THE DINNER WHICH FAILED
It was rather a shock to discover that I was expected to travel with
those five men in an omnibus. It was one of the private sort, and
there were two men in livery; but it was an omnibus. I quite started
when I got outside the front-door and saw it there.
“Dear me!” I exclaimed. “Am I supposed to ride in an omnibus? I can’t
bear omnibuses.”
Mr Hammond was inclined to stammer.
“It’s--it’s--it’s a private omnibus.”
“Is it? How interesting. Am I intended to consider that fact
interesting? Was I expected to take it for granted that I should be
required to ride in a public omnibus, among the penny fares?”
Mr Hammond was inclined to stammer still more.
“Fact is, six rather awkward number--never heard of a carriage that
would hold them all.”
“Two might have gone on the box, or even three. Then there is such a
thing as a coach. A coach holds six.”
“Coach and four?”
“Or even a coach and three, if four was considered extravagant.”
“Idea of coaching to dinner in town never struck me. Don’t know why.
Sporting notion--very. Afraid it would take some time to get one now.”
“Since you were so careless as not to have one ready, I cannot
possibly wait while you repair your negligence. I must endeavour to
make the best of your private omnibus.”
It is some distance from Kensington to Dupont’s Restaurant--which is,
of course, in Regent Street--so that it took some time to drive. I do
not know what kind of thing those five men had been looking forward
to, but it was some satisfaction to feel that I was making each one of
them about as uncomfortable as he could be made. I was in a pretty
mood--I really was. It was amazing that they did not get out in a
body, and leave me to occupy that omnibus all by myself. I had heard
of what men will endure from some women. I had an object-lesson then.
I knew, somehow, that it made no difference how I treated them. They
would still be my humble, obedient, devoted slaves. When a girl has
that feeling, for the very first time, it is a little tempting.
I decided that they were not a bad good-looking crowd. No girl need be
ashamed of being seen with them. Mr Carter and Mr Purchase were
distinctly handsome--though they were looking glum. Walter Hammond was
not so bad, though he was lanky. As he would himself have phrased it,
there was a sporting something about him of the right sort. Then his
clothes fitted him as mine never would fit me; and when he had his
eyeglass in his eye he looked quite striking. Mr Rumford was a trifle
puffy, and he suggested trade--though nothing quite so bad as Aunt
Jane’s Jalap. But then he was so plainly redolent of money that he
passed muster. And then Major Tibbet was obviously someone--if only
because he looked such a little horror.
Conversation languished. That was owing to me. When we had gone some
distance Mr Rumford took out his watch.
“I am afraid we shall be late for the theatre. Piece begins at eight.
Half-past seven now.”
“I presume that we have reserved seats. As they will be retained for
us it doesn’t matter what time we occupy them.”
“Quite so--only, it disturbs the audience going in in the middle of
the piece.”
“Really?”
That remark, from me, put a period to that topic. It made it so clear
that to me it was a matter of the most complete indifference whether
the audience was, or was not, disturbed. As a rule, I think it is
horrid for people to come in late--so ill-bred--it upsets everyone.
But I had a point of view for that night only.
I made another observation, when it seemed that you could have cut
with a knife the silence which ensued.
“Is this a funeral party? Has the weight of our feelings made us dumb?
Can’t any of you say something?”
That kind of remark always afflicts people’s tongues with a sort of
paralysis. I was perfectly well aware of it. That was why I made it.
They stumbled through some idiotic efforts to clothe with words ideas
which they did not happen to possess just then. Then I created a
diversion.
“I believe I would rather not dine at Dupont’s. I think I’ve heard
stories about it which show that it is not quite the place for ladies.
It seems strange that Mr Hammond should have made the suggestion.”
“Excuse me, Miss Norah, the suggestion----”
“Yes?”
I knew that he was about to say that it came from me. But I stopped
him in time. Then he stopped himself--rather neatly.
“The suggestion--was--only a suggestion.”
“It is a pity that it got even as far as a suggestion. Can you not
tell us of some place, Mr Rumford, where it’s respectable?”
“They feed you decently at the Imperial.”
“Then by all means let us go where they feed you decently.”
