A Lame Dog's Diary Part 7

Anthony Crawshay is a very good fellow indeed. The most advanced and cultured young lady will never get him to talk about metaphysics in the crush of a ballroom, nor to concern himself about the inartistic shape of the clothes we wear nowadays. "If I didn't like them, I shouldn't wear them," says Anthony. He is a short, spare man, with a voice somewhat out of proportion to his size, and the best cross-country rider in the county. The habit he has of shouting all his remarks seems rather pleasantly in accordance with his honest nature. Anthony very seldom speaks of any one of whom he has not a good word to say; but if he does mention any one whom he dislikes, he does so in a very hearty manner, which is almost as good as many other people's praise.

He is as obstinate, as straightforward, and as good a fellow as a country neighbour ought to be. "We have been hunting a May fox, by Gad, Hugo," said Anthony, and he began to tell me about the run--a thing I can hardly get any one to do nowadays.

The Pirate Boy, upon whom the word "horse" had a rousing effect, condemned the whole breed of English horses in one short speech. "I a.s.sure you," he said, getting up and sawing the air with his hand, "there are some of those wild mustangs out there which would knock spots out of any horses in your stables."

Thus challenged, Anthony, who was standing on the hearthrug, turned, and stooping towards me asked, in what he intended to be a whisper, who the young fellow was, and shouted abroad, "Rum chap that, very rum chap!"

By-and-by Maud Jamieson went to the piano and began to sing ballads to Mr. Ellicomb; and we have an inward conviction--Palestrina and I--that this evening's report to the Jamieson family will be that Mr. Ellicomb is "struck." Major Jacobs considers himself musical because he likes hearing the words of a song distinctly p.r.o.nounced. He was charmed with Maud's singing, and Kate encouraged the girl in a little matronly way which she has lately a.s.sumed. She called forth Maud's best efforts by saying, "What was the pretty Irish song you sang the other night?" or "You haven't given us 'We'd better bide a wee' yet, dear." Maud responded with several ballads, and wished she had some of Lord Henry Somerset's songs with her, Mr. Ellicomb having expressed a fondness for them. An opportunity was thus given for suggesting a call at Belmont--Maud knows mamma will be delighted--she wished Kennie were better at that sort of thing; the invitation to come in some afternoon might perhaps have come more properly from a brother.

It was very gratifying to find that Mr. Ward, fortified by dinner, became more courageous than I have ever known him to be before. He tip-toed almost boldly across the room, and sitting down beside my sister began to make a series of deliberate remarks to her, mostly in the form of interrogation: "Do you care for Scotch songs?" "Have you ever been in Ireland?" "Do you know Wales at all?" And to these important questions Palestrina made suitable replies. "That is _most_ interesting," I heard her say from time to time, using the formula of those who are bored to the extent of complete absence of mind.

Mrs. Fielden crossed the room suddenly with a shimmer of silken skirts.

In spite of her frivolity she has a way of making herself necessary to every party to which she goes. There used to be an old saying long ago in Scotland that wherever The Macgregor sat was the head of the table.

Mrs. Fielden is always the centre of every party, although she has a childish habit, which in another woman might be ascribed to shyness, of taking the least conspicuous seat in the room. Consequently, when she dispersed the little group that was standing or sitting about her, applauding everything she said, and came across the room in pink satin and roses and diamonds, and sat down beside my sofa, the action had something regal about it, as though she had left a throne and come to speak to me.

"I am going to teach you to play Bridge," she said.

"That is most kind of you."

"I am going to carry you off to Stanby next week to give you lessons,"

she went on.

I have a strong conviction that if Mrs. Fielden were to give a beggar a halfpenny he would probably stoop down and kiss the edge of her skirt, or do something equally unconventional and self-abasing. She might, as a great favour, give a courtier who had risked his life for her, her hand to kiss. When she smiles men become foolish about her.

"It is very kind of you to want us," I said.

"I want Bridge," said Mrs. Fielden, and, as usual when she is going to be provoking, she looked prettier than ever, and began to smile.

"Any one will do to make up a rubber, I suppose?" I said.

"Oh yes, any one," said Mrs. Fielden.

"Consequently, my sister and I need not feel particularly distinguished by being asked," I continued.

