The Vicissitudes of Evangeline 5

The Vicissitudes of Evangeline 5

But I told him at once I thought that would be very dull. “I have never

had the chance of any one looking at me,” I said, “and I want to feel

what it is like. Mrs. Carruthers always assured me I was very pretty,

you know, only she said that I was certain to come to a bad end,

because of my type, unless I got married at once, and then if my head

was screwed on the right way it would not matter; but I don’t agree

with her.”

 

He walked up and down the room impatiently.

 

“That is just it,” he said.” I would rather be the first--I would

rather you began by me. I am strong enough to ward off the rest.”

 

“What does ’beginning by you’ mean?” I asked with great candour. “Old

Lord Bentworth said I should begin by him, when he was here to shoot

pheasants last autumn; he said it could not matter, he was so old; but

I didn’t----”

 

Mr. Carruthers bounded up from his chair.

 

“You didn’t what! Good Lord, what did he want you to do!” he asked

aghast.

 

“Well,” I said, and I looked down for a moment, I felt stupidly shy,

“he wanted me to kiss him.”

 

Mr. Carruthers appeared almost relieved, it was strange!

 

“The old wretch! Nice company my aunt seems to have kept!” he

exclaimed. “Could she not take better care of you than that--to let you

be insulted by her guests.”

 

“I don’t think Lord Bentworth meant to insult me. He only said he had

never seen such a red, curly mouth as mine, and as I was bound to go to

the devil some day with that, and such hair, I might begin by kissing

him--he explained it all.”

 

“And were you not very angry?” his voice wrathful.

 

“No--not very, I could not be, I was shaking so with laughter. If you

could have seen the silly old thing, like a wizened monkey, with dyed

hair and an eyeglass, it was too comic!--I only told you because you

said the sentence ‘begin by you,’ and I wanted to know if it was the

same thing.”

 

Mr. Carruthers’ eyes had such a strange __EXPRESSION__, puzzle and

amusement, and something else. He came over close to me.

 

“Because,” I went on, “if so, I believe if that is always the

beginning--I don’t want any beginnings--I haven’t the slightest desire

to kiss any one--I should simply hate it.”

 

Mr. Carruthers laughed. “Oh! you are only a baby child after all!” he

said.

 

This annoyed me. I got up with great dignity. “Tea will be ready in the

white drawing-room,” I said stiffly, and walked towards my bedroom door.

 

He came after me.

 

“Send your maid away, and let us have it up here,” he said. “I like

this room.”

 

But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called

Véronique and gave her fresh directions.

 

“Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely,” I said, as I went out

into the passage. “I am going to see that he has a nice tea,” and I

looked back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course he followed

me and we went together down the stairs.

 

In the hall a footman with a telegram met us. Mr. Carruthers tore it

open impatiently. Then he looked quite annoyed.

 

“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but a friend of mine, Lord Robert

Vavasour is arriving this afternoon--he is a--er--great judge of

pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them, it clean

went out of my head.”

 

I told him he was host; and why should I object to what guests he had.

 

“Besides, I am going myself to-morrow,” I said, “if Véronique can get

the packing done.”

 

“Nonsense--how can I make you understand that I do not mean to let you

go at all.”

 

I did not answer--only looked at him defiantly.

 

Mr. Barton was waiting patiently for us in the white drawing-room, and

we had not been munching muffins for five minutes when the sound of

wheels crunching the gravel of the great sweep--the windows of this

room look out that way--interrupted our manufactured conversation.

 

“This must be Bob arriving,” Mr. Carruthers said, and went reluctantly

into the hall to meet his guest.

 

They came back together presently, and he introduced Lord Robert to me.

 

I felt at once he was rather a pet! Such a shape! Just like the

Apollo of Belvidere! I do love that look, with a tiny waist and nice

shoulders, and looking as if he were as lithe as a snake, and yet could

break pokers in half like Mr. Rochester in “Jane Eyre”!

