What will you do for me, he asked, if I oblige you?
He never movedbut as if only the more directly and intimately to meet herand she stood again before the fire and sounded his strange little face. I dont know what it is, but you give me sometimes a kind of terror.
A terror, mamma?
She found another place, sinking sadly down and opening her book, and the next moment he got up and came over to kiss her, on which she drew her cheek wearily aside. You bore me quite to death, she coldly said, and I give you up to your fate.
What do you call my fate?
Oh something dreadfulif only by its being publicly ridiculous. She turned vaguely the pages of her book. Youre too selfishtoo sickening.
Oh dear, dear! he wonderingly whistled while he wandered back to the hearth-rug, on which, with his hands behind him, he lingered a while. He was small and had a slight stoop which somehow gave him charactercharacter of the insidious sort carried out in the acuteness, difficult to trace to a source, of his smooth fair face, where the lines were all curves and the expression all needles. He had the voice of a man of forty and was dressedas if markedly not for Londonwith an air of experience that seemed to match it. He pulled down his waistcoat, smoothing himself, feeling his neat hair and looking at his shoes.
I took your five pounds. Also two of the sovereigns, he went on. I left you two pound ten. His mother jerked up her head at this, facing him in dismay, and, immediately on her feet, passed back to the secretary. Its quite as I say, he insisted; you should have locked it BEFORE, dont you know? It grinned at me there with all its charming brasses, and what was I to do? Darling mummy, I COULDNT startthat was the truth. I thought I should find somethingI had noticed; and I do hope youll let me keep it, because if you dont its all up with me. I stopped over on purposeon purpose, I mean, to tell you what Ive done. Dont you call that a sense of honour? And now you only stand and glower at me.
Mrs. Brookenham was, in her forty-first year, still charmingly pretty, and the nearest approach she made at this moment to meeting her sons description of her was by looking beautifully desperate. She had about her the pure light of youthwould always have it; her head, her figure, her flexibility, her flickering colour, her lovely silly eyes, her natural quavering tone, all played together toward this effect by some trick that had never yet been exposed. It was at the same time remarkable thatat least in the bosom of her familyshe rarely wore an appearance of gaiety less qualified than at the present juncture; she suggested for the most part the luxury, the novelty of woe, the excitement of strange sorrows and the cultivation of fine indifferences. This was her special signan innocence dimly tragic. It gave immense effect to her other resources. She opened the secretary with the key she had quickly found, then with the aid of another rattled out a small drawer; after which she pushed the drawer back, closing the whole thing. You terrify meyou terrify me, she again said.
How can you say that when you showed me just now how well you know me? Wasnt it just on account of what you thought I might do that you took out the keys as soon as you came in? Harolds manner had a way of clearing up whenever he could talk of himself.
Youre too utterly disgustingI shall speak to your father, with which, going to the chair he had given up, his mother sank down again with her heavy book. There was no anger, however, in her voice, and not even a harsh plaint; only a detached accepted disenchantment. Mrs. Brookenhams supreme rebellion against fate was just to show with the last frankness how much she was bored.
No, darling mummy, you wont speak to my fatheryoull do anything in the world rather than that, Harold replied, quite as if he were kindly explaining her to herself. I thank you immensely for the charming way you take what Ive done; it was because I had a conviction of that that I waited for you to know it. It was all very well to tell you Id start on my visitbut how the deuce was I to start without a penny in the world? Dont you see that if you want me to go about you must really enter into my needs?
I wish to heaven youd leave meI wish to heaven youd get out of the house, Mrs. Brookenham went on without looking up.
Harold took out his watch. Well, mamma, now I AM ready: I wasnt in the least before. But it will be going forth, you know, quite to seek my fortune. For do you really thinkI must have from you what you do thinkthat it will be all right for me?
She fixed him at last with her pretty pathos. You mean for you to go to Brander?
You know, he answered with his manner as of letting her see her own attitude, you know you try to make me do things you wouldnt at all do yourself. At least I hope you wouldnt. And dont you see that if I so far oblige you I must at least be paid for it?
His mother leaned back in her chair, gazed for a moment at the ceiling and then closed her eyes. You ARE frightful, she said. Youre appalling.
