The White Peacock Part 74

"My feet are a tiny bit cold," she said plaintively, giving him her foot, that seemed like gold in the yellow silk stocking. He took it between his hands, stroking it:

"It is quite cold," he said, and he held both her feet in his hands.

"Ah, you dear boy!" she cried with sudden gentleness, bending forward and touching his cheek.

"Is it great fun being mine host of 'Ye Ramme Inne?'" she said playfully to George. There seemed a long distance between them now as she sat, with the man in evening dress crouching before her putting golden shoes on her feet.

"It is rather," he replied, "the men in the smoke room say such rum things. My word, you hear some tales there."

"Tell us, do!" she pleaded.

"Oh! I couldn't. I never could tell a tale, and even if I could-well--"

"But I do long to hear," she said, "what the men say in the smoke room of 'Ye Ramme Inne.' Is it quite untellable?"

"Quite!" he laughed.

"What a pity! See what a cruel thing it is to be a woman, Leslie: we never know what men say in smoke rooms, while you read in your novels everything a woman ever uttered. It is a shame! George, you are a wretch, you should tell me. I do envy you--."

"What do you envy me, exactly?" he asked laughing always at her whimsical way.

"Your smoke room. The way you see life-or the way you hear it, rather."

"But I should have thought you saw life ten times more than me," he replied.

"I! I only see manners-good manners and bad manners. You know 'manners maketh a man.' That's when a woman's there. But you wait awhile, you'll see."

"When shall I see?" asked George, flattered and interested.

"When you have made the fortune you talked about," she replied.

He was uplifted by her remembering the things he had said.

"But when I have made it-when!"-he said sceptically,-"even then-well, I shall only be, or have been, landlord of 'Ye Ramme Inne.'"

He looked at her, waiting for her to lift up his hopes with her gay balloons.

"Oh, that doesn't matter! Leslie might be landlord of some Ram Inn when he's at home, for all anybody would know-mightn't you, hubby, dear?"

"Thanks!" replied Leslie, with good humoured sarcasm.

"You can't tell a publican from a peer, if he's a rich publican," she continued. "Money maketh the man, you know."

"Plus manners," added George, laughing.

"Oh they are always there-where I am. I give you ten years. At the end of that time you must invite us to your swell place-say the Hall at Eberwich-and we will come-' with all our numerous array.'"

She sat among her cushions smiling upon him. She was half ironical, half sincere. He smiled back at her, his dark eyes full of trembling hope, and pleasure, and pride.

"How is Meg?" she asked. "Is she as charming as ever-or have you spoiled her?"

"Oh, she is as charming as ever," he replied. "And we are tremendously fond of one another."

"That is right!-I do think men are delightful," she added, smiling.

"I am glad you think so," he laughed.

They talked on brightly about a thousand things. She touched on Paris, and pictures, and new music, with her quick chatter, sounding to George wonderful in her culture and facility. And at last he said he must go.

"Not until you have eaten a biscuit and drunk good luck with me," she cried, catching her dress about her like a dim flame and running out of the room. We all drank to the New Year in the cold champagne.

"To the _Vita Nuova_!" said Lettie, and we drank smiling:

"Hark!" said George, "the hooters."

We stood still and listened. There was a faint booing noise far away outside. It was midnight. Lettie caught up a wrap and we went to the door. The wood, the ice, the grey dim hills lay frozen in the light of the moon. But outside the valley, far away in Derbyshire, away towards Nottingham, on every hand the distant hooters and buzzers of mines and ironworks crowed small on the borders of the night, like so many strange, low voices of c.o.c.kerels bursting forth at different pitch, with different tone, warning us of the dawn of the New Year.

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST PAGES OF SEVERAL ROMANCES

I found a good deal of difference in Leslie since his marriage. He had lost his a.s.sertive self-confidence. He no longer p.r.o.nounced emphatically and ultimately on every subject, nor did he seek to dominate, as he had always done, the company in which he found himself. I was surprised to see him so courteous and attentive to George. He moved un.o.btrusively about the room while Lettie was chattering, and in his demeanour there was a new reserve, a gentleness and grace. It was charming to see him offering the cigarettes to George, or, with beautiful tact, asking with his eyes only whether he should refill the gla.s.s of his guest, and afterward replacing it softly close to the other's hand.

To Lettie he was unfailingly attentive, courteous, and undemonstrative.

Towards the end of my holiday he had to go to London on business, and we agreed to take the journey together. We must leave Woodside soon after eight o'clock in the morning. Lettie and he had separate rooms. I thought she would not have risen to take breakfast with us, but at a quarter-past seven, just as Rebecca was bringing in the coffee, she came downstairs. She wore a blue morning gown, and her hair was as beautifully dressed as usual.

"Why, my darling, you shouldn't have troubled to come down so early,"

said Leslie, as he kissed her.

"Of course, I should come down," she replied, lifting back the heavy curtains and looking out on the snow where the darkness was wilting into daylight. "I should not let you go away into the cold without having seen you take a good breakfast. I think it is thawing. The snow on the rhododendrons looks sodden and drooping. Ah, well, we can keep out the dismal of the morning for another hour." She glanced at the clock-"just an hour!" she added. He turned to her with a swift tenderness. She smiled to him, and sat down at the coffee-maker. We took our places at table.

"I think I shall come back to-night," he said quietly, almost appealingly.

She watched the flow of the coffee before she answered. Then the bra.s.s urn swung back, and she lifted her face to hand him the cup.

"You will not do anything so foolish, Leslie," she said calmly.

He took his cup, thanking her, and bent his face over the fragrant steam.

"I can easily catch the 7:15 from St. Pancras," he replied, without looking up.

"Have I sweetened to your liking Cyril?" she asked, and then, as she stirred her coffee she added, "It is ridiculous Leslie! You catch the 7.15 and very probably miss the connection at Nottingham. You can't have the motor-car there, because of the roads. Besides, it is absurd to come toiling home in the cold slushy night when you may just as well stay in London and be comfortable."

"At any rate I should get the 10.30 down to Lawton Hill," he urged.