Chapter V: Book II: I (3)

For the first time since I have owned it, I felt sorry I had been too numb to make it nice. The house-maids arrange it in the morning, and there it stays, a monument of the English upholsterer's idea of a Louis XV. boudoir.

As I told Hephzibah, the little copy of La Rochefoucauld and the miniature of Ambrosine Eustasie are the only things of mine--my own--that are here, besides all my new books, of course.

I sat down in the straight-backed sofa. It has terra-cotta and buff tulips running over the mustard brocade. The gilt part runs into your back.

Antony sat at the other end.

A very fat, rich cushion of "school of art" embroidery, with frills, fell between us. We looked up at the same moment and our eyes met, and we both laughed.

"You remind me of a picture I bought last year," Antony said. "It was a little pastel by La Tour, and the last owner had framed it in a brand-new, brilliant gilt Florentine frame."

Suddenly, as he spoke, a sense of shame came over me. I felt how wrong I had been to laugh with him about this--my home. It is because, after all these months, I cannot realize that Ledstone is my home that I have been capable of committing this bad taste.

I felt my cheeks getting red and I looked down.

"I--I like bright colors," I said, defiantly. "They are cheerful and--and--"

"Sweet Comtesse!" interrupted Antony, in his mocking tone, which does not anger me. "Tell me about your books."

He got up lazily, and began reading the titles of a heap on the table beyond.

"What strange books for a little girl! Who on earth recommended you these?"

"No one. I knew nothing at all about modern books, so I just sent for all and any I saw in the advertisements in the papers. Most of them are great rubbish, it seems to me, but there are one or two I like."

He did not speak for a few moments.

"All on philosophy! You ought to read novels at your age."

"I did get some in the beginning, but they seemed all untrue and mawkish, or sad and dramatic, and the heroines did such silly things, and the men were mostly brutes, so I have given them up. Unless I see the advertisement of a thrilling burglary or mystery story, I read those. They are not true, either, and one knows it, but they make one forget when it rains."

"All women profess to have a little taste for philosophy and beautifully bound Marcus Aureliuses, and _Maximes_, and love poems--clever little scraps covered in exquisite bindings. And one out of a thousand understands what the letter-press is about. I am weary of seeing the same on every boudoir-table, and yet some of them are delightful books in themselves. You have none of these, I see."

He picked up the La Rochefoucauld.

"Yes, here is one, but this is an old edition." He turned to the title-leaf and read the date, then looked at the cover. It is bound in brown leather and has the same arms and coronet upon it that my chatelaine has--the arms of Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt and an "A. E. de C." entwined, all tooled in faded gold.

"The arms on my knife!" Antony said, pulling it from his waistcoat-pocket and comparing them.

"My knife," I said.

"Tell me all about her--A.E. de C.," he commanded, seating himself on the sofa again.

"She was my great-great-grandmother, and was guillotined. See--I will show you her miniature," and I took it from its case on the writing-table. I have had a leather covering made to keep safe the old, paste frame. It has doors that shut, and I don't let her look too much at the mustard-yellow walls, my pretty ancestress.

"What an extraordinary likeness!" Antony exclaimed, as he looked at it. "Are you sure I am not dreaming and you are not your own great-great-grandmother?"

"No, I am myself. But I am supposed to be like her, though."

"It is the very image of you. She has your air and carriage of the head, and--and--" he looked at it very carefully under the electric light which sprouts from a twisted bunch of brass lilies on the wall, their stalks suggesting a modern Louis XV. nightmare.

"And what?"

"Well, never mind. Now I want to hear her story." And we both sat down again for the third time on the tulip-sofa.

I told him the history just as I had told him the outline of my life the day in the Harley woods. Only, as then I felt I was speaking of another person, now I seemed to be talking of myself when I came to the part of walking up the guillotine steps.

"And so they cut her head off--poor little lady!" said Antony, when I had finished, and he looked straight into my eyes.

The pillow of art-needlework and frills had fallen to the floor--even it could not remain comfortably on the hard seat! There was nothing between us on the sofa.

Antony leaned forward, close to me. His voice was strangely moved.

"Comtesse!" he began, when McGreggor knocked at the door.

"Mr. Gurrage is calling you, ma'am," she said, in her heavy, Scotch voice, "and he seems in a hurry, ma'am."

"Ambrosine!" echoed impatiently in the hall.

"Why, it must be dressing-time!" said Antony, calmly, looking at his watch. "I must not keep you," and he quietly left the room as Augustus burst in from my bedroom door.

"Where on earth have you been?" he said, crossly. "That Dodd woman has been driving us all mad! Willie Dodd came and joined us at bridge and took McCormack's place, and the old she-tike came after him and chattered like a monkey until she got him away. Where were you that you did not look after her?"

"I was here, in my sitting-room, talking to Sir Antony Thornhirst," I said, almost laughing. The picture of Mrs. Dodd at the bridge-table amused me to think of. Augustus saw me smiling, and he looked less ruffled.

"She is an old wretch," he said. "I wish I had not to ask Willie Dodd every year, but business is business, and I'll trouble you to be civil to them. We will weed out the whole of this lot, gradually, now. The mater will go off to Bournemouth at this time of the year, and so, by-and-by, we can have nothing but smart people."

The evening passed in an endless, boring round. This sort of company does not adapt itself as the people at Harley did. With my best endeavors to be a good hostess, the uneasiness of my guests prevented me from making them feel comfortable or at home.

