This salt air keeps one thirsty, he observed to Ferrall; then something in his hosts expression arrested the glass at his lips. He had already been using the decanter a good deal; except Mortimer, nobody was doing that sort of thing as freely as he.
He set his glass on the table thoughtfully; a tinge of colour had crept into his lean checks.
Ferrall, too, suddenly uncomfortable, stood up saying something about dressing; several men arose a trifle stiffly, feeling in every joint the result of the first days shooting after all those idle months. Mortimer got up with an unfeigned groan; Siward followed, leaving his glass untouched.
One or two other men came in from the billiard-room. All greeted Siward amiablyall excepting one who may not have seen himan elderly, pink, soft gentleman with white downy chop-whiskers and the profile of a benevolent buck rabbit.
How do you do, Major Belwether? said Siward in a low voice without offering his hand.
Then Major Belwether saw him, bless you! yes indeed! And though Siward continued not to offer his hand, Major Belwether meant to have it, bless your heart! And he fussed and fussed and beamed cordiality until he secured it in his plump white fingers and pressed it effusively.
There was something about his soft, warm hands which had always reminded Siward of the temperature and texture of a newly hatched bird. It had been some time since he had shaken hands with Major Belwether; it was apparent that the bird had not aged any.
And now for the shooting! said the Major with an arch smile. Now for the stag at bay and the winding horn
Where sleeps the moon On Monas rill
Eh, Siward?
And heres to the hound With his nose upon the ground
Eh, my boy? That reminds me of a story He chuckled and chuckled, his lambent eyes suffused with mirth; and slipping his arm through the pivot-sleeve of Lord Alderdenes shooting-jacket, hooking the other in Siwards reluctant elbow, and driving Mortimer ahead of him, he went garrulously away up the stairs, his lordships bandy little legs trotting beside him, the soaking gaiters and shoes slopping at every step.
Mortimer, his mottled skin now sufficiently distended, greeted the story with a yawn from ear to ear; his lordship, blinking madly, burst into that remarkable laugh which seemed to reveal the absence of certain vocal cords requisite to perfect harmony; and Siward smiled in his listless, pleasant way, and turned off down his corridor, unaware that the Sagamore pup was following close at his heels until he heard Quarriers even, colourless voice: Ferrall, would you be good enough to send Sagamore to your kennels?
Ohhes your dog! I forgot, said Siward turning around.
Quarrier looked at him, pausing a moment.
Yes, he said coldly, hes my dog.
For a fraction of a second the two mens eyes encountered; then Siward glanced at the dog, and turned on his heel with the slightest shrug. And that is all there was to the incidentan anxious, perplexed puppy lugged off by a servant, turning, jerking, twisting, resisting, looking piteously back as his unwilling feet slid over the polished floor.
So Siward walked on alone through the long eastern wing to his room overlooking the sea. He sat down on the edge of his bed, glancing at the clothing laid out for him. He felt tired and disinclined for the exertion of undressing. The shades were up; night quicksilvered the window-panes so that they were like a dark mirror reflecting his face. He inspected his darkened features curiously; the blurred and sombre-tinted visage returned the stare.
Not a man at allthe shadow of a man, he said aloudwith no will, no couragealways putting off the battle, always avoiding conclusions, always skulking. What chance is there for a man like that?
As one who raises a glass to drink wine and unexpectedly finds water, he shrugged his shoulders disgustedly and got up. A bath followed; he dressed leisurely, and was pacing the room, fussing with his collar, when Ferrall knocked and entered, finding a seat on the bed.
Stephen, he said bluntly, I havent seen you since that break of yours at the club.
Rotten, wasnt it? commented Siward, tying his tie.
Perfectly. Of course it doesnt make any difference to Grace or to me, but I fancy youve already heard from it.
Oh, yes. All I care about is how my mother took it.
Of course; she was cut up I suppose?
Yes, you know how she would look at a thing of that sort; not that any of the nine and seventy jarring sets would care, but those few thousands invading the edges, butting inhalf or three-quarters insideare the people who cant afford to overlook the victim of a fashionable clubs displeasurethose, and a woman like my mother, and several other decent-minded people who happen to count in town.
Ferrall, his legs swinging busily, thought again; then: Who was the girl, Stephen?
I dont think the papers mentioned her name, said Siward gravely.
