Well, if they all deny it, she presently remarked, its a simple enough matter. Im sure I dont want them to come down on us! But thats the advantage, she almost prattled on, of having so many such charming friends. They DONT come down.
This again was a remark of a sweep that there appeared to be nothing in Brookenhams mind to match; so that, scarcely pausing in the walk he had resumed, he only said: Who do you mean by all?
Why if he has had anything from Mitchy I dare say he has had something from Van.
Oh! Brookenham returned as if with a still deeper drop of interest.
They oughtnt to do it, she declared; they ought to tell us, and when they dont it serves them right. Even this observation, however, failed to rouse in her husband a response, and, as she had quite formed the habit of doing, she philosophically answered herself. But I dont suppose they do it on spec.
It was less apparent than ever what Edward supposed. Oh Van hasnt money to chuck about.
Ah I only mean a sovereign here and there.
Well, Brookenham threw out after another turn, I think Van, you know, is your affair.
It ALL seems to be my affair! she lamented too woefully to have other than a comic effect. And of course then it will be still more so if he should begin to apply to Mr. Longdon.
We must stop that in time.
Do you mean by warning Mr. Longdon and requesting him immediately to tell us? That wont be very pleasant, Mrs. Brookenham noted.
Well then wait and see.
She waited only a minuteit might have appeared she already saw. I want him to be kind to Harold and cant help thinking he will.
Yes, but I fancy that that will be his notion of itkeeping him from making debts. I dare say one neednt trouble about him, Brookenham added. He can take care of himself.
He appears to have done so pretty well all these years, she mused. As I saw him in my childhood I see him now, and I see now that I saw then even how awfully in love he was with mamma. Hes too lovely about mamma, Mrs. Brookenham pursued.
Oh! her husband replied.
The vivid past held her a moment. I see now I must have known a lot as a child.
Oh! her companion repeated.
I want him to take an interest in us. Above all in the children. He ought to like usshe followed it up. It will be a sort of poetic justice. He sees the reasons for himself and we mustnt prevent it. She turned the possibilities over, but they produced a reserve. The thing is I dont see how he CAN like Harold.
Then he wont lend him money, said Brookenham with all his grimness.
This contingency too she considered. You make me feel as if I wished he wouldwhich is too dreadful. And I dont think he really likes ME! she went on.
Oh! her husband again ejaculated. I mean not utterly REALLY. He has to try to. But it wont make any difference, she next remarked. Do you mean his trying?
No, I mean his not succeeding. Hell be just the same. She saw it steadily and saw it whole. On account of mamma.
Brookenham also, with his perfect propriety, put it before himself. And will heon account of your motheralso like ME?
She weighed it. No, Edward. She covered him with her loveliest expression. No, not really either. But it wont make any difference. This time she had pulled him up.
Not if he doesnt like Harold or like you or like me? Edward clearly found himself able to accept only the premise.
Hell be perfectly loyal. It will be the advantage of mamma! Mrs. Brookenham cried. Mamma, Edward, she brought out with a flash of solemnitymamma WAS wonderful. There have been times when Ive always felt her still with us, but Mr. Longdon makes it somehow so real. Whether shes with me or not, at any rate, shes with HIM; so that when HES with me, dont you see?
It comes to the same thing? her husband intelligently asked. I see. And when was he with you last?
Not since the day he dinedbut that was only last week. Hell come soonI know from Van.
And what does Van know?
Oh all sorts of things. He has taken the greatest fancy to him.
The old boyto Van?
Van to Mr. Longdon. And the other way too. Mr. Longdon has been most kind to him.
Brookenham still moved about. Well, if he likes Van and doesnt like US, what good will that do us?
Youd understand soon enough if you felt Vans loyalty.
Oh the things you expect me to feel, my dear! Edward Brookenham lightly moaned.
Well, it doesnt matter. But he IS as loyal to me as Mr. Longdon to mamma.
The statement produced on his part an unusual vision of the comedy of things. Every Jenny has her Jockey! Yet perhapsremarkably enoughthere was even more imagination in his next words. And what sort of means?
Mr. Longdon? Oh very good. Mamma wouldnt have been the loser. Not that she cared. He MUST like Nanda, Mrs. Brookenham wound up.
Her companion appeared to look at the idea and then meet it. Hell have to see her first.