Mrs. Dodd's impertinence would have been insupportable if it had not been so funny.

She complained of most things--the draughts, the inconvenience of the hours of the train departures, and so on.

She was gorgeously dressed and hung with diamonds. Without being exceptionally stout, everything is so tight and pushed-up that she seems to come straight out from her chin in a kind of platform, where the diamonds lose themselves in a narrow, perpendicular depression in the middle.

Antony sat next me at dinner, at one side; on the other was old Sir Samuel Wakely. Mr. Dodd on his left hand had Miss Springle, the playful, giddy daughter of one of the guns.

She chaffed him all the time, much to the annoyance of his life's partner, who was sitting opposite, and who, owing to an erection of flowers, was unable to quite see what was going on.

"Yes," we heard Mr. Dodd say, at last, "I nearly bought it in Paris at the Exhibition. Eh! but it was a beautiful statue!"

"I like statues," said Miss Springle.

"Well, she was just a perfect specimen of a woman, but Missus Dodd wouldna let me purchase her, because the puir thing wasna dressed. I didna think it could matter in marble."

"What's that you are saying about Mrs. Dodd?" demanded that lady from across the table, dodging the chrysanthemums.

"I was telling Miss Springle, my dear, of the statue of 'Innocence' I wanted to buy at the Exhibition at Paris," replied Mr. Dodd, meekly, "and that you wouldna let me on account of the scanty clothing."

"Innocence, indeed!" snorted Mrs. Dodd. "Pretty names they give things over there! And her clothing scant, you call it, Wullie? Why, you are stretching a point to the verge of untruth to call it clothing at all--a scarf of muslin and a couple of doves! Anyhow, I'll have it known I'll not have a naked woman in my drawing-room, in marble or flesh!"

The conversation of the whole table was paralyzed by her voice. My eye caught Antony's, and we both laughed.

"There, there, my dear, don't be even suggesting such things," said Mr. Dodd, soothingly.

"La! Mrs. Dodd, you make me blush," giggled Miss Springle.

I wondered what Antony thought of it all, and whether he had ever been among such people before. His face betrayed nothing after he laughed with me, and he seemed to be quietly enjoying his dinner, which, fortunately, was good.

It was only for a few minutes before we all said good-night that we spoke together alone.

"Shall you be down to breakfast, Comtesse?" he asked me.

"Oh yes," I said, "These people would never understand. They would think I was being deliberately rude if I breakfasted in my room."

"At nine o'clock, then?"

"Yes."

"Lend me your La Rochefoucauld to read to-night?" he asked.

"With pleasure. I will have it sent to your room."

"No, let me get it from your mustard boudoir myself. I shall be coming up, probably, to change into a smoking-coat, and my room is down that way, you know."

"Very well."

So we said good-night.

Half an hour afterwards, I was standing by my sitting-room fire when Antony came into the room. He leaned on the mantel-piece beside me and looked down into my face.

"When will you come over to Dane Mount, Comtesse? I want to show you _my_ great-great-grandmother. She was yours, too, by-the-way," he said.

"When will you ask us?"

"In about a fortnight. I have to run about Norfolk until then. Will you come some time near the 4th of November?"

"I shall have to ask Augustus, but I dare say we can."

He frowned slightly at the mention of Augustus.

"Of course. Well, I will not have a party, only some one to talk to--your husband. The ancestors won't interest him, probably."

"Oh! Do ask Lady Tilchester," I said. "I love her."

He bent down suddenly to look at the Dresden clock.

"No, I don't think so. She will be entertaining herself just then," he said, "and probably could not get away. But leave it to me, I promise to arrange that Augustus shall not be bored."

He picked up La Rochefoucauld and opened it.

"I see you have marked some of the _maximes_."

"No. Grandmamma and the Marquis must have done that. Look, they are all of the most witty and cynical that are pencilled. I can hear them talking when I read them. That is just how they spoke to one another."

He read aloud:

"'_C'est une grande folie de vouloir être sage tout seul_!' Don't be '_sage tout seul_,' Comtesse. Let me keep you company in your _sagesse_," he said.

I looked up at him. His eyes were full of a quizzical smile. There is something in the way his head is set, a distinction, an air of command. It infinitely pleases me. I felt--I know not what!

"Now I will say good-night. I am tired, and it is getting late," I said.

"Good-night, Comtesse," and he walked to the door. "I shall be down at nine o'clock."

And so we parted.

VIII

On the morrow it had cleared up and flashes of blue sky were appearing. Augustus and Mr. McCormack had both had too much to drink the night before, at dinner, and were looking, and no doubt feeling, mixed and ill-tempered.

The morning was long after the shooters had gone. It seemed as if one o'clock, when we were to start for the lunch, would never come.

Miss Springle had some passages-at-arms with Mrs. Dodd. They had all been down to breakfast but Lady Wakely and another woman, who were accustomed to the ways of the world.

I had never seen any shooting before. The whole thing was new to me. Augustus had insisted upon selecting what he considered a suitable costume for me. We had been up to London several times together to try it on, and, on the whole, though a little _outre_ in its checks, it is not unbecoming.

"Do you shoot, yourself, Mrs. Gussie?" Mrs. Dodd asked, when we assembled in the hall, ready to start.

"No; do you?" I replied.

"Of course not! The idea! But, seeing your skirt so very short, I should have guessed you were a sportswoman and killed the birds yourself!" and she sniffed ominously.

