Set in Silver Part 7

"Yes, they would fit me, I dare say. But----"

That settled it.

"We'll take them," said I. And after that, being beside myself, I reconnoitred the place, pointing my stick at other things which took my fancy. The codfish backed me up at every step, and other codfishes swam the green sea, with hats doubtless brought from unseen coral caves. Most of them were enormous hats, but remarkably attractive, in one way or another, with large drooping brims that dripped roses or frothed with ostrich plumes. I made Ellaline take off a small, round b.u.t.ter plate she had on, which was ugly in itself, though somehow it looked like a saint's halo on her; and murmuring compliments on "madam's" hair, the siren codfishes tried on one hat after another. I bought all, without asking the prices, because each one was more becoming to the girl than its predecessor, and not to have all, would have been like deliberately destroying so many original Gainsboroughs or Sir Joshuas.

The child's hair, by the way, is extraordinarily vital. It spouts up in two thick, bright billows over her white forehead, like the beginning of a strong fountain--a very agreeable foundation for a hat.

Seeing that I had gone mad, the wily codfishes took advantage of my state, and flourished things before my eyes, at which Emily instantly forbade me to look. It is true that they were objects not often seen by bachelor man, except in shop windows and on the advertising pages of women's magazines; but silk petticoats and cobwebby lace frills have no Gorgon qualities, and I was not turned to stone by the sight of them. I even found courage to ask of the company at large if they were the sort of thing that young ladies ought to have in their wardrobes. The answer was emphatically in the affirmative.

"Have you already got all you want of them, or could you make use of more?" I inquired of my ward.

"I shouldn't know myself in such miracles," said she, with a kind of gasp, her eyes very bright, and her cheeks pinker than they had been when she was suspected of bridehood. She was still suspected of it; indeed, I think that in the minds of the black satin codfishes circ.u.mstantial evidence had tinkered suspicion into certainty. But Ellaline was deaf to the "madam." They might have turned her from wife into widow without her noticing. She was burning with the desire to possess those embroidered cobwebs and those frilled petticoats. I don't know why she should have been more excited about garments which few, if any, save herself, would see after she'd put them on, than she was about those on which cats and kings might gaze; but so it was. I should like to ask an expert if this is the case with all females, or if it is exceptional.

"Send the lot with the hats and dresses," said I. And when she widened her eyes and gasped, I a.s.sured her that I knew her income better than she did. Anything she cared to have in the way of pretty clothes she could afford.

Strange to say, even then she didn't seem comfortable. She opened her lips as if to speak; shut them hastily at the first word, swallowed it with difficulty, sighed, and looked anxious. I should rather have liked to know what was in her mind.

We ended up by the purchase of costumes suitable to the automobile, both for Emily and Ellaline. I think women ought to be as "well found" for motoring, as for yachting, don't you? And I am looking forward to the trip I intend to take. It will be interesting to study the impressions made upon this young girl by England, land of history and beauty----

... this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea-- ... this England.

You will laugh at me, perhaps, for my long "harping" on my ward; but anyhow, don't misunderstand. It's not because she is pretty and engaging (one would say that of a kitten), but because of the startling contrast between the real girl and the girl of my imagination. I can't help thinking about her a good deal for this reason, and what I think of I have generally talked of or written of fully to you, my best and oldest friend. It's a habit nearly a quarter of a century old, and I don't mean to break it now, particularly as you have made rather a point of my continuing it on my return "home" after all these years.

London has got hold of me. I am fascinated by it. Either it has improved as it has grown, or I am in a mood to be pleased with anything English.

Do you remember dear old Ennis's Rooms, which you and I used to think the height of luxury and gaiety? I've promised myself to go there again, and I mean to take Ellaline and Emily to supper after the theatre to-night. I think I shall keep this letter open to tell you how the old place impresses me.

Midnight and a half.

I've had a shock. Ennis's is dead as a doornail. We entered, after the theatre, and galvanized the Rooms into a kind of dreadful life. They "don't serve many suppers now, sir," it seems. "It's mostly luncheons and dinners."

The waiters resented us as intruders. We were the only ones, too, which made it worse, as all their rancour was visited on us; but we hadn't been for many minutes at our old favourite table (the one thing unchanged), trying to keep up a spurious gaiety, when another party of two ventured in.

They were young d.i.c.k Burden and his aunt, Mrs. Senter.

Now, you mayn't see it, but this was rather odd. It wouldn't have been odd in the past, to meet your most intimate friend from round the corner, and the Shah of Persia, at Ennis's. But evidently the "people who amuse themselves" don't come now. It's not "the thing." Why, therefore, should this couple choose Ennis's for supper? _They_ haven't been out of England for fifteen years, like me. If Mrs. Senter occasionally spends Sat.u.r.day to Monday in India, or visits the Sphinx when the Sphinx is in season, she always returns to London when "everybody is in town," and there does as everybody does.