 

He has great, big, sleepy eyes of blue, and rather a plaintive

__EXPRESSION__, and a little fairish moustache turned up at the corners,

and the nicest mouth one ever saw, and when you see him moving,

and the back of his head, it makes you think all the time of a

beautifully groomed thoroughbred horse. I don’t know why. At once--in a

minute--when we looked at one another, I felt I should like “Bob”! He

has none of Mr. Carruthers’ cynical, hard, __EXPRESSION__, and I am sure he

can’t be nearly as old, not more than twenty-seven, or so.

 

He seemed perfectly at home, sat down and had tea, and talked in the

most casual, friendly way. Mr. Carruthers appeared to freeze up, Mr.

Barton got more banal--and the whole thing entertained me immensely.

 

I often used to long for adventures in the old days with Mrs.

Carruthers, and here I am really having them!

 

Such a situation! I am sure people would think it most improper! I

alone in the house with these three men! I felt I really would have to

go--but where!

 

Meanwhile I have every intention of amusing myself!

 

Lord Robert and I seemed to have a hundred things to say to one

another. I do like his voice--and he is so perfectly _sans gêne_, it

makes no difficulties. By the end of tea we were as old friends. Mr.

Carruthers got more and more polite, and stiff, and finally jumped up

and hurried his guest off to the smoking-room.

 

I put on such a duck of a frock for dinner, one of the sweetest

chastened simplicity, in black, showing peeps of skin through the thin

part at the top. Nothing could be more demure or becoming, and my

hair would not behave, and stuck out in rebellious waves and curls

everywhere.

 

I thought it would be advisable not to be in too good time, so

sauntered down after I knew dinner was announced.

 

They were both standing on the hearth rug. I always forget to count Mr.

Barton, he was in some chair, I suppose, but I did not notice him.

 

Mr. Carruthers is the taller--about one inch; he must be a good deal

over six feet, because the other one is very tall too, but now that

one saw them together Mr. Carruthers’ figure appeared stiff and set

beside Lord Robert’s, and he hasn’t got nearly such a little waist. I

wonder if any other nation can have that exquisitely _soigné_ look of

Englishmen in evening dress, I don’t believe so. They really are lovely

creatures, both of them, and I don’t yet know which I like best.

 

We had such an engaging time at dinner! I was as provoking as I could

be in the time--sympathetically absorbingly interested in Mr. Barton’s

long stories, and only looking at the other two now and then from under

my eyelashes--while I talked in the best demure fashion that I am

sure even Lady Katherine Montgomerie--a neighbour of ours--would have

approved of.

 

They should not be able to say I could not chaperone myself in any

situation.

 

“Dam-- good port this, Christopher,” Lord Robert said, when the ’47 was

handed round. “Is this what you asked me down to sample?”

 

“I thought it was to give your opinion about the pictures,” I

exclaimed, surprised. “Mr. Carruthers said you were a great judge.”

 

They looked at one another.

 

“Oh--ah--yes,” said Lord Robert, lying transparently. “Pictures are

awfully interesting. Will you show me them after dinner?”

 

“The light is too dim for a connoisseur to investigate them properly,”

I said.

 

“I shall have it all lit by electricity as soon as possible; I wrote

about it to-day,” Mr. Carruthers announced, sententiously. “But I will

show you the pictures myself, to-morrow, Bob.”

 

This at once decided me to take Lord Robert round to-night, and I told

him so in a velvet voice while Mr. Barton was engaging Christopher’s

attention.

 

They stayed such a long time in the dining-room after I left that I

was on my way to bed when they came out into the hall, and could with

difficulty be persuaded to remain for a few moments.

 

“I am too awfully sorry!” Lord Robert said. “I could not get away, I do

not know what possessed Christopher, he would sample ports, and talked

the hind leg off a donkey, till at last I said to him straight out I

wanted to come to you. So here I am--now you won’t go to bed, will

you--please, please.”

 

He has such pleading blue eyes--imploring pathetically like a baby in

distress--it is quite impossible to resist him! and we started down the

gallery.

 

Of course he did not know the difference between a Canaletto and a

Turner, and hardly made a pretence of being interested, in fact when we

got to the end where the early Italians hang, and I was explaining the wonderful texture of a Madonna, he said: