to be in it.
I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she'd been patrolling the streets of
Portsmouth and Southsea for a day or two, in the hope of running across
us sooner or later. Or, as Dick Burden fancies himself in the part of a
detective, perhaps he hit upon some surer way of getting at us.
Those two, aunt and nephew, play into each other's hands beautifully.
Mamma, it seems, is visiting in Scotland at the moment, so they hunt in
couples. How long "Aunt Gwen" has been a widow the saints may know; I
don't--but anyway she has begun to "take notice," as people say about
bright little babies. She has looked up Sir Lionel in Debrett, and
marked him with a red cross for her own, I believe. Such impudence! A
woman like that, to dare think of trying to grab a man of his position
and record! She ought to know how unsuitable she would be for him.
As for Dick, of course he wants to flirt with me; but wait--wait till
you hear the latest developments.
Sir Lionel seemed neither pleased nor displeased at the meeting, but he
could not have suspected it was more than an accident, for he remarked
that it was odd we should run up against each other like this!
Mrs. Senter said yes, indeed, it was, she was never more surprised in
her life, though really it would have been odd, when one came to think
of it, if we hadn't met, since she and Dick were stopping with friends
on Hayling Island, and were constantly in Southsea.
"Do let me write a note to my friend Captain Starlin, and get you all
invitations to the _Thunderer_ dance to-night," she tacked on to the
tail of her explanation.
"He's an old friend of mine, too," said Sir Lionel, "and we've not only
invitations already, but have accepted them, and sent for my sister's
and Miss Lethbridge's clothes."
Her face fell a little for an instant when she heard we'd sent for
clothes, as probably Emily and I would have suited her better in our
worst things; but she brightened up and said how pleased she was,
because she and Dick were both going, and now they would really look
forward to the dance; Dick had been bored with the idea before.
Well, the boxes came in good time, and the Bond Street darlings weren't
crushed in the least, because I had put them to bed so nicely with
sheets and pillows of tissue paper. I decided to wear a pink chiffon,
with tiny button roses laid like a dainty frame all round the low neck
and where the sleeves ought to have been but weren't. The chiffon's
embroidered with roses to match. Can you imagine me in such a dream? I
can't. But it suits me, rather. I wore pink shoes and stockings and
gloves, all of the same shade, and poor Emily in gray silk, with her
hair done in an aggressively virtuous way, looked like a cross between
an Anglican nun and a tourist economizing luggage. Yet she wouldn't have
been shocked if her brother'd had a harem in Bengal, because it was
"good form." But of course, as she says, one is obliged to excuse things
in men.
It was very amusing having dinner in the Captain's room, which was large
and quite charming, with curtains and frilly silk cushions, and heaps of
framed, signed photographs, and books, almost as if a woman had arranged
it. But he told us one felt the motion there, more than anywhere else,
in a storm; which must be some consolation to the "middies" who have to
work for years before they can ever hope for such luxurious quarters.
Mrs. Senter and Dick weren't at dinner, which was one comfort. Besides
ourselves, there were only the Captain's married sister, who had come
from town for the dance, and her husband. The husband's an earl--Lord
Knaresbrook; rather old; but Lady Knaresbrook is young, frightfully
pretty, and knows it. She flirted fascinatingly at dinner with Sir
Lionel; not as Mrs. Senter flirts, flickering her eyelashes, saying
smart things as if to amuse him alone, and hang everyone else!--but just
looking at him, with gorgeous, starry eyes; asking a question now and
then, and listening with all her soul. I'm not sure it isn't an equally
effective way, especially when done in a diamond tiara by a countess
under twenty-five. I should quite have enjoyed watching it if Sir Lionel
had been a stranger, but knowing him somehow made me feel 'pon honour
not to look, and rather restless. I do believe that, compared with some
of these men, who've been at the other end of the world for years doing
important political things, Samson with his hair all cropped off was
_adamant_ to Lovely Woman!
Naturally, I had to have something to look at, and I couldn't look at
Lord Knaresbrook because the shape of his nose worried me; and anyhow he
wanted to talk to Emily about people they both knew. Such exciting bits
as this floated to my ears: "Ah, yes, _he_ was the great-grandson of
Lord This. She married the Duke of That's second cousin." So I looked a
good deal at Captain Starlin, and he looked at me and not at very much
else, which was quite easy, the most important lady being his own
sister, who took the place of hostess; so Mrs. Norton was on his right
and I on his left. As he was our host, and evidently wanted to flirt a
little, I thought it my duty to gratify his wish, and played up to him.