"Do birds get killed with a skirt?" Miss Springle asked, pertly. She hates Mrs. Dodd. They were neighbors In Liverpool, originally. "I thought you had to shoot at them?"

Mrs. Dodd snorted.

"You will get awfully muddy, Mrs. Dodd, in your long cashmere," Miss Springle continued. "And Mr. Dodd told me, when I met him coming from the bath this morning, to be sure not to wear any colors--they frighten the birds. I am certain he will object to that yellow paradise-plume in your hat."

Mrs. Dodd looked ready to fight.

"Mr. Dodd had better talk to me about my hat!" she said, growing purple in the face. "I call all these modern sporting-costumes indecent, and when I was a girl I should have been whipped for coming out shooting in the things you have got on, Miss Springle!"

"Really! you don't say so!" said Miss Springle, innocently, "Why, I never heard they shot birds in Liverpool, Mrs. Dodd."

I interfered. The expression of my elder guest's face was becoming apoplectic.

"Let us get into the brake," I said.

Lady Wakely sat next me.

"Very unpleasant person, Mrs. Dodd," she whispered, wheezily, as we drove off, "She is here every year. My dear, you are good-natured to put up with her."

Lunch was laid out in the barn of one of the farm-houses. Augustus had given orders that it should be of the most sumptuous description, and the chef had done marvels.

The table looked like a wedding-breakfast when we got there, with flowers and printed menus.

The sportsmen were not long in making their appearance. It was a rather warm day, and Mr. McCormack and Mr. Dodd, who were not accustomed to much exercise, I suppose, without ceremony mopped their heads.

Antony, who was walking behind, with Sir Samuel Wakely, appeared such an astonishingly cool contrast to them. His coat did not look new, but as if it had seen service. Only everything fitted and hung right, and he walks with an ease and grace that would have pleased grandmamma.

Augustus had a thunderous expression on his face. So had Wilks, the head keeper. Later, I gathered there had been a great quantity of birds, but the commercial friends had not been very successful in their destruction. In fact, Mr. Dodd had only secured two brace, besides one of the beaters in the shoulder, and a dog.

Antony sat by me.

"Dangerous work, shooting," he said, smiling, as he looked at the menu. "What is your average list of killed in a pheasant battue?"

"What--what kind of killed?" I asked, laughing.

"Guests or beaters or dogs--anything but the birds."

"Cutlets ha la ravigotte or 'ommard ha lamerican, Sir Antony?" the voice of the first footman sounded in our ears.

"Oh--er--get me a little Irish stew or some cold beef," said Antony, plaintively, still with the menu in his hand.

"We've no--Irish stew--except what is prepared for the beaters, Sir Antony," said James, apologetically. He had come from a ducal house and knew the world. "Shall I get you some of that, Sir Antony?"

"No, don't mind." Then, turning to me, "What are you eating, Comtesse?" he asked. "I will have some of that."

"It is truffled partridge in aspic," I said, disagreeably. "You can pick out the truffles if you are afraid of them."

"Truffled partridge, then," he said to James, resignedly, and when it came he deliberately ate the truffles first.

"Hock, claret, Burgundy, or champagne, Sir Antony?" demanded the butler.

"Oh--er--I will have the whole four!"

His face had the most comical expression of chastened resignation as he glanced at me.

Griggson poured out bumpers in the four glasses.

"I shall now shoot like your friend from Liverpool," said Antony, "and if I kill your husband and most of the guests I cannot be blamed for it," and he drank down the hock.

"Don't be so foolish," I said, laughing, in spite of having pretended to be annoyed with him.

"I would drink anything rather than incur your displeasure," he said, with great humility, as he took up the claret. "Must I eat everything on the menu, too?"

I appeared not to hear, and turned to Mr. Dodd, who was on my other side, his usually pale face still crimson with walking so fast and this feast of Lucullus he was partaking of.

"I had bad luck this morning, Mrs. Gussie," he said, in a humble voice. "I am sorry about that man and dog, and I am afraid the gentleman on your right must have got a pellet also--eh, sir?" and he addressed Antony.

"A mere trifle," said my neighbor "on the right," with his most suave air and a twinkle in his eye as he finished the claret. "Just a shot or two in the left arm--a mere nothing, when one considers the dangers the whole line were incurring."

"You were shot in the arm, Sir Antony?" I exclaimed, suddenly, feeling a great dislike to Mr. Dodd. "Oh, but people should not shoot if they are so careless, surely!"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Mr. Dodd, huffily. "I am not careless. I have been shooting now for a matter of five years and only twice before have hit any one."

"You have had the devil's own luck!" said Antony, beginning the Burgundy.

"You may call it luck, sir," said Mr. Dodd, "but I think a man wants a bit of judgment, too, to shoot, and I always try to remember where my neighbors stand. But, I must admit, with pheasant shooting in a wood it is more difficult. It was getting a little excited with a rabbit which caused the last accident I had."

Antony finished the Burgundy.

"Are you going to walk with us afterwards, Comtesse?" he asked me, presently, in a low voice, his eyes still twinkling; "because, if so, I advise you to fortify your nerve with a little orange brandy I see they are handing now," and he began the champagne.

"Oh, I am so sorry about the whole thing. I think it is perfectly dreadful," I said, "and--and I do hope you are not really hurt."

