A Man's Man Part 25

Then there were the people with whom he had come in contact that day.

They were nearly all old friends, but they were old friends with new faces. There was Mildred Leroy, for instance. He had half expected his relations with that young matron, the past considered, to be of a slightly tender and sentimental nature. Far from it. Her att.i.tude to him was simply maternal--as, indeed, it had been, had he realised the fact, from the very beginning of their friendship. A woman always feels motherly towards a man of her own age, and rightly, for she is much older than he is. Occasionally she mistakes this motherly feeling for something else, and marries him--but not often. Obviously Mildred Leroy now regarded Hughie as nothing more than an eligible young _debutant_, the chaperon's natural prey, to be rounded up and paired off with all possible despatch.

Then there was Joey. Twenty-four hours ago he had had no particular views on the subject of his ward, beyond--

(1) The reflection that he would probably find her "rather a bore";

(2) An idle speculation as to whether, if expediency should demand it, he would be able to bring himself to marry her.

Well, twenty-four hours is a long time. He saw now quite clearly that whatever Miss Gaymer's shortcomings might be, a tendency to bore her companions was not one of them; and that if ever the other question should arise, the difficulty would lie, not in bringing himself to marry Joey, but in bringing Joey to marry him.

Like a sensible man, he decided to let things work themselves out in their own way, and went to bed. There he dreamed that Joey, attired in a blue kimono and red slippers, was teaching him to dance the two-step to a tune played by the engines of the Orinoco.

CHAPTER XIII

_VARIUM ET MUTABILE_

Hughie continued during the next few weeks to study the character of the female s.e.x as exemplified by his ward Miss Joan Gaymer, and some facts in natural history were brought to his notice which had not hitherto occurred to him.

In her relations with her male belongings a woman does not expect much.

Certainly not justice, nor reason, nor common sense. That which she chiefly desires--so those who know inform us--is admiration, and, if possible, kindness, though the latter is not essential. The one thing she cannot brook is neglect. Attention of some kind she must have.

Satisfy her soul with this, and she will remain all you desire her to remain,--_toute femme_,--something for lonely mankind to thank G.o.d for.

Stint her, and there is a danger that she will drift into the ranks of that rather pathetic third s.e.x, born of higher education and feminine superfluity, which to-day stands apart from its fellow-creatures and loudly proclaims its loathing for the masculinity of man and its contempt for the effeminacy of woman, but which seems so far only to have cast away the rapier of the one without being able to lift or handle the bludgeon of the other.

Not that Miss Joan Gaymer ran any such risk. She was indeed _toute femme_, and stood secure from the prospect of being cut off from her natural provender. Her chief danger was that of a surfeit. She possessed a more than usually healthy appet.i.te for admiration, and there was never wanting a supply of persons--chiefly of her own s.e.x, be it said--to proclaim the fact that in her case the line between appet.i.te and gluttony was very finely drawn indeed. There was some truth, it is to be feared, in the accusation, for Joan was undoubtedly exhibiting symptoms at this time of a species of mental indigestion--what the French call _tete montee_ and the Americans "swelled head"--induced by an undiluted diet of worship and homage. Appet.i.te for this sort of thing grows with eating, and Joan, like her mother before her, was beginning to think too much of those who supplied her with the meat her soul loved and too little of those who did not. And as those who did not were chiefly those who had her welfare most nearly at heart, she was deprived for the time being of a good deal of the solid sustenance of real friendship.

She was a curious mixture of worldly wisdom and navete, and was frankly interested in herself. She was undisguisedly anxious to know what people thought of her, and made no attempt to conceal her pleasure when she found herself "a success." On the other hand, she presumed a great deal too much on the patience and loyalty of her following. She was always captious, frequently inconsiderate, and, like most young persons who have been respectably brought up, was desperately anxious to be considered rather wicked.

These facts the slow-moving brain of Hughie Marrable absorbed one by one, and he felt vaguely unhappy on the girl's account, though he could not find it in his heart to blame her. Joey, he felt, was merely making full use of her opportunities. Within her small kingdom, and for her brief term, she held authority as absolute as that, say, of a secretary of state, nor was she fettered by any pedantic scruples, such as might have hampered the official in question, about exercising the same; and Hughie, who was something of an autocrat himself, could not but admit that his ward was acting very much, _mutatis mutandis_, as he would have done under similar circ.u.mstances.