I immediately suspected that Burden had brought her with an object: that object, to gain an introduction to Ellaline. The suspicion may seem far-fetched; but you wouldn't p.r.o.nounce it so if you could have seen the young man's face, in the railway station at Paris, the other day. I had that privilege; and I observed at the time his wish to know my ward, without feeling a responsive one to gratify it. I don't know why I didn't feel it, but I didn't, though the desire was both pardonable and natural in the young fellow. He has a determined jaw; therefore perhaps it's equally natural that, when disappointed, he should persist--even follow, and adopt strong measures (in other words, an aunt) to obtain his object. You see, Ellaline is an extremely pretty girl, and I'm not alone in thinking so.

My idea is that, having found us in the newspapers, staying at the Ritz, the boy must have somehow informed himself as to our movements, awaiting his opportunity--or his aunt. I bought my theatre tickets in the hotel.

He may have got his information from there; and the rest was easy--as far as Ennis's. I'm afraid the rest was, too, because Mrs. Senter selected the table nearest ours, and after we had exchanged greetings proposed that we join parties. The tables were placed together, and introductions all round were a matter of course. Young England expects that every aunt will do her duty!

They still give you very good food at Ennis's, but it's rather like eating "funeral baked meats."

Mrs. Senter is exactly what she was some years ago. Perhaps it would be ungallant to recall to your memory just _how_ many years ago. She is, if anything, younger. I believe there's a maxim, "Once a d.u.c.h.ess, always a d.u.c.h.ess." I think women of to-day have another: "Once thirty, always thirty"; or, "Once thirty, always twenty-nine." But, joking apart, she is a very agreeable and rather witty woman, sympathetic too, apparently, though I believe you used to think, when she was out smiting hearts at our Back o' Beyond, that in nature she somewhat resembled a certain animal worshipped by the Egyptians and feared by mice. She seems very fond of her nephew d.i.c.k, with whom she says she goes about a good deal.

"We chaperon each other," she expressed it. She pities me for my fire at Graylees, but envies me my motoring trip.

We shall be off in a few days, now, I hope, as soon as Ellaline has been shown a few "features" of London. I went to see the car to-day, and she is a beauty. I shall try her for the first time to-morrow.

Ever Yours,

Pen.

VII

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Ritz Hotel, London_, _July 9th_

One and Only Compleat Mother: Things have happened. I felt them coming in my bones--_not_ my funny-bones this time. For the things may turn out to be not at all funny.

Mr. Richard Burden has been introduced to the alleged Miss Lethbridge. I wonder if he _can_ know she is merely "the alleged"? He is certainly changed, somehow, both in his manner, and in his _way of looking at one_. I thought in Paris he hadn't at all a bad face, though rather impudent--and besides, even Man is a fellow being! But last night, for a minute, he really had an incredibly wicked expression; or else he was suppressing a sneeze. I couldn't be quite sure which--as you said about Aubrey Beardsley's weird black-and-white women.

It was at a restaurant--a piteous restaurant, where the waiters looked like enchanted waiters in the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty. He--Mr.

d.i.c.ky Burden--came in, with an aunt. Such an aunt! I could never be at home with her as an aunt if I were a grown-up man, though she might make a bewitching cousin. She's quite beautiful, dear, and graceful; but I don't like her at all. I think Sir Lionel does, though. They knew each other in Bengal, and she kept saying to him in a cooing voice, "_Do_ you remember?"

You can see she's too clever to be _always_ clever, because that bores people; but she says witty, sharp things which sound as if they came out of plays, or books, and you think back to see whether she deliberately led up to them. For instance, she asked Sir Lionel, apropos of woman's suffrage, whether, on the whole, he preferred a man's woman, or a woman's woman?

"What's the difference?" he wanted to know.

"All the difference between a Gibson girl and an Ibsen girl," said she.

I wonder if she'd heard that, or made it up? Anyhow, when Sir Lionel threw back his head and laughed, in an attractive way he has, which shows a dent in his chin, I wished _I'd_ said it. But the more she flashed out bright things, the more of a lump I was. I do think the one unpardonable sin is dulness, and I felt guilty of it. She simply vampired me. Sucked my wits dry. And, do you know, I'm afraid she's going on the motor trip with us?

Sir Lionel doesn't dream of such a thing, but she does. And she's the sort of person whose dreams, if they're about _men_, come true. Of course, I don't know her well enough to hate her, but I feel it coming on.