He showed me his wrist. His silk shirt-sleeve was wet with blood, and his arm also had streaks on it, and just under the skin were two or three small, black lumps.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," I said, and my voice trembled. I felt I wanted to take his arm and wash the blood off, and caress it, and tell him how it grieved me that he should be wounded--and by these people, too. I would like to have shot them all.

"Don't look so distressed, Comtesse," he said. "It does not hurt a bit, and the whole thing amuses me. A very original character, Mr. Dodd," and he finished the champagne.

Augustus walked with me after lunch for a little when we started. He was in a furious temper at the non-slaughter of the partridges.

"By Jove! next year," he said, "I'll clear out the whole boiling, whether the mater likes it or no, and have some of the people we met at Harley. Thornhirst is the only man who has killed anything great, though Wakely and Bush did a fair share."

I told him how dreadful I thought the accident had been.

"Good thing it was not me he shot," said Augustus. "I'd have fired back. But the part I mind the most is the miserable bag. Wilks is mad. We both wanted the record to go to the field; and what can we do? Only thirty-two brace up to luncheon!"

I soothed him as well as I could.

Mrs. Dodd was puffing behind us. She had insisted upon following with the guns, although Lady Wakely and the two other elderly women had driven back to Ledstone.

The yellow paradise plume and bright-blue dress made a glowing spot of color on the brown, ploughed field.

Miss Springle tripped gayly along in front with Mr. Dodd, coquettishly tapping him on the arm and looking up in his face.

Giggles of laughter were wafted back to us. Miss Springle is a rather pretty girl, with thick black hair.

Antony strode forward and joined us. Augustus dropped behind to speak to Wilks.

"You must stand with me," Antony said, "I will protect you as well as I can, and the chances are against the shot coming my way twice in one day."

He was so gay. Never have I had so delightful a walk. I cannot write down what he said. If I try to remember his words, I cannot. It is the general impression they leave behind, rather than any actual sentence I can recall, which makes me feel his wit is like grandmamma's, and it reveals all the time his great knowledge of books, and people, and the world. And there is a lightness which makes one feel how strong and deep must be the under-current.

My spirits always rise when I am with him.

Soon we arrived at the hedge we were to stand behind.

It was all new to me, the whole scene. Out of nowhere Antony's servant seemed to spring with two guns and a stick-seat, which he arranged for me.

Mrs. Dodd had panted after her husband and Miss Springle, who were in the most open place; but Wilks was unable to contain himself with annoyance at this.

"Not a bird will face the line if the lady's dress is seen," he said, in despair, as he passed us, and we saw him unceremoniously insist upon Mrs. Dodd joining Sir Samuel Wakely, who was at the thickest corner, next us.

"The air must be black with the language Wakely is using, I will bet," said Antony.

And then the partridges began to come.

"There's a burrd! There's a burrd!" shouted Mr. Dodd, excitedly, pointing with his gun straight at Sir Samuel's head.

"Damn you, sir!" yelled Sir Samuel back to him. "It is pure murder the way you hold your gun."

"I'll trouble you not to swear at my husband!" roared Mrs. Dodd.

A huge covey came over at the moment, but the voices and the bright-blue dress attracted their attention, and they all wheeled off to the right, so that, but for two stray birds killed by Antony, this end of the line found the drive a blank.

Augustus's rage knew no bounds.

He came up to me as if it was my fault.

"Take that old woman home this moment, Ambrosine," he said, furiously. "Do you hear?--this minute!" and I was obliged to go up to Mrs. Dodd and suggest our returning. I was tired, I said.

"I'll not leave Wullie with that minx," she replied, firmly. "You can go without me, Mrs. Gussie. I'll not take it rude of you at all." I tried to explain that I thought we were all a little in the way and had better return to the house; but Miss Springle, who joined us, would not hear of such a thing.

"Mr. Dodd says he can't get on without me," she said, coyly, whereupon Mrs. Dodd gurgled with rage.

"I am afraid you will all be shot if you delay here," said Antony, coming to my rescue. "We are going to take the next beat at right angles, and you are all in the full line."

"Goodness, gracious me!" screamed Mrs. Dodd. "Oh, gentlemen, save me!"

And she rushed wildly towards Augustus, who was coming up, her dress held high, showing a pair of opulent ankles and wide, flat feet covered in thin, kid boots, while a white cotton stocking appeared upon the stove-pipe calf that was visible above.

The yellow paradise plume floated in the wind, the hat having become a little deranged by her rapid flight.

"Gussie Gurrage!" she yelled. "Oh, do you hear that? The gentleman says I'll be shot!"

And she precipitated herself into the unwilling arms of Augustus.

He has not manners enough to stand such an assault. His face flushed with annoyance, and the savage look grew round his mouth. I waited for the explosion.

"Confound it, Mrs. Dodd!" he said. "Women have no business out shooting, and you had better clear out and go home."

"I've never been so insulted in my life!" she snorted, as we walked back to the farm, after a confused scene, in which Mr. Dodd and Sir Samuel and Augustus, Miss Springle, and Mrs. Dodd herself had all talked at once.

"Never so insulted in my life! Sent away as if I wasn't wanted. If I hadn't known Gussie Gurrage since he was a baby I'd have boxed his ears, that I would!"

I remained in haughty silence. I feared I should burst into screams of laughter if I attempted speech.

Miss Springle had evaded us at the last minute, and could be seen once more by Mr. Dodd's side as we drove past the shooters again on the road.

A meek woman, sister of Mr. McCormack, a Mrs. Broun by name, who had quietly stood by her husband and had not been in any one's way, now caught Mrs. Dodd's wrath.