Oh he shall see her! she rang out. Its time for her at any rate to sit downstairs.
It was time, you know, I thought, a year ago.
Yes, I know what you thought. But it wasnt.
She had spoken with decision, but he seemed unwilling to concede the point. You allowed yourself she was all ready.
SHE was all readyyes. But I wasnt. I am now, Mrs. Brookenham, with a fine emphasis on her adverb, proclaimed as she turned to meet the opening of the door and the appearance of the butler, whose announcementLord Petherton and Mr. Mitchettmight for an observer have seemed immediately to offer support to her changed state.
IV
Lord Petherton, a man of five-and-thirty, whose robust but symmetrical proportions gave to his dark blue double-breasted coat an air of tightness that just failed of compromising his tailor, had for his main facial sign a certain pleasant brutality, the effect partly of a bold handsome parade of carnivorous teeth, partly of an expression of nose suggesting that this feature had paid a little, in the heat of youth, for some aggression at the time admired and even publicly commemorated. He would have been ugly, he substantively granted, had he not been happy; he would have been dangerous had he not been warranted. Many things doubtless performed for him this last service, but none so much as the delightful sound of his voice, the voice, as it were, of another man, a nature reclaimed, supercivilised, adjusted to the perpetual chaff which kept him smiling in a way that would have been a mistake and indeed an impossibility if he had really been witty. His bright familiarity was that of a young prince whose confidence had never had to falter, and the only thing that at all qualified the resemblance was the equal familiarity excited in his subjects.
Mr. Mitchett had so little intrinsic appearance that an observer would have felt indebted for help in placing him to the rare prominence of his colourless eyes and the positive attention drawn to his chin by the precipitation of its retreat from discovery. Dressed on the other hand not as gentlemen dress in London to pay their respects to the fair, he excited by the exhibition of garments that had nothing in common save the violence and the independence of their pattern a belief that in the desperation of humility he wished to render public his having thrown to the winds the effort to please. It was written all over him that he had judged once for all his personal case and that, as his character, superficially disposed to gaiety, deprived him of the resource of shyness and shade, the effect of comedy might not escape him if secured by a real plunge. There was comedy therefore in the form of his pot-hat and the colour of his spotted shirt, in the systematic disagreement, above all, of his coat, waistcoat and trousers. It was only on long acquaintance that his so many ingenious ways of showing he appreciated his commonness could present him as secretly rare.
And wheres the child this time? he asked of his hostess as soon as he was seated near her.
Why do you say this time as if it were different from any other time? she replied as she gave him his tea.
Only because, as the months and the years elapse, its more and more of a wonder, whenever I dont see her, to think what she does with herselfor what you do with her. What it does show, I suppose, Mr. Mitchett went on, is that she takes no trouble to meet me.
My dear Mitchy, said Mrs. Brookenham, what do YOU know about troubleeither poor Nandas or mine or anybodys else? Youve never had to take any in your life, youre the spoiled child of fortune and you skim over the surface of things in a way that seems often to represent you as supposing everybody else has wings. Most other people are sticking fast in their native mud.
Mud, Mrs. Brookmud, mud! he protestingly cried as, while he watched his fellow visitor move to a distance with their host, he glanced about the room, taking in afresh the Louis Seize secretary which looked better closed than open and for which he always had a knowing eye. Remarkably charmingmud!
Well, thats what a great deal of the element really appears to-day to be thought; and precisely as a specimen, Mitchy dear, those two French books you were so good as to send me and whichreally this time, you extraordinary man! She fell back, intimately reproachful, from the effect produced on her, renouncing all expression save that of the rolled eye.
Why, were they particularly dreadful?Mitchy was honestly surprised. I rather liked the one in the pink coverwhats the confounded thing called?I thought it had a sort of a something-or-other. He had cast his eye about as if for a glimpse of the forgotten title, and she caught the question as he vaguely and good-humouredly dropped it.
A kind of a morbid modernity? There IS that, she dimly conceded.
Is that what they call it? Awfully good name. You must have got it from old Van! he gaily declared.
I dare say I did. I get the good things from him and the bad ones from you. But youre not to suppose, Mrs. Brookenham went on, that Ive discussed your horrible book with him.
Come, I say! Mr. Mitchett protested; Ive seen you with books from Vanderbank which if you HAVE discussed them with himwell, he laughed, I should like to have been there!