OhI beg your pardon; I thought she was some notorious actresseverybody said so.... Who were those callow fools who put you up to it? Never mind if you dont care to tell. But it strikes me they are candidates for club discipline as well as you. It was up to them to face the governors I think
No, I think not.
Ferrall, legs swinging busily, considered him.
Too bad, he mused; they need not have dropped you
Oh, they had to. But as long as the Lenox takes no action I can live that down.
Ferrall nodded: I came in to say somethinga message from Graceconfound it! what was it? Ohcould youbefore dinnernowjust sit down and with that infernal facility of yours make a sketch of a man chasing a gun-shy dog?
Why yesif Mrs. Ferrall wishes
He walked over to the desk in his shirt-sleeves, sat down, drew a blank sheet of paper toward him, and, dipping his pen, drew carelessly a gun-shy setter dog rushing frantically across the stubble, and after him, bare-headed, gun in hand, the maddest of men.
Put a Vandyke beard on him, grinned Ferrall over his shoulder. There! O Lord! but you have hit it! Put a ticked saddle on the curthere!
Who is this supposed to be? began Siward, looking up. But Wait! chuckled his host, seizing the still wet sketch, and made for the door.
Siward strolled into the bath-room, washed a spot or two of ink from his fingers, returned and buttoned his waistcoat, then, completing an unhurried toilet, went out and down the stairway to the big living-room. There were two or three people thereMrs. Leroy Mortimer, very fetching with her Japanese-like colouring, black hair and eyes that slanted just enough; Rena Bonnesdel, smooth, violet-eyed, blonde, and rather stunning in a peculiarly innocent way; Miss Caithness, very pale and slimly attractive; and the Page boys, Willis and Gordon, delightfully shy and interested, and having a splendid time with any woman who could afford the intellectual leisure.
Siward spoke pleasantly to them all. Other people drifted downMarion Page who looked like a school-marm and rode like a demon; Eileen Shannon, pink and white as a thorn blossom, with the deuce to pay lurking in her grey eyes; Kathryn Tassel and Mrs. Vendenning whom he did not know, and finally his hostess Grace Ferrall with her piquant, almost boyish, freckled face and sweet frank eyes and the figure of an adolescent.
She gave Siward one pretty sun-browned hand and laid the other above his, holding it a moment in her light clasp.
Stephen! Stephen! she said under her breath, its because Ive a few things to scold you about that Ive asked you to Shotover.
I suppose I know, he said.
I should hope you do. Ive a letter to-night from your mother.
From my mother?
I want you to go over itwith meif we can find a minute after dinner. She released his hand, turning partly around: Kemp, dinners been announced, so cut that dog story in two! Will you give me your arm Major Belwether? Howard!to her cousin, Mr. Quarrier, who turned from Miss Landis to listenwill you please try to recollect whom you are to take inand do it? And, as she passed Siward, in a low voice, mischievous and slangy: Sylvia Landis for yoursas she says she didnt have enough of you on the cliffs.
The others appeared to know how to pair according to some previous notice. Siward turned to Sylvia Landis with the pleasure of his good fortune so plainly visible in his face, that her own brightened in response.
You see, she said gaily, you cannot escape me. There is no use in looking wildly at Agatha Caithnesshe wasntor pretending youre pleased, slipping her rounded, bare arm through the arm he offered. You cant guess what Ive done to-nightnobody can guess except Grace Ferrall and one other person. And if you try to look happy beside me, I may tell yousomewhere between sherry and cognacOh, yes; Ive done two things: I have your dog for you!
Not Sagamore? he said incredulously as he was seating her.
Certainly Sagamore. I said to Mr. Quarrier, I want Sagamore, and when he tried to give him to me, I made him take my cheque. Now you may draw another for me at your leisure, Mr. Siward. Tell me, are you pleased?for she was looking for the troubled hesitation in his face and she saw it dawning.
Mr. Quarrier doesnt like me, you know
But I do, she said coolly. I told him how much pleasure it would give me. That is sufficientis it not?for everybody concerned.
He knew that you meant to
No, that concerns only you and me. Are you trying to spoil my pleasure in what I have done?
I cant take the dog, Miss Landis
Oh, she said, vexed; I had no idea you were vindictive
There was a silence; he bent forward a trifle, gravely scrutinising a hand-painted name card, though it might not have astonished him to learn that somebodys foot had held the brush. Somewhere in the vicinity Grace Ferrall had discovered a woman who supported dozens of relatives by painting that sort of thing for the summer residents at Vermillion Point down the coast. So being charitable she left an order, and being thrifty, insisted on using the cards, spite of her husbands gibes.