"You've had a good deal to do with Jessie Springle's bringing up, I've heard, Mrs. Broun, since her mother died, and a disgrace she is to you, I can testify."

"Oh, dear Mrs. Dodd, how can you say such a thing?" said Mrs. Broun, almost crying. "Jessie is a dear girl, so full of fun."

"Fun, you call it, Mrs. Broun! Looking after other women's husbands! How would you like her to be flirting with your Tom?"

(This is the spirit my mother-in-law would approve of.)

"Oh, it is quite immodest, talking so, Mrs. Dodd!" replied the meek lady, flushing scarlet. "Why, no one would ever think of such things--a girl to flirt with a married man!"

"That's all you know about it, Mrs. Broun. I tell you that girl will upset your home yet! Mark my words; but I'll not have her running after Wullie, anyway."

The situation was becoming very strained. I felt bound to interfere by some _banal_ remarks about the scenery, and finally we arrived back at Ledstone and I got rid of them by conducting them to their rooms.

IX

It poured rain again before the sportsmen returned, and they were more or less wet and cross. Antony went straight to his room to change, and so did the two other decent men. But the commercial friends stayed as they were, muddy boots and all, and were grouped round the fire, smelling of wet, hot tweed, when Mrs. Dodd sailed into the room.

"Wullie," she said, sternly, "you've no more sense than a child, and if it was not for me you'd have been in your coffin these five years. Go up-stairs this minute and change your boots." And off she sent him, but not without a parting shot from Miss Springle.

"Mind you put on a blue velvet smoking-suit, Mr. Dodd, dear. I do love gentlemen in smoking-suits," she said, giggling.

Tea was a terrible function. Oh, the difference to the merry tea at Harley!

Lady Wakely, sleepily knitting and addressing an occasional observation to her neighbor; the rest of the women silent as the grave, except Miss Springle and Mrs. Dodd, who sparred together like two cats.

The men could talk of nothing but the war news which had come by the afternoon post.

There was a gloom over the whole party. How on earth was I to escape from the oppression? They were not people of the world, who would be accustomed to each person doing what they pleased. They expected to be entertained all the time. To get away from them for a moment I would be obliged to invent some elaborate excuse.

Antony had not appeared upon the scene, or Augustus, either.

At last--at last Lady Wakely put her knitting in a bag and made a move towards the door.

"I shall rest now," she said, in her fat, kind voice, and I accompanied her from the room, leaving the rest of my guests to take care of themselves. I felt I should throw the cups at their heads if I stayed any longer.

There, in the hall, was Antony, quietly reading the papers. His dark-blue and black silk smoking-suit was extraordinarily becoming. He looked like a person from another planet after the people I had left in the drawing-room.

He rose as we passed him.

"Some very interesting South African news," he said, addressing me, and while I stopped to answer him Lady Wakely went up the stairs alone.

"The draughts are dreadful here again, Comtesse," he said, plaintively.

"Why did you not go into the library, then," I said, "or the billiard-room, or one of the drawing-rooms?"

"I thought perhaps you might pass this way and would give me your advice as to which room to choose."

I laughed. "The library, then, I suggest," and I started as if to go up the stairs.

"Comtesse! You would not leave me all alone, would you? You have not told me half enough about our ancestors yet."

"Oh, I am tired of the ancestors!" and I mounted one step and looked back.

"I thought perhaps you would help me to tie up my wrist."

I came down instantly. If he were pretending, I would punish him later.

"Come," I said, and led the way to the library, where we found the fire had gone out.

How ashamed I felt of the servants! This must never happen again.

"Not here; it is cold and horrid." And he followed me on into my mother-in-law's boudoir. There were no lights and no fire.

My wrath rose.

"It must be your mustard sitting-room, after all," said Antony. So up the stairs we went. Here, at all events, the fire blazed, and the room glowed with brilliancy.

Roy was lying on the rug and seemed enchanted to see us.

"Is it really hurting you?" I said, hurriedly.

"No, not hurting--only a stupid little scratch." And he undid his shirt-cuff and turned up his sleeve.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Oh, I am so sorry!"

One of the shots had grazed the skin and made a nasty cut, which was plastered up with sticking-plaster and clumsily tied with a handkerchief.

"My servant is not a genius at this sort of thing. Will you do it better, Comtesse?"

I bound the handkerchief as neatly as I could, and, for some unexplained reason, as once before at Harley, my heart beat in my throat. I could feel his eyes watching me, although my head was bent.

I did not look up until the arm was finished. His shirt was of the finest fine. There was some subtle scent about his coat that pleased me. A faint perfume, as of very good cigars--nothing sweet and effeminate, like a woman. It intensely appealed to me. I felt--I felt--oh, I do not know at all what my feelings meant. I tried to think of grandmamma, and how she would have told me to behave when I was nervous. I had never been so nervous in my life before.

"You--you will not shoot to-morrow?" I faltered.

"Of course I shall. You must not trouble about this at all, Comtesse. It is the merest scratch, and was a pure accident. He is an excellent fellow, Mr.--er--Dodd is his name, is it not? Only pity is he did not shoot his wife, poor fellow!"

Again, as on a former occasion, the admirable _sang-froid_ of my kinsman carried things smoothly along. I felt quite calmed when I looked up at him.

