AS FAITHFUL AS A DOG
The men left the smoke-room; there was no calumet of peace
there. All Percy's efforts to be entertaining ended in--perhaps
appropriately--smoke. They joined the ladies, to find harmony and
concord; music was under way.
Masters was full of thought; deep misery kind. Whatever charm music may
have to soothe a savage breast, it had none for him. He was ever a
failure at social functions: was conspicuously so to-night; detested
them, in fact, with a whole-souled detestation.
As to Dick, the gloom which had fallen on him during dinner seemed too
thick for penetration. Merry Dick belied his nickname; had no more
merriment in him than has a mute at a funeral.
In the drawing-room Masters was as miserable as he had been in the
dining and smokerooms. Turned over photographs; sought in vain for
something to make him look less of a fool than he felt. At last came to
the end of his endurance tether; under a plea of some work he had to
post to a publisher by the early morning's mail, hastily excused
himself.
"It's a glorious night, old chap." Dick, speaking hoarsely, and getting
into his great-coat. "I'll walk home with you. We will smoke a cigar
together."
Masters said good-night; shook hands. Noticed the burning heat of Mrs.
Seton-Carr's, as for a moment her hand rested in his--but did not accord
the true reason for it. She was even laughing with Chantrelle at the
very moment she said good-night; was a natural actress: a woman.
"How quiet Mr. Masters is." The cat purring: Amy speaking, as the door
closed. "But I suppose, socially, authors are as dull as ditch water.
Keep all their clever thoughts for their books. It is selfish of them in
the extreme."
Amy laughed gaily; continued in that strain. Laughter is the allotment
of those who win; the Chantrelles felt justified in the belief that they
were in no way losing.
Mrs. Seton-Carr professed accord in the opinion of Masters' dulness; the
sea voyage had not improved him. Society was not the thing he shone in;
in fact, she had found him rather depressing; was glad he left so early.
Lies! Lies--each and every one of the opinions she expressed.
The two men who had left the bungalow walked along the Parade for a time
without speaking. Each was full of emotion. Dick's found vent first; he
blurted out:
"I'm--I'm awfully sorry, old man!"
There was a faint tinge of nervousness in Masters' responding laugh; he
was not a man to assimilate pity very well, even his best friends'.
Throwing away the cigar, which had gone out, he lighted his pipe; the
match betrayed a shaking hand.
"Thanks.... Cloudless night; looks like being a fine day to-morrow,
doesn't it?"
The effort to change the subject proved futile; Dick spoke impulsively:
"Hang the weather!... You don't think I knew anything of this, dear old
chap----"
"No! No!"
"--or you know I should have----"
"Yes, yes. I know."
"Mab has always professed to positively loathe Percy; tolerated him
because she liked his sister. He is a bit of a bounder, you know."
"Your sister does not seem to share in that opinion of yours."
He could not quite keep the bitterness out of the way in which he said
that.
"No!"
The brother admitted it; spoke just as bitterly. When they reached his
lodgings Masters said:
"Come round, will you?"
"You--you won't come on to the cottage to----"
"Oh, no! No!"
"No. I didn't expect you would. I had counted on things being so
different! Counted on a merry Christmas."
Dick laughed as he said, thought of, a merry Christmas: the unpleasant,
ironic laugh of a disappointed man. Just then he was as full of
disappointment as he could well hold.
"I had gone in for a certain amount of accountancy too."
Masters made the response with a little catch in his voice, which the
assumed laugh could not disguise. He had stopped and was standing with
his hand on Dick's shoulder.
"Do you remember that last time I held you like this, dear boy? I was so
full of joy then, so blinded by it, to what I was doing, that you
accused me of squeezing you to hurting point." A sigh punctuated his
speech. "I don't feel like hurting you now."
"Squeeze the life out of me, if it will be any relief to your feelings."
Dick spoke gruffly. "It's your life. I shouldn't be living at all if it
were not for you."
He was a good boy was Dick, with a heart in him; a heart in the right
place. It grieved him to see even the suspicion of a tear in the eye of
the friend he loved so well.
His own brown eyes looked into the author's with silent, dog-like
fidelity and sympathy. Masters was not insensible to it. It was an
eloquent silence; expressed far more to him than words could have done.
"I made a mistake, Dick; that's all. I suppose all of us do; the world
seems so full of them.... And let this be the last of it, dear old man,
will you? Don't recur to it ever again; please. The sore is fresh,
and--and--I don't mind owning to you, it hurts. Please don't let us talk
about it--ever again--please."
Dick grasped the hand extended to him; held it in a long, tight grip.
Put his other hand on his companion's shoulder, and was about to speak.
Then felt that speech would be a failure; simply said gruffly:
"I'll see you in the morning, old man; I'll walk round. Good-night."
Not another word passed between them; a tight hand-grip and they parted.
Masters to his rooms, Dick homeward bound--a journey he made with the
blood coursing through his veins at boiling point. He had more than a
little of his sister's temper.
Dick was simply furious at the manner in which Mabel had treated
Masters. He dared not trust himself to more talk that night. Just looked
into the drawing-room at the bungalow, professed weariness, said a
hurried good-night and retired to his room.
In the morning, Gracie offered strong evidence that she had a tongue in
her head; was full of the return of Prince Charlie. She had heard of his
arrival with delight; was running over with anxiety to see him.
Instinctively she felt that Uncle Dick was the ways and means. When she
heard that he was going to call on Masters that morning, she emulated
the limpet; he could not have shaken her off had he tried.
"Get your things on, Puss," said Dick, as the breakfast things were
being cleared away, "and I'll take you round to see him."
Miss Chantrelle professed the most acute astonishment. Not so much by
what she said, but the way she acted. Wasn't Mr. Masters coming in to
lunch?... Nor to dinner? Not at all that day?... Those carefully combed
eyebrows of hers almost disappeared under her fringe--she was so
surprised!
Gracie had scampered off and returned in full war-paint: best hat, best
shoes, best coat and, crowning glory, new muff! She did hope Prince
Charlie would notice it and ask her all about it. But if he did not, she
could tell him. That is one of the advantages of being very young.
When Gracie and Dick had gone out, Miss Chantrelle improved the
opportunity with her hostess. Nearly drove that lady to the brink of
madness by her anxiety to know if they had quarrelled; what it meant;
why he wasn't coming, etc.
Mabel did not know; really, the matter was of little interest to her.
His presence made very little difference; she wondered Amy could bother
about him.
That was what she was able to bring herself to say. But the effort was a
big one; she was not a conspicuous success in lies of the top-notch
kind.
Matters continued in this way. Things are not always what they seem; it
was by no means a pleasant little party at Ivy Cottage. When at
home--which was a very rare thing, for he spent most of his time at
Masters' lodgings--Dick was sulky to the extreme of sullenness.
Affairs wore a different complexion a little later. When the rosy finger
heralded the dawn of the day before Christmas, it was the precursor of
brightness of another kind. Two incidents happened which changed the
current of things.
Miss Chantrelle had the watchful, veiled eyes of the domestic cat. On
the principle of striking the iron whilst hot, she urged her brother to
propose marriage to their hostess forthwith. Thought that delays were
dangerous.
She took him out for a walk to discuss the pros and cons of the
proposal. Was a wise little woman, and a firm believer in the theory
that walls have ears. Knowing what she knew, she mapped out the route
her brother was to travel in his journey to Mrs. Seton-Carr's heart.
But there is such a thing as being too clever: so sharp that one cuts
oneself. The average brain has a direct way of working; sees no
by-paths, so wastes no time on them; goes straight to the point.
Amy's cleverness led to her undoing.