But as time went on and his sense of perspective adjusted itself, he began to discover signs that beneath all her airs and graces and foam and froth, the old Joey endured. She was a creature of impulse, and her vagaries were more frequently due to the influence of the moment than any desire to pose. She would disappoint a young man of a long-promised _tete-a-tete_ on the river, to go and play at shop in a plantation with the under-keeper's children. She would shed tears over harrowing but unconvincing narratives of dest.i.tution at the back door. She was kind to plain girls,--which attractive girls sometimes are not,--and servants adored her, which is a good sign of anybody.

She was lavishly generous; indeed, it was never safe for her girl friends to express admiration, however discreet, for anything belonging to her, for she had an embarra.s.sing habit of tearing off articles of attire or adornment and saying, "I'll give it to you!" with the eagerness and sincerity of a child.

And her code of honour was as strict as a schoolboy's--than which no more can be said. A secret was safe with her. She had once promptly and permanently renounced the friendship of a particular crony of her own, who boasted to her, giving names and details, of a proposal of marriage which she had recently refused.

In short, Miss Joan Gaymer strongly resembled the young lady who in times long past was a certain poetical gentleman's Only Joy. She was sometimes forward, sometimes coy,--sometimes, be it added, detestable,--but she never failed to please--or rather, to attract, which is better still.

Mrs. Jack Leroy spared neither age nor s.e.x on the night of the Hunt Ball. Her husband, Hughie, and the Reverend Montague D'Arcy--all suffering from that peculiar feeling of languid depression which invariably attacks the male s.e.x about 9.30 P.M. when dancing is in prospect--were hounded into pumps and white gloves, and packed into the omnibus, which, after a drive of seven miles, during which the gentlemen slept furtively and the tongues of Joan and her girl friends wagged unceasingly, deposited the entire party of twelve on the steps of the Town Hall at Midfield.

Their numbers had been completed by some overnight arrivals. The first two were Mr. and Mrs. Lance Gaymer. Joan's only brother had taken upon him the responsibility of matrimony at the early age of twenty-two, and the rather appalling young person who preceded him into the drawing-room, and greeted Joan as "Jowey," was the accessory to the fact. Why or where Lance had married her no one knew. He had sprung her one day, half proudly, half defiantly, upon a family circle at Manors which was for the moment too horror-struck to do anything but gape.

Fortunately Uncle Jimmy was not present,--he had departed on his voyage by this time,--and it was left to Joan to welcome the latest addition to the house of Gaymer. This she did very sensibly and prettily, though she wept unrestrainedly upon the sympathetic bosom of Mildred Leroy afterwards.

For Lance's sake Mrs. Gaymer was accepted without demur. Whatever she was or had been,--whether she had manipulated a beer-engine or gesticulated in musical comedy,--there she was, and had to be a.s.similated. No questions were asked, but she was religiously invited to Manors at intervals, and Joan and Mrs. Leroy, when they went up to town in the season, paid occasional state calls upon Mrs. Lance at her residence in Maida Vale, where they drank tea in company with the _alumnae_ of the variety stage and the jug-and-bottle department.

Lance himself was understood to be making a living out of journalism. He looked considerably more than twenty-three.

The third arrival was a Mr. Guy Haliburton, proposed for admission by Mr. Lance Gaymer, seconded by Mrs. Lance Gaymer. He was full of deference, and apologised with graceful humility for his presence. He felt himself a horrible intruder, he said, but he had been a.s.sured so earnestly by "old Lance" that Mrs. Leroy was in want of another dancing man, that he had ventured to accept his vicarious invitation and come to Manors. He was made welcome.

Mr. Haliburton, on further acquaintance, described himself as an actor, but Hughie, whose judgments of men--as opposed to women--were seldom wrong, put him down unhesitatingly as a gentleman who lived, actor or no, by his wits. He was a striking-looking personage of about thirty. He had curly black hair and dark eyes, with dangerous eyelashes. He was well dressed,--too well dressed for the country,--and one felt instinctively that he was a good card-player, and probably objected to cold baths and early rising.

The Manors party were greeted in the vestibule of the Town Hall by Lady Fludyer, self-appointed Mistress of the Revels. At present she more nearly resembled a well-nourished Niobe.

"My dear," she cried, falling limply upon Mrs. Leroy and kissing her feverishly, "what _do_ you think has happened?"

"Band not come?" hazarded Mrs. Leroy.