"We won't try sitting on that sofa to-night," I laughed. "This is a fairly comfortable arm-chair. You are an invalid. You must sit in it. See, I shall sit here," and I drew a low seat of a dreadfully distorted Louis XV. and early Victorian mixed style that the upholsterer, when bringing the things, had described to me as a "sweet, pretty lady's-chair."

Antony sat down. The light from the lily electric branches made the gray in his hair shine silver. He looked tired and not so mocking as usual.

"I have settled with your husband when you are to come to Dane Mount. He says the 4th of November will suit him."

"We shall drive over, I suppose?"

"Yes."

After that we neither of us spoke for a few moments.

"Did you read La Rochefoucauld last night?" I asked, presently.

"No."

"Well, why did you ask for it, then?"

"I had a very good reason."

One could never describe the expression of Antony's face. If one goes on saying "mocking," or "cynical," or "ironical," or "quizzical," it gives no impression of what it is. It is a mixture of all four, and yet laughing, and--and--tender, and _insouciant_, and gay. He is himself, and there could never be any one like him. One feels as if all common things must vanish and shrivel up before his style of wit.

One could think of him as finishing his game of chess calmly while the officers of the Terror waited to conduct him to the guillotine. He is exactly--oh, but exactly!--grandmamma's idea of a gentleman. I wish she had seen more of him.

There is nothing _poseur_ or dramatic about him. He is quite simple, although he laughs at things all the time. I seem to have learned more of the world, and the tone of everything, just talking to him, than from all the books I have read lately. What would it be like if he were interested in anything intensely, if something moved him deeply, if he really cared?

As I sat there I thought of many things. An atmosphere of home had suddenly come into the room. I could almost believe I could hear grandmamma's voice.

"What are you thinking of so seriously, Comtesse?" he asked, lazily.

"I was wondering--"

"Well?"

"I was wondering if anything really mattered in life; if one could grow old and remain numb all the time; if things are real; if--oh, does anything matter? Tell me, you who know."

"Not many things. Later, you will regret some things you have not done--very few you have."

"I have been reading metaphysics lately, and, it seems, one could reason one's self into believing nothing is real. One of my books said the ancient Cynic philosophers doubted for the sake of investigation and the moderns investigate for the sake of doubting. What does it all mean?"

He began stroking Roy's ears. He had put his dear black-and-tan head on Antony's knee.

"It means a great many words. Do not trouble your wise head about it. The world is a pleasant enough place if you can pay your bills and have a fair digestion--eh, Roy? Bones are good things, aren't they, old fellow?"

"You, at all events, are never serious," and I laughed.

"I will tell you about that when you come to Dane Mount."

"I wish you could have got Lady Tilchester to go, then. I do like her so much. She has been very kind to me. It would give me pleasure to see her."

"She is a delightful woman."

"She told me how long she had known you--since her wedding-day, I think she said--and, oh, lots of things about you. She seemed--"

He moved his arm suddenly.

"I don't think you tied this handkerchief tight enough, Comtesse," he said, again turning up his cuff.

I rose and looked at the bandage.

"Why, yes. It is just the same as it was. But I will do it again if you wish."

This time it did not take me so long, but that ridiculous beating began again in my heart.

"It must have a double knot to keep it right," said Antony.

My fingers seemed clumsy. We were standing so close together there was a something--an electricity--which made my hands tremble. Oh, this was folly! I _must_ not let myself feel so. I finished the knot at last, and then said, stupidly:

"I have an idea I should return to my worthy guests down-stairs,'"

Antony smiled.

"They are quite happy without you," he said, "Vain little Comtesse, to think your presence is necessary to every one!"

"I dare say. But--I must go to them."

"No, you must not. Sit down in your low chair and forget all about them. No good hostess fusses after her guests. People like to be left to themselves."

I sat down meekly.

"I never can understand," said Antony, presently, "why your grandmother did not let me know when first you came to the cottage. She was fully aware of the relationship between us, even if I was not."

"Grandmamma was a very proud woman. We were so very poor. And then, there was grandpapa's _bêtise_, which, I fancy, had quite separated them from his family."

"What made her come to Ledstone at all, I wonder?"

I felt my cheeks getting pink, and bent down to look into the fire.

"She wanted to live in England, so that I might become English by growing up there, and--and it was cheap. We had been in London before that, and back in Paris, and down at Brighton, and a lot of dull places. I remember she saw the advertisement in the paper one morning and took the cottage immediately."

"You had heard that we were relations?" he asked.

"Yes, vaguely. But I did not know how many of you there were, only that the present holder of the title was a Sir Antony."

"It was a strange coincidence neither of us should have caught the other's name at the ball that night."

"Yes."

"Afterwards, when we talked you over at Harley, every one had got information about you, it seemed. They were all so awfully interested in you. You looked such an extraordinary contrast to the rest of the company."

"Well, I am glad of that."

He smiled.

"It was when I heard that your grandmother was a Frenchwoman I grasped everything. I remembered there was some story in the family about a younger son marrying a beautiful Parisienne. But it seemed to me it must be too far back to be possible. And then Lady Tilchester told me she was a very old woman. So we came over next day."

"I wish you had seen more of grandmamma," I said. "You would have got on together. She used to say wonderful things sometimes."

"I thought her the most lovely old lady I had ever seen."

"Her maxims would fill a book as big as La Rochefoucauld."

"What a pity you did not write them down!"

"The Marquis and she had the _religion du beau_. They worshipped everything that was beautiful and suitable and refined. They never did anything for effect, only because the action was due to themselves and was a good action." I paused.