That was quite right, wasn't it? I'm sure you'll say yes, as you are a
Parisienne, and have brought me up to do unto others as I would be done
by. But several times I happened to catch Sir Lionel's eyes, and they
had a gloomy glint in them; not angry, but as if he'd discovered a screw
loose in me. I felt as uncomfortable as you do with a smudge on your
nose, which you see in shop-window mirrors when you've forgotten your
handkerchief; but it was too late to change my behaviour suddenly, so I
went on as I had begun.
We mere females didn't leave the men at the table, perhaps because there
wasn't any place where it would have been proper for us to wander
unmanned. We sat for hours, and Lady Knaresbrook smoked, and wanted us
to smoke, though of course she must have known that no woman with her
hair done like Emily's _would_. Emily looked shocked, but just pressed
in her lips, and didn't disapprove out aloud, as she might if Lady
Knaresbrook had been plain "Mrs." But afterward she told me she was now
ready to believe "all they say" about Diana Knaresbrook. Just because
she smoked! Mrs. Norton could find immorality in a hard-boiled egg if
she looked for it.
At last we went above, or whatever you call it on a ship, and everything
had been made beautiful with flags and bunting; but _nothing_ was as
beautiful as those sailor men themselves, especially the middies. I felt
like their mother (I hope that's not unmaidenly?) and should have loved
to smooth their hair and pat them on the cheek--of which, by the way,
they had plenty!
A good many were introduced to me; and Dick brought his aunt very early,
because, he said, he didn't want to find all my dances gone. You can
believe I hadn't saved any for _him_! But as a matter of fact, I had
kept back two, thinking Sir Lionel might ask me; for after his many
kindnesses I shouldn't have liked to seem not to want to dance with him,
you see. When he didn't ask at first, I supposed it might be because he
wasn't a dancing man (horrid expression!--sounds like a trained bear);
but presently I saw him waltzing with Lady Knaresbrook; and he danced
beautifully, as if he'd done nothing else all those years in Bengal.
Then I said to myself: "He's vexed with me because he thinks I behaved
badly at dinner, and perhaps I did." And I almost hoped he would suggest
sitting out a dance, so that we could talk.
But then Dick came; and when he found I had two dances he wanted them
both. "There are things I must tell you," he said. And mother, it's easy
to see that the creature has some talent as a detective, because he
guessed at once why I'd been saving those dances.
"It's no good keeping anything up your sleeve for Pendragon," said he,
in his perky way, as if he were on an equality with the
ex-Lieutenant-Governor of East Bengal. "He won't ask you to dance. He
thinks you're a little girl, and is leaving you to little boys, like me,
which is quite right. The only woman he's ever taken any interest in for
the last fifteen years is Aunt Gwen. And you can't say he doesn't show
good taste."
I couldn't, especially as Mrs. Senter was looking like the heroine of a
novel which you'd be sure to forbid my reading; so I gave him the
dances, partly for that reason and partly because I was cowardly enough
to want to hear what he had to tell. Just at the moment he couldn't say
more, though, because a sweet brown lamb of a middy came and whirled me
away. So it went on for half the evening, until it was nearly time for
Dick Burden's first dance, and I was sitting down to breathe (after a
furious galop, which didn't go at all well with a Directoire dress),
beside Mrs. Norton, who had the air of thinking a ballroom a sort of
pound for lost souls.
Up came Sir Lionel as if to speak to her, and--I don't know what made me
do it--I said, "I saved a dance for you, but you never asked me for it,
so I gave it to someone else."
His face got red. Perhaps he thought I was lecturing him for being rude.
"Did you give it to Starlin?" he asked, bluntly.
"No. I've had mine with Captain Starlin. To Mr. Burden," said I.
"Do you want to dance it with him?"
"Not at all."
"Chuck him, then, and dance it with me. I should like to talk to you."
"That's what he said."
"Do you want to hear what he's got to say?"
(Well, you know, dear, I _had_ wanted to; but suddenly I felt as if Dick
didn't matter more than a fly, nor did any one else except the person I
was talking to. You _do_ feel like that with these quiet, masterful sort
of people, whether you care for them or not. It's just a kind of
momentary hypnotism; or, at least, that's the definition I've been
giving myself.)
