The Halo Part 10

Carron roused himself with an effort from the treadmill line of thought that had tortured him ever since Brigit's engagement. "My dear Tony, you are absurd. You know perfectly well that I have never loved any woman but you. You have led me a dog's life for years; you prevented my getting on in my career, because it amused you to have me dangling about----"

Lady K. Oh, Gerald, will you ever forget that horrible winter when you went to India?

Carron (_aloud_). No, Tony! (_In petto_) She _can't_ love the boy. That much is quite impossible!

Lady K. The awful cables you used to send me? Heavens, how I cried every night, Gerry! And how horrid Kingsmead was that year!

_So_ jealous.

Carron (_aloud_). You were always such an abominable flirt! (_In petto_) If I only knew _why_ she hates me so! G.o.d! it's worse than hatred; it's loathing.

Lady K. (_reproachfully_). That is unfair, dear. You _know_ I never loved anyone but you!

Carron (_aloud_). But you flirted, Tony; yes, you did. You nearly drove me mad with jealousy. (_In petto_) Hang it all! how can I get away and go for a walk? This is unbearable.

And so on, and so on, all the _triste canzon_. Lady Kingsmead's boudoir was a charming room done in white and pale corn-colour. There were many books, but Tommy had one day betrayed the limitations of their field of usefulness by asking his mother before several people, "Mother, where do you keep the books you _read_?"

There were many flowers, beautiful Turkey carpets, shaded lamps, overloaded little tables whose mission in life appeared to be the driving parlour-maids, however reluctant, to the process of dusting, and, in the darkest corner, where its faded gilding was supposed to lighten the gloom, a beautiful old harp. The harp belonged to Mr. Isaacs in Baker Street, but was supposed to have been played by the fair fingers of Lady Kingsmead's grandmother.

The furniture and hangings, all new, belonged to Messrs. Bampton in Piccadilly, as did the carpets. The pictures, belonging to the entail, were paid for. Lady Kingsmead lay on a _chaise-longue_ and played with a Persian kitten named Omar.

Carron sat opposite her in a low chair smoking cigarettes. It was just four o'clock.

"I suppose she'll curse me out for being here," Carron began suddenly, feeling that he deserved, after his hasty excursion into the churchyard of his ancient love, a short indulgence in his present feelings; "she's a good hater, that girl of yours."

"Yes, she has a very nasty temper. Now I, with all my faults"--(pause)--"with all my faults, never could stay angry more than five minutes. Besides, I was always so sensitive."

"Yes; oh, yes! What train does she come by, did you say?"

"The 4.27. Perhaps you'd like to go and meet her?"

He laughed, his blue eyes narrowing. "Thanks, no. And the others?"

"Oh, _I_ don't know. The list is there at your elbow. You are dull to-day, Gerald."

"I know I am. I think I'm in for an attack of flue, or something; feel shivery and all-overish. And I think you might be able to understand my hating to have your daughter make such a horrible _mesalliance_, Tony."

She was touched with the pathetic facility for being touched common to fading beauties. Rising, she laid her pretty hand on his shoulder.

"Poor darling, I am sorry I was cross. It is dear of you to mind. I hated it, too, at first, for poor old Ponty is a gentleman, and he is awfully cut up. But after all, it may not be a bad thing. She's a very queer girl, Gerald, not at all easy to live with, and this boy Joyselle is really nice. Besides, he has plenty of money----"

"By the way," interrupted Carron, tossing the kitten to a soft chair, "where did he get the money? The fiddling chap can't have much. They say he's a great spendthrift----"

"No, it isn't that. I mean Isabel Clough-Hardy left it to him. You remember the moley one who died in Egypt?"

"Did she? He must have been a mere child when she died. You mean Hugh Hislip's daughter?"

"Yes. Oh, yes, it was years ago. They say she was in love with Victor Joyselle before she married."

"By Jove! Why didn't he marry her?"

"Because in this unenlightened land no man is allowed to have more than one wife at a time--Oh, Tommy, what have you been doing?"

Kingsmead, who had come in without knocking, sat down and stretched his thin legs over the arm of the chair. "Ratting."

"Oh, you nasty child! What a beastly thing!"

"Ratting, my dear mother, is a fine, manly, old-time sport. Most fellows of my age and appearance would be making love to their mothers' friends, but I bar women. Sport," he added solemnly, "for Thomas Edward, Earl of Kingsmead."

Carron, who had always disliked the boy, looked at him. "So you bar women? Many other 'men of your appearance' have said the same."

It was a nasty thrust, but Tommy, though he felt it, grinned cheerfully.

"_Stung!_" he cried, laying his hand on his heart in an absurd theatrical gesture. "Your bolt has gone home, my dear fellow. But experience may take the place of beauty at fifty."

Carron started. He loathed being fifty, he loathed Tommy, he loathed everything.

Tommy turned to the kitten and talked artless nonsense to it to fill up the pause that followed, and Lady Kingsmead powdered her nose with a bit of chamois skin that lived in a silver box full of Fuller's earth under the _chaise-longue_ pillows.

"Glad Brigit's coming?" asked Tommy, turning with appalling suddenness to Carron, whose hatred for him increased tenfold as he tried to answer carelessly.

As he replied, Brigit came in, without a hat, but covered from head to foot with a rough tweed coat. Her wavy hair was very wet, and her gloves, as she pulled them off, dripped on the floor. In her pearly pale cheeks was a lovely pink tinge.

"What a day!" she cried. "I can't kiss you, mother--how d'ye do, Gerald?

Tommy, you angel, come and be drowned in sister's fond embrace!"

They all stared at her. "It's such a jolly rain. I drove myself in the cart that had gone for Mr. Green. Green came in the brougham, poor dear!

Well--what are you all staring at, souls?"

"You look so--so young, Bicky," answered Tommy, with an effort. "What a good time you must have had!"

Having taken off her coat and thrown her ruined gloves into the fire, she sat down by her brother and put her arm round him.

"Dear little boy! I _am_ young, Thomas, and I did have a good time. He is going to play for you, dear--all you want him to. He is a--a--what shall I say?" Her eyes crinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt as she sought for a word.

"He really is a--ripper, Tommy. And he has a human dog named Papillon--But-ter-fly," she added, still smiling and obviously quoting, "also a parrot."

"And a wife," put in Carron sharply.

She looked at him, her face stiffening into its old expression of surly hauteur.

"You have seen her?"

"No. But a friend of mine has. Charley Masterson, Tony. He says she looks like a clean old peasant."

"That is exactly what she is--bravo, Charley Masterson! A clean old peasant. Joyselle, too, is a peasant. They come from near Falaise, and as a girl Madame Joyselle wore a cap. Is there no tea going?"

Lady Kingsmead, who hated rows unless she was one of the princ.i.p.als, rang the bell.

"How was Pam?" she asked hastily.

"As nice as ever. They both sent you their love, by the way. I had a heavenly week there, and they liked Theo so much. He came down for the week-end. Oh, mother," she went on as the man who had answered the bell closed the door, "please ask them down soon, will you? The clean old peasant won't come; she never leaves home, and _he_ is--perfectly presentable."