"Go on, Comtesse," said Antony. "I like to hear it all."

"They really believed in _noblesse oblige_. Neither of them would have stooped from their position--oh, not a little inch."

"It is a thing we have quite forgotten in England. It was inconvenient, and most of us are not rich enough to indulge in it."

"But must one be rich to behave as of one's race?" I asked, astonished.

"Yes--or remain in the background, a good deal bored. To obtain the wherewithal to enjoy this rather expensive world, people stoop considerably nowadays."

"And you don't think it dreadful?"

"I am not a Crusader. Times have changed. One can keep one's own ideas and let others do as they please."

"Grandmamma had a maxim like that. She said it was _bourgeois_ to be shocked and astonished at things. She believed in the difference of classes. No one could have persuaded her that the common people are made of the same flesh and blood as we are."

"Tell me some more."

"This was her idea of things generally: first of all, to have the greatest self-respect; to stoop to no meanness; to desecrate the body or mind in no way; to conquer and overcome all foolish emotions; to be unselfish, to be gay, to be courageous; to bear physical and moral pain without any outward show; to forever have in front of one that a straight and beautiful carriage must be the reflection of a straight and beautiful mind; to take pleasure in simple things, and to be contented with what one has got if it is impossible to obtain better--in short, never to run one's head against a stone wall or a feather-bed, but if a good thing is to be gained by patience, or perseverance, or concentration, to obtain it."

"I am learning. Continue," said Antony, but there was no mock in his eyes. Only he smiled a little.

"They both had a fine contempt of death and a manner of _grand seigneur_ and a perfect philosophy. They had the refinement of sentiment of the _ancien régime_, only they were much less coarse. And in the _ancien régime_ one worshipped the King and the constitution of France, whereas grandmamma and the Marquis worshipped only _le beau_ in everything, which is higher than an individual."

"How well you tell it! I shall have to reorganize my religion."

"You are laughing at me!"

"No, I am not. I am deeply interested. Go on," and he leaned back in the straight-backed arm-chair.

"'Never stay in the mud,' was another of grandmamma's maxims. 'It happens that the best of us may fall there in life, but no one need stay there,' she used to say. Even the common people could rise out of it if they a fine enough spirit. But we were the examples, and one must never give a bad example. For instance, the common people might cry when they were hurt. They were only lower creatures and under the protection of the others. They could roar, if it pleased them, as they were the model of no one. But we could not cry, to encourage this foolishness."

"And so you lived and learned all that, dear little Comtesse! No wonder your eyes are so wise."

"I remember once I became impatient with some new stitches in my embroidery that would not go right, and I flung the piece down and stamped on it and tore it. Grandmamma said nothing, but she deliberately undid a ball of silk and tangled it dreadfully, and then gave it to me to straighten out. It was not to irritate me, she said. But patience and discipline were necessary to enable one to get through life with decency and pleasure, and while I untangled the silk I should have time to reflect upon how comically ridiculous I had been to throw down and trample upon an inanimate thing that only my personal stupidity had caused to annoy me."

Antony looked at me a long time. He sighed a short, quick sigh, and then said, gayly:

"You must certainly write a book for the training of the young. But what did your grandmother say of such things as strong passions--the mad love of one person for another, for instance? Could they be ruled by maxims?"

"She did not discuss those things with me. But she did say that in life, now and then, there came a _coup de foudre_, which sometimes was its glory and sometimes not; that this was nature, and there was no use going absolutely contrary to nature; but that a disciplined person was less likely to commit a _bêtise_, or to mistake a passing light for the _coup de foudre_, than one who was accustomed to give way to every emotion, as a trained soldier is better able to stand fire than the raw recruit from the fields."

"And yet the trained soldier goes under sometimes."

"In that case, she said, there were only two courses--either to finish the matter and go out altogether, or to get up again and fight better next time."

Antony looked down at me. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and it seemed as if he were observing something in my very soul. Then he said, with a whimsical smile, "Comtesse, tell me. And did she consider there were any great sins?"

"Oh yes. To break one's word, or in any way degrade one's race. But she said sins were not so much sins in themselves as in their _façon de faire_. One must remain a gentlewoman--or man--always, even in moments of the greatest _tourbillons_. 'We are all of flesh and blood,' she said, 'but in the same situation the _fille de chambre_ conducts herself differently to the _femme de qualité_.' What a serious impression I am giving you of grandmamma, though! She was a gay person, full of pleasant thoughts."

"She permitted pleasures, then?"

"But, of course, all pleasures that did not really injure other people. She said priests and custom and convention had robbed the world of much joy."

"She was quite right."

"She liked people to have fine perceptions. To be able to 'see with the eye-lashes' was one of her expressions, and, I assure you, nothing escaped her. It was very fatiguing to be long in the company of people who passed their lives morally eating suet-pudding, she said. Avoid stodge, she told me, and, above all, I was to avoid that sentimental, mawkish, dismal point of view that dramatically wrote up, over everything, 'Duty,' with a huge D. It happened that there were duties to be done in life, but they must be accomplished quietly, or gayly, as the case might be. 'Do not shut the mouth with a snap, and, having done so, turn the corners down,' she said. 'These habits will not procure friends for you.' And so I learned to take things gayly."

We were both silent for some time after this. Then Antony exerted himself to amuse me. We talked as lightly as the skimming of swallows, flying from one subject to another. We were as happy as laughing children. The time passed. It seemed but a few minutes when the clock struck eight.