So we descended at the Imperial Hotel. We asked for a private room.
There was an entrance hall, with a good many people in it. As we
passed through we roused rather a sensation. I do not think that the
women admired me--they could not possibly like my dress, nobody could,
and there was nothing else about me to like--but on some of the men I
believe I made an impression, of rather a peculiar kind. Of course I
never looked at any of them. A lady never looks at a strange man. I
hope I never should forget myself to that extent. But I noticed them
all the same; and they all of them looked at me, in some cases in a
somewhat singular way. Some of them had ladies with them; and in those
cases I was convinced that the ladies--who were a thousand times
better dressed than I was, and were so much prettier--did not entirely
relish the manner in which their attendant cavaliers were eyeing me.
And I suspected that my five men did not altogether like it either; so
that it was rather amusing on the whole.
The dinner was not a complete success. I really could not say it was,
especially at the beginning. To commence with, Mr Purchase and Mr
Carter did not put in an appearance in that private room for two or
three minutes after us, and I had a kind of persuasion that they had
remained behind to say a few words to two gentlemen who had regarded
me with marked attention. When they came Mr Purchase looked red and Mr
Carter white. I wondered what had passed, and should have liked to
have made inquiries. But at the moment I did not see how I could do so
with appropriate delicacy.
There seemed to be a spirit of mischief in that private room which was
bent on setting us at cross purposes. They showed a tendency to snap
at each other’s noses, which, remembering that I was the only lady
present, was not nice manners; though, of course, it had its
entertaining side. An imposing personage--a manager, or head waiter,
or something--had followed us into the room, and with a tablet in his
hand, stood prepared to take our orders, which it seemed that nobody
was quite prepared to give. There was a general disinclination to
order the various dishes which together go to make a dinner, which was
slightly embarrassing, and was the cause of some little discussion.
Under the circumstances, I cannot see how the imposing personage was
to blame for taking the matter a good deal out of their hands. Even if
he did it with a certain air of deference to me, I cannot admit that
he ignored them altogether, or that he drew up the plan of a dinner in
which they were not suffered to have a voice. Therefore when, having
completed the order for the meal, he withdrew, I was astonished to
hear the remarks of which he was the subject. Major Tibbet drew
himself to his full height--which, after all, is not much--blew his
nose--which I do not believe required blowing--and flourished his
handkerchief--which was of salmon-coloured silk--in the air.
“Fellow’s too big for his place!”
To my surprise the others followed in a chorus which pointed to their
being, for the first time, in agreement with the Major.
“A good deal too big,” declared Mr Rumford; “and he forgets his
place.”
“Too much mouth,” was Mr Hammond’s cryptic utterance. “Wants riding on
the snaffle.”
Mr Purchase’s comment was easier to understand; and, perhaps, on that
very account, more acidulated.
“Some of the jacks-in-office you meet in places of this sort are
insufferable.”
Mr Carter echoed him, with an addition of his own.
“The amazing part of it is the way in which they are suffered.”
“But,” I observed, with all the innocence at my command, “why are you
finding fault with him? I thought him most attentive.”
“There is such a thing,” returned the Major, seesawing himself on his
toes and heels in a way I hate, “especially in a fellow in his
position, as being too attentive.”
“But I thought that it was the special business of persons in his
position to be attentive, that that was what they were there for, and
that the more attentive they were the better.”
“There are ways _and_ ways of being attentive, Miss Norah.”
This was Mr Carter. He looked really angry. I had not a notion why.
“I rather liked his way,” I said.
I could see that words were trembling on Mr Carter’s lips. The five
exchanged glances, the meaning of which was beyond my comprehension.
The door opened; in came the imposing personage followed by two of his
understrappers. Mr Carter looked him full in the face.
“You needn’t wait.”
The personage seemed surprised, as was not unnatural.
“Pardon me, sir, I am the manager of the private rooms.”
“I say that you need not wait.”
“Very well, sir, as you please; but I am no waiter.”
Yet he acted as if he were a waiter, which did seem a little
impertinent. But he managed with such dexterity, that, without an
actual scene, it would have been difficult to keep him out of the
room.