People were now inspecting them with more or less curiosity; Siward found his hand-painting so unattractive that he had just tipped it over to avoid seeing it, when a burst of laughter from Lord Alderdene made everybody turn. Mrs. Vendenning was laughing; so was Rena Bonnesdel looking over Quarriers shoulder at a card he was holdingnot one of the hand-decorated, but a sheet of note-paper containing a drawing of a man rushing after a gun-shy dog.
The extraordinary cackling laughter of his lordship obliterated other sounds for a while; Rena Bonnesdel possessed herself of the drawing and held it up amid a shout of laughter. And, to his excessive annoyance, Siward saw that, unconsciously, he had caricatured QuarrierFerralls malicious request for a Vandyke beard making the caricature dreadfully apparent.
Quarrier had at first flushed up; then he forced a smile; but his symmetrical features were never cordial when he smiled.
Who on earth did that? whispered Sylvia Landis apprehensively. Mr. Quarrier dislikes that sort of thingbut of course hell take it well.
Did he ever chase his own dog? asked Siward, biting his lip.
Yesso Blinky saysin the Carolinas last season. Its Blinky!thats his notion of humour. Did you ever hear such a laugh? No wonder Mr. Quarrier is annoyed.
The gay uproar had partly subsided, renewed here and there as the sketch was passed along, and finally, making the circle, returned like a bad penny to Quarrier. He smiled again, symmetrically, as he received it, nodding his compliments to Alderdene.
Oh, no, cackled his lordship; I didnt draw it, old chap!
Nor I! I only wish I could, added Captain Voucher.
Nor Inor Iwho did it? ran the chorus along the table.
I didnt do it! said Sylvia gravely, looking across at Quarrier. And suddenly Quarriers large, handsome eyes met Siwards for the briefest fraction of a second, then were averted. But into his face there crept an expressionless pallor that did not escape Siwardno, nor Sylvia Landis.
Presently under cover of a rapid fire of chatter she said: Did you draw that?
Yes; I had no idea it was meant for him. You may imagine how likely Id be to take any liberty with a man who already dislikes me.
But it resembles himin a very dreadful way.
I know it. You must take my word for what I have told you.
She looked up at him: I do. Then: Its a pity; Mr. Quarrier does not consider such things humourous. Hehe is very sensitive.... Oh, I wish that fool Englishman had been in Ballyhoo!
But he didnt do it!
No, but he put you up to itor Grace Ferrall did. I wish Grace would let Mr. Quarrier alone; she has always been perfectly possessed to plague him; she seems unable to take him seriously and he simply hates it. I dont think hed tolerate her if she were not his cousin.
Im awfully sorry, was all Siward said; and for a while he gloomily busied himself with whatever was brought to him.
Dont look that way, came a low voice beside him.
Do I show everything as plainly as that? he asked, curiously.
I seem to read yousometimes.
Its very nice of you, he said.
Nice?
To look at menow and then.
Oh, she cried resentfully, dont be grateful.
Ireally am not you know, he said laughing.
That, she rejoined slowly, is the truth. You say conventional things in a mannerin an agreeably personal manner that interests women. But you are not grateful to anybody for anything; you are indifferent, and you cant help being nice to people, sosome daysome girl will think you are grateful, and will have a miserable time of it.
Miserable time?
Waiting for you to say what never will enter your head to say.
You mean II
Flirt? No, I mean that you dont flirt; that you are always dreamily occupied with your own affairs, from which listlessly congenial occupation, when drawn, you are so unexpectedly nice that a girl immediately desires to see how nice you can be.
What a charming indictment you draw! he said, amused.
Its a grave one I assure you. Ive been talking about you to Grace Ferrall; I asked to be placed beside you at dinner; I told her I hadnt had half enough of you on the cliff. Now what do you think of yourself for being too nice to a susceptible girl? I think its immoral.
They both were laughing now; several people glanced at them, smiling in sympathy. Alderdene took that opportunity to revert to the sketch, furnishing a specimen of his own inimitable laughter as a running accompaniment to the story of Quarrier and his dog in North Carolina, until he had everybody, as usual, laughing, not at the story but at him. All of which demonstration was bitterly offensive to Quarrier. He turned his eyes once on Miss Landis and on Siward, then dropped them.