In books, all villainesses who're worth their salt have little, sharp teeth and pointed nails. Mrs. Senter's teeth and nails are just like other women's, only better. Book villainesses' hair is either red or blue-black. Hers is pale gold, though her eyes are brown, and very soft when they turn toward Sir Lionel. Nevertheless, though I'm _not_ cattish, except when absolutely necessary, I know she's a _pig_, never happy unless she has the centre of the stage, whether it's _her_ part or not--wanting everyone to feel the curtain rises when she comes on, and falls when she goes off. She looks twenty-eight, so I suppose she's thirty-five; but really she's most graceful. Standing up for Sir Lionel to take off her cloak, her trailing gray satin dress twisted about her feet, as some charming, slender trees stand with their bark spreading out round them on the ground, and folding in lovely lines like drapery.

She managed to draw Mrs. Norton into conversation with her and Sir Lionel, and to let d.i.c.k talk to me, so they must have arranged beforehand what they would do. At first, when he had got his wish and been introduced, he spoke of ordinary things, but presently he asked if I remembered his saying that he wished to go into a certain profession.

I answered "Yes," before I stopped to think, which I'm afraid flattered him, and then he wanted me to guess what the profession was. When I wouldn't, he said it was that of a detective. "If I succeed, my mother will give up her objections," he explained. "And I think I shall succeed." It was when he said this, that he looked so wicked--or else as if he wanted to sneeze--as I told you. What can he mean? And what has he found out? Or is it only my bad conscience? Oh, dear, I should like to give it a thorough spring cleaning, as one does in Lent! I'm afraid that's what is needed. I've had plenty of blacks on it since Ellaline made me consent to her plan, and I began to carry it out. But now I have more. I have lots of dresses and hats on it, too--lovely ones. And petticoats, and such things, etc., etc. Did Dragons of old insist on their fairy princess-prisoners having exquisite clothes, and say "hang the expense"? _This_ Dragon has done so with his Princess, and I had to take the things, because, you see, I have engaged to play the part, and this apparently is his rich conception of it. He says that I--Ellaline--can afford to have everything that's nice; so what _can_ I do? The worst of it is, much of my new finery is so delicate, it will be _defraiche_ by the time the real Ellaline can have it, even if it would fit or suit her, which it won't. But probably the man was ashamed to be seen with a ward in gray serge and a sailor hat, so I couldn't very well violate his feelings. Perhaps if I'd refused to do what he wanted, all his hidden Dragon-ness would have rushed to the surface; but as I was quite meek, he behaved more like an angel than a dragon.

It really was fun buying the things, in a fascinating shop where the a.s.sistants were all more refined than d.u.c.h.esses, and so slender-waisted they seemed to be held together only by their spines and a ladylike ligament or two. But if Providence didn't wish women to lace, why weren't our ribs made to go all the way down? The way we were created, it's an _incentive_ to pinch waists. It seems _meant_, doesn't it?

I was a dream to look at when we went to supper at that restaurant; which was _one_ comfort. Mrs. Senter's things were no nicer than mine, and she was so interested in what I wore. Only she was a good deal more interested in Sir Lionel.

"Everywhere I go, people are talking of you," she said. "You have given them exciting things to talk about."

"Really, I wasn't aware of it," returned the poor Dragon, as apologetically as if she'd waked him up to say he'd been snoring.

Since I wrote you, I've heard more things about his past from Mrs.

Norton, who is as proud of her brother, after a fashion, as a cat of its mouse, and always wanting to show him off, in just the same way. (We all have our "mouse," haven't we? I'm yours. Just now, the new hats are mine.) She has told me a splendid story about a thing he did in Bengal: saved twelve people's lives in a house that was on fire in the middle of the night--the kind of house which blazes like a haystack. And, according to her, he thinks no more of rescuing drowning persons who jump off ships in seas swarming with sharks than we think of fishing a fly out of our bath. Now, _is_ it possible for a man like that to be treacherous to women, and to accept bribes for being guardian to their children? I do wish I knew what to make of it all--and of him.

He has taken the funny little Bengalese valet, who has been, and is to be, his chauffeur, to try the new car this morning. He meant to have gone before this to look at his partly burnt castle in Warwickshire, but he says London has captivated him, and he can't tear himself away; that he will go in a day or two, when he has trotted Mrs. Norton and me about to see a few more sights. Of course, we could quite well see the sights by ourselves. Mrs. Norton has seen them all, anyhow, and only revisits them for my sake; while as for me, you and I "did" London thrillingly together in the last two months of our glory. But Sir Lionel has an interesting way of telling things, and he is as enthusiastic as a boy over his England. Not that he gushes; but one knows, somehow, what he is feeling. I can't imagine his ever being tired, but he is very considerate of us--seems to think women are frail as gla.s.s. I suppose women _are_ a s.e.x by themselves, but we aren't as different as all that.

Once in a while he threw a sideways glare at d.i.c.k Burden, when D. B. was talking with a confidential air to me. I know from Ellaline and Mrs.

Norton that Sir Lionel dislikes women; but all the same I believe he thinks we ought to be kept indoors unless veiled, and never allowed to talk to men, except our relatives.