"I am so glad Palestrina is coming," said Mrs. Fielden, "because several men have written to tell me they are coming to stay, just when my sisters-in-law are leaving, and I suppose I oughtn't to entertain a houseful of men alone, ought I?"

Mrs. Fielden does exactly as she pleases upon all occasions, but this does not prevent her from pretending to have acute attacks of propriety sometimes.

"We will play Bridge and chaperon you with pleasure," I said.

"I thought of drowning myself yesterday," said Mrs. Fielden, "because it rained all day, and I had no one to amuse me, and then I thought I would ask you to come over and play Bridge instead. When I am bored I never can make up my mind whether I shall commit suicide, or go into a convent, or get married. Which do you advise?"

"I should advise you to marry," I said. "As far as I can gather, a great source of discord and danger in our neighbourhood would be removed if you did so."

Mrs. Fielden said with her eyes, "Hugo, you are very cross." But being the most good-natured woman in the world, and sharing that forbearance which most people extend to an invalid, she smiled instead.

"Why do you stay here when you are feeling so tired?" she said to me presently.

"Because," I replied, "my sister lies awake half the night and thinks I am going to die, if I show any signs of fatigue, or go to bed early.

Besides, for us, you know, this is quite an exciting evening. We have thought about our dinner-party for days past."

"If you were nice," said Mrs. Fielden after a pause, "you would ask me to come into your library and smoke."

"Do you smoke?"

"No," said Mrs. Fielden, "I don't."

"I'm glad you don't," I said.

"For years," said Mrs. Fielden, "I tried to think it was wrong, and then I quite enjoyed smoking; but there is a certain effort involved in trying to raise an innocent occupation to the level of a crime."

"It is a very unfeminine habit," I said; partly because I was in a contradictious mood, and partly because I wanted to snub Mrs. Fielden for being so beautiful and young and charming.

"The last man," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "who made that remark died shortly afterwards."

She was gathering up my cushions and pillows as she spoke, and she turned to my sister as she crossed the hall, and said, "We are going to study philosophy in the library."

The library was lit by a single lamp, and the fire burned low in the grate; but the room was illumined suddenly by a pink dress and roses and diamonds, and Mrs. Fielden was arranging cushions, in the very skilful way she has, on my sofa by the fire. She handed me my cigarette-box and matches, and spread a rug over my leg. For some occult reason the rustling pink dress only whispered softly over the carpet now, like a woman's hushed voice in a sick-room, and Mrs.

Fielden, by the simple act of drawing up a chair to the fire and sitting in it, took the head of the table again, and became the centre of the room.

"May I really smoke," I asked, "after being such a brute as to say you mustn't?"

"I look upon smoking as a purely feminine habit, like drinking tea, or having headaches, or anything of that sort," said Mrs. Fielden. "It was simply because it was so expensive that men took to it in the first place. Ethics should not be based upon accident, should it?"

I handed Mrs. Fielden my cigarette-box.

"If you are quite sure you disapprove, I will have one," she said.

From the hall came the sound of Maud's singing. Her voice is not of great compa.s.s, nor very strong, but it is clear and fresh, with a tuneful cadence in it.

"You spend nearly all your days here?" said Mrs. Fielden, looking round the room.

"Until the afternoon," I said; "and then Palestrina and I go for a little walk, and at tea-time I go to the hall sofa, and she asks people to come up and sit with me."

"I am glad you like books," said Mrs. Fielden.

"But really," I said, "the good folks in Stowel are all extraordinarily kind to me, and some of the Jamiesons are up nearly every day."

"I like the Jamiesons," said Mrs. Fielden; "they are so intelligent.

Have you ever noticed that their watches all keep exact time, and that they tell you the hour to the very second? And they always know what day of the month it is, and when Easter falls, and how much stuff it takes to make a blouse."

"You wrong Eliza Jamieson," I said; "she studies philosophy."

"Oh," said Mrs. Fielden eagerly, "I forgot to tell you, I have begun to study philosophy. I began last week. Will you lend me some books, please? I want to be very wise and learned."

"Why?" I asked.

"I think," said Mrs. Fielden, "that it might be nice if people did not always call one frivolous; and that if I studied philosophy----"

"I shall not lend you any books," I said.