"Worse! Not a man--not a subaltern--not a drummerboy can get away from Ipsleigh to-night!" (Ipsleigh was a neighbouring military _depot_, and a fountain-head of eligibility in a barren land.) "They have all been called out to some absurd inspection, or route-march, or manoeuvres, or something, at twenty-four hours' notice. And they were coming here in _swarms_! There won't be nearly enough men to go round now. Half the girls will be against the wall all night! Oh, my _dear_, when I get hold of the General--"

Lady Fludyer's voice rose to a shriek, and she plunged wailing into a dark doorway, like a train entering a tunnel.

Mrs. Leroy turned to her shrinking cavaliers, with satisfaction in her eye.

"It's as well I brought the lot of you," she said. "Now get to work.

Jack, the first waltz with you, if you please."

The ball was soon in full swing, though it was only too plain that men were somewhat scarce. Hughie, much to his alarm, found his programme full in ten minutes, and presently, bitterly regretting the stokehold of the Orinoco, put forth into the fray with Mrs. Lance Gaymer, having decided to do his duty by that lady as soon as possible, and get it over. She addressed him as "dear boy," and waltzed in a manner which reminded him of the Covent Garden b.a.l.l.s of his youth, thereby causing the highest and haughtiest of the county to inquire of their partners who she might be. The word soon pa.s.sed round that she was the wife of young Gaymer. ("You remember, don't you? Rather an unfortunate marriage, and all that. Barmaid, or something. However, the family have decided to make the best of her. They'll have their hands full--eh?") Whereupon fair women elevated their discreetly powdered noses a little higher, while unregenerate men hurried up, like the Four Young Oysters, all eager for the treat, and furtively pet.i.tioned Lance Gaymer to introduce them to his wife.

On entering the ballroom Joan Gaymer, serenely conscious of a perfectly-fitting new frock and her very best tinge of colour, took up her stand at her recognised "pitch" beside the end pillar on the left under the musicians' gallery, and proceeded to fill up the vacancies caused in her programme by the defection of the dancing warriors from Ipsleigh. Among the first applicants for the favour of a waltz was Mr.

Guy Haliburton.

"All right--number two," said Joan.

Haliburton wrote it down, and asked for another.

"I'll see how you waltz first," said Miss Gaymer frankly.

"Then--perhaps! I am rather particular."

The music had risen to her brain like wine, and she was in what her admirers would have called her most regal, and her detractors her most objectionable, mood. Mr. Haliburton, however, merely bowed reverentially, and made way for an avalanche of Binkses and Cherubs, with whom Joan, babbling at the top of her voice and enjoying every moment of her triumph, booked a list of fixtures that stretched away far into to-morrow morning.

The waltz with the fascinating Haliburton proved so satisfactory,--in point of fact, he was easily the best dancer in the room,--that Joan immediately granted him two more. It was characteristic of her that she declined to take the floor again until the unfortunate gentlemen at whose expense Haliburton was being honoured had been found, brought to her, and apprised of their fate. They protested feebly, but Joan swept them aside in a fashion with which they were only too familiar.

"Run way, chicks," she said maternally, "and get fresh partners. There are heaps of nice girls to spare to-night. Look at that little thing over there, with the blue eyes, and forget-me-nots in her hair. Get introduced to her--she's perfectly _lovely_. Worth six of me, any day.

Trot!"

But the two young men, refusing to be comforted, growled sulkily and elbowed their way outside, to console each other for the fragility of petticoat promises, and fortify themselves against any further slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune of a similar nature, in the refreshment room.

Still, the girl to whom Joan had directed their attention was well worth notice. She stood near the door, a slim, graceful, and somehow rather appealing little figure. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn, her eyes, wide and wondering, were as blue as the forget-me-nots in her hair, and her lips, to quote King Solomon upon a very different type of female, were like a thread of scarlet. She wore a simple white frock, and carried in her hand the bouquet of the _debutante_.

Joan swung past her in the embrace of the ever-faithful Binks.

"That child is a perfect dream," she said to herself, "but her mouth is trembling at the corners. I wonder if some man has forgotten to ask her to dance. I should think--"

At this point in her reflections she was whirled heavily into the orbit of a reversing couple, and the ensuing collision, together with the enjoyment of exacting a grovelling apology from the hapless Binks (who was in no way responsible for the accident), drove further cogitations on the subject of the girl with the forget-me-nots out of her head.

About midnight Joan slipped upstairs to what her last partner--a mechanically-minded young gentleman from Woolwich--described as the repairing shop, to make good the ravages effected by the Lancers as danced in high society in the present year of grace.