Youre always wanting to get me out of the house, he continued; I think you want to get us ALL out, for you manage to keep Nanda from showing even more than you do me. Dont you think your children good ENOUGH, mummy dear? At any rate its as plain as possible that if you dont keep us at home you must keep us in other places. One cant live anywhere for nothingits all bosh that a fellow saves by staying with people. I dont know how it is for a lady, but a mans practically let in
Do you know you kill me, Harold? Mrs. Brookenham woefully interposed. But it was with the same remote melancholy that she asked in the next breath: It wasnt an INVITATIONto Brander?
Its as I told you. She said shed write, fixing a time; but she never did write.
But if YOU wrote
It comes to the same thing? DOES it?thats the question. If on my note she didnt writethats what I mean. Should one simply take it that ones wanted? I like to have these things FROM you, mother. I do, I believe, everything you say; but to feel safe and right I must just HAVE them. Any one WOULD want me, eh?
Mrs. Brookenham had opened her eyes, but she still attached them to the cornice. If she hadnt wanted you shed have written to keep you off. In a great house like that theres always room.
The young man watched her a moment. How you DO like to tuck us in and then sit up yourself! What do you want to do, anyway? What ARE you up to, mummy?
She rose at this, turning her eyes about the room as if from the extremity of martyrdom or the wistfulness of some deep thought. Yet when she spoke it was with a different expression, an expression that would have served for an observer as a marked illustration of that disconnectedness of her parts which frequently was laughable even to the degree of contributing to her social success. Youve spent then more than four pounds in five days. It was on Friday I gave them to you. What in the world do you suppose is going to become of me?
Harold continued to look at her as if the question demanded some answer really helpful. Do we live beyond our means?
She now moved her gaze to the floor. Will you PLEASE get away?
Anything to assist you. Only, if I SHOULD find Im not wanted?
She met his look after an instant, and the wan loveliness and vagueness of her own had never been greater. BE wanted, and you wont find it. Youre odious, but youre not a fool.
Harold continued to look at her as if the question demanded some answer really helpful. Do we live beyond our means?
She now moved her gaze to the floor. Will you PLEASE get away?
Anything to assist you. Only, if I SHOULD find Im not wanted?
She met his look after an instant, and the wan loveliness and vagueness of her own had never been greater. BE wanted, and you wont find it. Youre odious, but youre not a fool.
He put his arms about her now for farewell, and she submitted as if it was absolutely indifferent to her to whose bosom she was pressed. You do, dearest, he laughed, say such sweet things! And with that he reached the door, on opening which he pulled up at a sound from below. The Duchess! Shes coming up.
Mrs. Brookenham looked quickly round the room, but she spoke with utter detachment. Well, let her come.
As Id let her go. I take it as a happy sign SHE wont be at Brander. He stood with his hand on the knob; he had another quick appeal. But after Tuesday?
Mrs. Brookenham had passed half round the room with the glide that looked languid but that was really a remarkable form of activity, and had given a transforming touch, on sofa and chairs, to three or four crushed cushions. It was all with the hanging head of a broken lily. Youre to stay till the twelfth.
But if I AM kicked out?
It was as a broken lily that she considered it. Then go to the Mangers.
Happy thought! And shall I write?
His mother raised a little more a window-blind. NoI will.
Delicious mummy! And Harold blew her a kiss.
Yes, rathershe corrected herself. Do writefrom Brander. Its the sort of thing for the Mangers. Or even wire.
Both? the young man laughed. Oh you duck! he cried. And from where will YOU let them have it?
From Pewbury, she replied without wincing. Ill write on Sunday.
Good. How dye do, Duchess?and Harold, before he disappeared, greeted with a rapid concentration of all the shades of familiarity a large high lady, the visitor he had announced, who rose in the doorway with the manner of a person used to arriving on thresholds very much as people arrive at stationswith the expectation of being met.
II
Good-bye. Hes off, Mrs. Brookenham, who had remained quite on her own side of the room, explained to her friend.
Wheres he off to? this friend enquired with a casual advance and a look not so much at her hostess as at the cushions just rearranged.
Oh to some places. To Brander to-day.