You havent seen me with anything like yoursno, no, never, never! She was particularly positive. Van on the contrary gives tremendous warnings, makes apologies, in advance, for things thatwell, after all, havent killed one.
That have even perhaps a little, after the warnings, let one down?
She took no notice of this coarse pleasantry, she simply adhered to her thesis. One has taken ones dose and one isnt such a fool as to be deaf to some fresh true note if it happens to turn up. But for abject horrid unredeemed vileness from beginning to end
So you read to the end? Mr. Mitchett interposed.
I read to see what you could possibly have sent such things to me for, and because so long as they were in my hands they were not in the hands of others. Please to remember in future that the children are all over the place and that Harold and Nanda have their nose in everything.
I promise to remember, Mr. Mitchett returned, as soon as you make old Van do the same.
I do make old VanI pull old Van up much oftener than I succeed in pulling you. I must say, Mrs. Brookenham went on, youre all getting to require among you in general an amount of what one may call editing! She gave one of her droll universal sighs. Ive got your books at any rate locked up and I wish youd send for them quickly again; ones too nervous about anything happening and their being perhaps found among ones relics. Charming literary remains! she laughed.
The friendly Mitchy was also much amused. By Jove, the most awful things ARE found! Have you heard about old Randage and what his executors have just come across? The most abominable
I havent heard, she broke in, and I dont want to; but you give me a shudder and I beg youll have your offerings removed, since I cant think of confiding them for the purpose to any one in this house. I might burn them up in the dead of night, but even then I should be fearfully nervous.
Ill send then my usual messenger, said Mitchy, a person I keep for such jobs, thoroughly seasoned, as you may imagine, and of a discretionwhat do you call it?a toute epreuve. Only you must let me say that I like your terror about Harold! Do you think he spends his time over Dr. Wattss hymns?
Mrs. Brookenham just hesitated, and nothing, in general, was so becoming to her as the act of hesitation. Dear Mitchy, do you know I want awfully to talk to you about Harold?
About his French reading, Mrs. Brook? Mitchy responded with interest. The worse things are, let me just mention to you about that, the better they seem positively to be for ones feeling up in the language. Theyre more difficult, the bad onesand theres a lot in that. All the young men know itthose who are going up for exams.
She had her eyes for a little on Lord Petherton and her husband; then as if she had not heard what her interlocutor had just said she overcame her last scruple. Dear Mitchy, has he had money from you?
He stared with his good goggle eyeshe laughed out. Why on earth? But do you suppose Id tell you if he had?
He hasnt really borrowed the most dreadful sums?
Mitchy was highly diverted. Why should he? For what, please?
Thats just itfor what? What does he do with it all? What in the world becomes of it?
Well, Mitchy suggested, hes saving up to start a business. Harolds irreproachablehasnt a vice. Who knows in these days what may happen? He sees further than any young man I know. Do let him save.
She looked far away with her sweet world-weariness. If you werent an angel it would be a horror to be talking to you. But I insist on knowing. She insisted now with her absurdly pathetic eyes on him. What kind of sums?
You shall never, never find outnot if you were never to speak to me again, Mr. Mitchett replied with extravagant firmness. Harolds one of my great amusementsI really have awfully few; and if you deprive me of him youll be a fiend. There are only one or two things I want to live for, but one of them is to see how far Harold will go. Please give me some more tea.
Do you positively swear? she asked with intensity as she helped him. Then without waiting for his answer: You have the common charity to US, I suppose, to see the position youd put us in. Fancy Edward! she quite austerely threw off.
Mr. Mitchett, at this, had on his side a wonder. Does Edward imagine?
My dear man, Edward never imagined anything in life. She still had her eyes on him. Therefore if he SEES a thing, dont you know? it must exist.
Mitchy for a little fixed the person mentioned as he sat with his other guest, but whatever this person saw he failed just then to see his wifes companion, whose eyes he never met. His face only offered itself after the fashion of a clean domestic vessel, a receptacle with the peculiar property of constantly serving yet never filling, to Lord Pethertons talkative splash. Well, only dont let him take it up. Let it be only between you and me, Mr. Mitchett pleaded; keep him quietdont let him speak to me. He appeared to convey with his pleasant extravagance that Edward looked dangerous, and he went on with a rigour of levity: It must be OUR little quarrel.