"I haven't introduced Herbert to you yet, have I?"
Stella-my-niece spoke with her eyes on the matinée hat before her, and
concluded, _à propos_ of the hat, though at first I feared of
Herbert--"I do hope and pray that it will come off. Hip! Hip! She's
pulling out pins."
"I had no idea there was--a Herbert."
"Oh, Nunckle! and you're responsible for the fact that he's mine at
all!"
"I responsible?"
"Well, but for you I never might have seen him even; and I'm sure there
isn't another like Herbert in the whole round world. Everyone wants
him."
Presently I enquired when she proposed to introduce this paragon to the
person responsible for him.
"I've got him here to-day."
I looked at her in pained silence, for Stella-my-niece, calmly fishing
for "hard ones" in a chocolate box, was, as it were, sheltered under the
lee of a long-haired gentleman who occupied rather more than double
half-a-crown's worth of red velvet seat.
"There?" I whispered, pointing to the long-haired gentleman who
neighboured her, and wondering what her mother would have to say about
it all.
Stella-my-niece smiled.
"Do you imagine that I should bring Herbert into the pit?"
"Point him out to me."
"I can't. Now they're going to begin!" She snuggled down into her place
and invited me to do likewise in my own as the curtain rose and revealed
the legs of one of our leading actor-managers, and the audience clapped,
hoping for more. "Now we're going to enjoy ourselves! Don't forget to
hold my hand if anything pops."
Stella-my-niece has made it a stern rule that we are not to talk during
the Acts, contriving to telegraph her appreciation of most things by
fervent clutches at my arm; but to-day the effects of this salutary
regulation were spoilt for me by Herbert. My attention wandered.
"Is he an actor?" I asked sternly, as the lights leaped up again.
"Which do you mean? I think they were all perfect darlings in that
scene."
"Why, Herbert, of course."
"HERBERT--Sir HERBERT? He isn't in this, is he? I didn't see anyone
looking as bored as he does. Hunt him up in the programme--it's down
there under your boots."
"I didn't mean TREE. I meant Herbert--your Herbert."
"My Herbert?" Stella-my-niece opened her mouth showing astonishment and
very pretty teeth.
"Yes, your Herbert. He's an actor fellow, isn't he?"
"No, he's an umbrella--my new umbrella. I bought him with the sovereign
you sent me for my birthday, and he is such a darling! I felt he ought
to have a name of his own, so I called him Herbert. He looks like that."
"A girl's name--Maud, for instance, only one doesn't use them in the
garden much----"
"A girl's name, like Pauline, may suit your fountain pen, and Dad may
call the motor 'Mary Jane' when he's pleased with how he's mended her;
but I decided I would have a man's. It sounds better to say, 'Herbert is
seeing me home, thank you.' The sad thing is that I'm sure I shan't keep
him long; he's so pretty. When he's waiting for me in umbrella-stands I
feel nervous, and in trains. He's so unique--so utterly unlike anyone
else's umbrella. I know you'll love him."
I did as soon as ever I saw him coming out of the cloak-room hanging on
her arm. There was a gentle coyness in the turn of Herbert's handle, a
nutty daintiness about his little gold tie which made me look
involuntarily for his socks.
"Now, you wait and see if someone doesn't try to run off with him before
we get home," said Stella-my-niece. "I'll hold him on a long lead so
that people will think he's out by himself, and we'll await
developments."
We settled ourselves by tact and firmness in a crowded _après matinée_
'bus, and Stella-my-niece, having set down all her belongings the better
to persuade the programme to ride inside her pocket, took Herbert by his
long tassels, leaving him leaning against the seat between herself and
her neighbour, a lady with many trimmings and a book.
"I hope she'll go before we do," said Stella-my-niece in my ear. "I sort
of feel that she'll try to take Herbert."
She did; as she read, her hand reached out and took a grip upon
Herbert's immaculate head! Stella-my-niece stifled a squeak of pure
excitement.
"Oxford Street," announced the conductor dispassionately, and the
trimmed lady shut her book and rose to get out. Stella-my-niece, holding
Herbert by his tassels, smiled indulgently.
"You have my umbrella, I'm afraid," she said sweetly. "It is such a very
uncommon one that I simply couldn't be mistaken."
The trimmed lady looked round; so did everyone in the 'bus. Then she
pointed to a slim object propped against the seat between
Stella-my-niece's blue skirt and my own striped garments.
"That's yours by the gentleman; they're just the same pattern."
So they were!
* * *
As Stella-my-niece said afterwards at tea, the worst of it was that it
proved that Herbert wasn't quite unique; at the best he was a twin. I
think that privately we thought him something worse than a triplet, but
we neither knew quite how to say it. Anyhow, all the Herberts are
fascinating.
* * * * *