How he does run about! And the Duchess, still with a glance hither and yon, sank upon the sofa to which she had made her way unaided. Mrs. Brookenham knew perfectly the meaning of this glance: she had but three or four comparatively good pieces, whereas the Duchess, rich with the spoils of Italy, had but three or four comparatively bad. This was the relation, as between intimate friends, that the Duchess visibly preferred, and it was quite groundless, in Buckingham Crescent, ever to enter the drawing-room with an expression suspicious of disloyalty. The Duchess was a woman who so cultivated her passions that she would have regarded it as disloyal to introduce there a new piece of furniture in an underhand waythat is without a full appeal to herself, the highest authority, and the consequent bestowal of opportunity to nip the mistake in the bud. Mrs. Brookenham had repeatedly asked herself where in the world she might have found the money to be disloyal. The Duchesss standard was of a height! It matched for that matter her other elements, which were wontedly conspicuous as usual as she sat there suggestive of early tea. She always suggested tea before the hour, and her friend always, but with so different a wistfulness, rang for it. Whos to be at Brander? she asked.
I havent the least ideahe didnt tell me. But theyve always a lot of people.
Oh I knowextraordinary mixtures. Has he been there before?
Mrs. Brookenham thought. Oh yesif I remembermore than once. In fact her notewhich he showed me, but which only mentioned some friendswas a sort of appeal on the ground of something or other that had happened the last time.
The Duchess dealt with it. She writes the most extraordinary notes.
Well, this was nice, I thought, Mrs. Brookenham saidfrom a woman of her age and her immense position to so young a man.
Again the Duchess reflected. My dear, shes not an American and shes not on the stage. Arent those what you call positions in this country? And shes also not a hundred.
Yes, but Harolds a mere baby.
Then he doesnt seem to want for nurses! the Duchess replied. She smiled at her hostess. Your children are like their mothertheyre eternally young.
Well, IM not a hundred! moaned Mrs. Brookenham as if she wished with dim perversity she were.
Every ones at any rate awfully kind to Harold. She waited a moment to give her visitor the chance to pronounce that eminently natural, but no pronouncement camenothing but the footman who had answered her ring and of whom she ordered tea. And where did you say YOURE going? she enquired after this.
For Easter? The Duchess achieved a direct encounter with her charming eyeswhich was not in general an easy feat. I didnt say I was going anywhere. I havent of a sudden changed my habits. You know whether I leave my childexcept in the sense of having left her an hour ago at Mr. Garlicks class in Modern Light Literature. I confess Im a little nervous about the subjects and am going for her at five.
And then where do you take her?
Home to her tea. Where should you think?
Mrs. Brookenham declined, in connexion with the matter, any responsibility of thought; she did indeed much better by saying after a moment: You ARE devoted!
Miss Merriman has her afternoonI cant imagine what they do with their afternoons, the Duchess went on. But shes to be back in the school-room at seven.
And you have Aggie till then?
Till then, said the Duchess cheerfully. Youre off for Easter towhere is it? she continued.
Mrs. Brookenham had received with no flush of betrayal the various discriminations thus conveyed by her visitor, and her only revenge for the moment was to look as sweetly resigned as if she really saw what was in them. Where were they going for Easter? She had to think an instant, but she brought it out. Oh to Pewburyweve been engaged so long that I had forgotten. We go once a yearone does it for Edward.
Ah you spoil him! smiled the Duchess. Whos to be there?
Oh the usual thing, I suppose. A lot of my lords tiresome supporters.
To pay his debt? Then why are you poor things asked?
Mrs. Brookenham looked, on this, quite adorablythat is most wonderinglygrave. How do I know, my dear Jane, why in the world were ever asked anywhere? Fancy people wanting Edward! she exhaled with stupefaction. Yet we can never get off Pewbury.
Youre better for getting on, cara mia, than for getting off! the Duchess blandly returned. She was a person of no small presence, filling her place, however, without ponderosity, with a massiveness indeed rather artfully kept in bounds. Her head, her chin, her shoulders were well aloft, but she had not abandoned the cultivation of a figure or any of the distinctively finer reasons for passing as a handsome woman. She was secretly at war moreover, in this endeavour, with a lurking no less than with a public foe, and thoroughly aware that if she didnt look well she might at times only, and quite dreadfully, look good. There were definite ways of escape, none of which she neglected and from the total of which, as she flattered herself, the air of distinction almost mathematically resulted. This air corresponded superficially with her acquired Calabrian sonorities, from her voluminous title down, but the colourless hair, the passionless forehead, the mild cheek and long lip of the British matron, the type that had set its trap for her earlier than any other, were elements difficult to deal with and were at moments all a sharp observer saw. The battle-ground then was the haunting danger of the bourgeois. She gave Mrs. Brookenham no time to resent her last note before enquiring if Nanda were to accompany the couple.