People in his position nearly always are good-looking, after a fashion
of their own, which is a fashion I detest. As regards looks he was
certainly up to the average of his kind; indeed, I should have said a
good deal above it, only the expression of opinion would not have been
popular just then. He was an enormous man, perhaps six foot three or
four, with tremendous width across the chest, and the most magnificent
moustache. It was the finest moustache I had ever seen, and curled up
at the ends in a way which made you keep on wondering how he did it.
He had fair hair which curled naturally, and was parted in the middle,
and the bluest eyes. Of course he was a German; and when you paused to
think that his compatriots could afford to allow such a man as he was
to go abroad and be a waiter, and never notice his absence, then you
began to understand how it is that Germany bids fair to take her stand
in the highest places.
At the same time, his conduct did make the position seem a trifle
strained, even more strained than it would have been without him,
which was saying something. He might call himself the manager of the
private rooms; but, despite Mr Carter, he succeeded in combining with
his management a good deal of personal attention to me,--and that with
an air which reminded me irresistibly of the shop-walker and the
barber; and which I saw quite plainly brought my own five men nearly
to the boiling point.
For my own part, I do not care what I eat. But when I am eating I do
not like to feel that at any moment plates may be thrown about. I had
the feeling throughout that dinner. A note of discord was in the air,
in fact, several notes. My companions grumbled at all the dishes,
regardless of my presence. They reviled the meal as a whole, and in
its several parts, declining to admit that it had a single redeeming
feature. One is bound to confess that that private room manager’s
demeanour was in striking contrast to that of his guests. They did
nearly everything, short of throwing things at his head. He, on the
other hand, was imperturbability itself; to me, the soul of
politeness. And though he looked as if he could have knocked all their
heads together, he listened to the nasty things they said--and they
said some nasty ones--with a smile which never faltered for a single
second.
The climax came with the bill. Major Tibbet approached the subject in
a style which I had not supposed was customary when a lady was
present.
“I suppose we are going to the theatre; and its certainly no use our
lingering over this travesty of a Christian meal. I must apologise to
you, Miss Norah, for what you have suffered; but I trust you will do
me the justice to admit that the fault is hardly mine.”
“Thank you; I have enjoyed my dinner very much.”
“Dinner? You call it dinner? Really, Miss Norah, you allow your
goodness of heart to carry you too far. I don’t know which was worse,
the food itself, the way in which it was prepared, or the service.”
They followed one after the other.
“The service in particular was bad.”
“Shocking. Never saw worse. Stable boy could have done better.”
“Perhaps we have been unfortunate in our attendants.”
“There is no perhaps in the case. We have been.”
Then came my postscript.
“I thought the service excellent.”
“To have pleased madame is very much.”
That manager of the private rooms favoured me with a bow and a smile,
for which--from the expression of their countenances--I should
scarcely have been surprised if they had attacked him tooth and nail.
The Major spluttered.
“I suppose there is something to pay--though we have had practically
nothing. Waiter,”--with an accent on the “waiter,”--“let us know at
once what there is to pay.”
The personage retired, presently to return with a document which he
placed before the Major. The Major’s face at sight of it was a study.
“What! This! For such a meal! Monstrous, absolutely monstrous! Rank
robbery, nothing else.”
He passed the document round the table. By each it was commented on
with equal freedom, which was nice for me, who had consumed the repast
to the charge for which my hosts objected to with so much vigour. The
imposing personage’s attitude made it even nicer.
“These gentlemen object to the bill?”
“Object? I should think we do object. We object very much to being
robbed.”
“If these gentlemen do not wish to pay the bill they need not. We
shall not try to make them, not at all. We will make them a present of
the food, the wine, the service, everything. Only--they will not be
served in the house again.”
That, as I have said, was the climax. The bill was paid. My hosts did
not propose to allow themselves to be regarded as recipients of
charity. That manager of the private rooms showed, as I quitted the
apartment, that his temper was still unruffled.
“Madame will permit that I offer her a flower.”
He held out a white rose. I placed it among Basil Carter’s
lilies-of-the-valley. I sincerely trusted that Audrey had never seen
such an expression on Mr Carter’s face. To me it looked like murder.