"I don't want to hear what he's got to say," my hypnotized Me answered,
in the queer, abrupt way in which we had begun snapping out little short
sentences to each other. "I'm sure he couldn't say anything really
interesting."
"Don't you like Dick Burden?"
"Not much."
"Then the dance is mine. Which is it?"
"The next. Here he comes now. I see the top of his head, over the
shoulder of that youth with the collar of a curate and the face of a
convict."
The Dragon smiled benevolently at my wicked description of a
comparatively inoffensive person, and whisked me off.
"Are you offended with me?" I asked, as we waltzed a weird but heavenly
Hungarian waltz (made in Germany).
"Why do you ask that?" he wanted to know.
"Because you looked offended at dinner. What had I done? Eaten something
with the wrong fork?"
"You had done nothing I oughtn't to have been prepared to see you do."
"What ought you to be prepared to see me do?"
"It doesn't matter now."
"It does. If you don't tell me, I shall scream 'Murder' at the top of my
lungs, and then you'll have to speak."
"I certainly wouldn't. I'd bundle you home at once."
"I haven't got any home."
"My home is yours, till you marry."
"Or you do."
"Don't talk nonsense." (He was probably going to say "Tommy-rot" but
considered such striking words unfit for the ear of a débutante. This
_was_ my début, I suppose? My very first ball.)
"Then tell me what you were unprepared for in me."
"I was prepared for it at first, before I saw you. But----"
"What?"
"Well, if you will have it, for your flirting."
Suddenly I felt impish, and said, innocently, that I supposed it was
what girls came on board men-o'-war to do, so I had only done my best to
please. By this time we'd stopped dancing, and were sitting down. I'd
forgotten Dick Burden.
"It all depends upon the point of view," he answered, with rather a
disgusted air.
"My point of view is," said I, gravely, "that soldiers as _well_ as
sailors should approve of flirting, because flirtation is a warlike act;
a short incursion into the enemy's country, with the full intention of
getting back untouched."
"Ah, but what of the enemy?" suggested the Dragon.
"He can always take care of himself on such incursions."
"So that's the theory? And at nineteen you have enlisted in that army?"
"What army?"
"The great army of flirts."
I couldn't keep it up any longer, for I had really started in to
explain, not to joke. And you know, dear, that flirting as a profession
wouldn't be in my line at all.
"Do I look like a flirt?" I asked.
"No. You don't," said he. "And I was beginning to hope----"
"Please go on hoping, then," I said. "Because I didn't want to behave
badly. If I did, it was because I don't quite know the game yet. And I
wanted to tell you that I didn't really mean to be silly and
schoolgirlish, and disgrace you and Mrs. Norton."
Then it was his turn to apologize, and he did it thoroughly. He said
that I hadn't been silly, and so far from disgracing him, he was proud
of me--"proud of his ward." It was only that I seemed so much more
womanly and companionable than he'd expected, that he couldn't bear to
see in me, or think he saw, any likeness whatever to inferior types of
woman. Whereupon I had the impertinence to ask _why_ he'd expected me to
be inferior; but the only explanation I could get him to make was that
he didn't know much about girls. Which he had remarked before.
We'd sat out two dances before we--I mean I--knew it; and nobody had
dared to come near us, because a middy can't very well snatch a partner
out of a celebrity's pocket. And Dick, too, though he seems to have the
courage of most of his convictions, drew the line at that. But suddenly
I did remember. I smiled at a hovering laddie with the most smoothly
polished hair you ever saw, just like a black helmet; and when the
laddie had swung me away in the Merry Widow waltz Sir Lionel went back
to Mrs. Senter. Rather an appropriate air for her to dance to, I
thought. I do pray I'm not getting kitten-catty? Anyhow, I'm not in my
_second_ kittenhood!
You will be wondering by this time why I'm sorry we stayed at Southsea,
when it was all for me, and I seem to have been having the "time of my
life." But I'm coming to the part you want to know about.
I thought perhaps Dick Burden would be vexed at my going off with Sir
Lionel, under his nose, just as he was ready to say "my dance." However,
he walked up to me as if nothing had happened, when it was time for the
second, so I didn't apologize. I thought it best to let sleeping
partners lie.