"You will make me late for dinner!" I exclaimed. "But you reminded me of grandmamma and the Marquis and made me talk."

"May I come again to-night--to return La Rochefoucauld?" he asked, with his droll smile.

"I do not know. We shall see." And I ran into my room, leaving him standing beside the fire.

X

When I got into my bedroom the door was open into Augustus's room beyond. He had not come up to dress. Indeed, when I was quite ready to go down to dinner he had not yet appeared.

Half-past eight sounded.

I descended the stairs quickly and went along the passage towards his "den." There I met his valet.

"Mr. Gurrage is asleep, ma'am," he said, "and does not seem inclined to wake, ma'am," and he held the door open for me to pass into the room.

Augustus was lying in his big chair, before the fire, his face crimson, his mouth wide open, and snoring and breathing very heavily. He was still in his shooting-things.

An indescribable smell of scorching tweed and spirit pervaded the room.

By his side was an almost finished glass of whiskey. The bottle stood on the tray and another bottle lay, broken, on the floor.

Atkinson began clearing up this _débris_.

"Augustus!" I called, but he did not awake. "Augustus, it is time for dinner!"

"If you please, ma'am," said the valet, coughing respectfully, "if I might say so, you had better let Mr. Gurrage sleep, ma'am. I'll see after him. He is--very angry when he is like this and woke suddenly, ma'am."

I looked at the whiskey bottles and the flushed face. A sickening disgust overwhelmed me. And there would be no Lady Tilchester to save me to-night!

"Open the window," I said to Atkinson, "and persuade Mr. Gurrage to go to bed when he wakes." And I left the room.

All my guests were assembled when I got into the first drawing-room. Indeed, it was twenty minutes to nine.

Mrs. Dodd had the air of an aggrieved turkey-gobbler. I felt she would fly at some one.

"We thought we should not get any dinner, Mrs. Gussie," she said, huffily. "Folks are generally down in their own houses!"

I took no notice of this remark.

"I am so sorry to be late, Lady Wakely," I said, addressing her and the other women, "but my husband is not well, and, I fear, will not be able to come in to dinner. He must have caught a chill out shooting."

"Have you sent for the doctor? Because, if not, I know all about chills with Wullie, who never changes his socks," interrupted Mrs. Dodd. "Let me go to him, Mrs. Gussie."

"No, thank you. Do not trouble," I said. "His servant and I have done all that is necessary, and he wishes to sleep. Let us go in to dinner."

I told them each whom they were to take in, and put my own hand on Antony's arm. It seemed as if he held it closely to his side, but he said nothing, and we walked into the dining-room.

I do not know at all what we talked about. Certainly for three courses everything was a blank to me. But I heard myself laughing, and Mr. Dodd, who sat on my other hand, seemed mightily amused at my conversation.

"Why, the open air and a little walking has done you all the good in the world, Mrs. Gussie!" I was conscious, at last, that he was saying. "Your cheeks are quite rosy and your eyes as bright as stars."

"Yes, it was a delightful day," I said.

"Talk about chills, Mr. McCormack"--Mrs. Dodd's voice carried across the table-"I know Gussie Gurrage, and I don't believe he ever had a chill in his life!"

Antony now began to talk to me quietly. He said very little. His voice was particularly cool and collected. He never once looked at me. I was grateful for that. I felt as if I could not bear to see sympathy in his eyes. He also talked to Lady Wakely, on his other hand, and chaffed beyond to Miss Springle.

And so the dinner passed, and the ladies rose to leave the dining-room, Mr. McCormack holding the door for us.

As it was wide open, and all could see into the hall, an apparition appeared upon the scene, coming from the passage that leads to the "den"--Augustus, being supported by Atkinson and one of the footmen, and singing snatches of some low music-hall song.

In an instant Antony had sprung forward and closed the door, Mr. McCormack and the others standing open-mouthed and inert.

"There, I knew it was no chill!" exclaimed Mrs. Dodd.

"Hush, madam!" said Antony, sternly, his eyes flashing green-blue fire. "We were very comfortable at the table. Shall we not all sit down again?"

Lady Wakely at once returned to her chair. The meek Mrs. Broun put her hand on my arm in sympathy, but I annihilated her with a look as I swept back to my seat, and soon my guests were once more in their places.

Then it was that Antony exerted himself to amuse this company. With the most admirable tact and self-composure, he kept the whole party entertained for half an hour. And when we again left the room it was _en bande_, without ceremony, the men accompanying us.

Lady Wakely kindly said good-night in quite a few minutes, and the other women followed her example. I spoke no word of thanks to Antony. I did not even look into his face.

When I got to my boudoir I could hear Augustus's drunken snores from the room beyond. He had mercifully fallen asleep.

I did not ring for McGreggor. I would stay in my sitting-room all night. Roy came up to me and licked my hand. Then suddenly something seemed to give way in my will, and I dropped on the rug beside my dog and cried as I have never cried in my life, my head buried in his soft, black coat.

Oh, grandmamma, forgive me for such weakness! But surely, if we had known of this horror, even the Calincourts need not have kept their word to a drunken man!

I did not hear the door open, but suddenly was conscious of Antony's voice.

"Ambrosine, for God's sake don't cry so!" he whispered, hoarsely.

I did not look up.

"Oh, I want to thank you for your kindness," I sobbed, "but if you would continue it you will leave me now."