The Vicissitudes of Evangeline 6
“They all look sea-sick, and out of shape! don’t you think we might sit
in that comfy window seat and talk of something else!” Then he told me
he loved pictures, but not this sort.
“I like people to look human you know, even on canvas,” he said. “All
these ladies appear as if they were getting enteric like people used in
Africa, and I don’t like their halos, and things, and all the men are
old and bald. But you must not think me a Goth--you will teach me their
points, won’t you, and then I shall love them.”
I said I did not care a great deal for them myself, except the colour.
“Oh! I am so glad,” he said. “I should like to find we admired the same
things; but no picture could interest me as much as your hair. It is
the loveliest thing I have ever seen, and you do it so beautifully.”
That did please me! He has the most engaging ways, Lord Robert, and he
is very well informed, not stupid a bit, or thick, only absolutely
simple and direct. We talked softly together, quite happy for a while.
Then Mr. Carruthers got rid of Mr. Barton, and came towards us. I
settled myself more comfortably on the velvet cushions. Purple velvet
cushions and curtains in this gallery, good old relics of early
Victorian taste. Lots of the house is awful, but these curtains always
please me.
Mr. Carruthers’ face was as stern as a stone bust of Augustus Caesar. I
am sure the monks in the Inquisition looked like that. I do wonder what
he meant to say, but Lord Robert did not give him time.
“Do go away, Christopher,” he said; “Miss Travers is going to teach me
things about Italian Madonnas, and I can’t keep my attention if there
is a third person about.”
I suppose if Mr. Carruthers had not been a diplomat he would have
sworn, but I believe that kind of education makes you able to put your
face how you like, so he smiled sweetly, and took a chair near.
“I shall not leave you, Bob,” he said. “I do not consider you are a
good companion for Miss Evangeline. I am responsible for her, and I am
going to take care of her.”
“Then you should not have asked him here if he is not a respectable
person,” I said, innocently; “but Italian Madonnas ought to chasten and
elevate his thoughts. Anyway your responsibility towards me is self
constituted. I am the only person whom I mean to obey!” and I settled
myself deliberately in the velvet pillows.
“Not a good companion!” exclaimed Lord Robert, “What dam-- cheek,
Christopher. I have not my equal in the whole Household Cavalry, as you
know.”
They both laughed, and we continued to talk in a sparring way, Mr.
Carruthers sharp, subtle, and fine as a sword blade--Lord Robert
downright, simple, with an air of a puzzled baby.
When I thought they were both wanting me very much to stay, I got up,
and said good-night.
They both came down the gallery with me, and insisted upon each
lighting a candle from the row of burnished silver candlesticks in the
hall, which they presented to me with great mock homage. It annoyed
me, I don’t know why, and I suddenly froze up, and declined them both,
while I said good-night again stiffly, and walked in my most stately
manner up the stairs.
I could see Lord Robert’s eyebrows puckered into a more plaintive
__EXPRESSION__ than ever, while he let the beautiful silver candlestick
hang, dropping the grease on to the polished oak floor.
Mr. Carruthers stood quite still, and put his light back on the table.
His face was cynical and rather amused. I can’t say what irritation I
felt, and immediately decided to leave on the morrow--but where to,
Fate, or the Devil, could only know!
When I got to my room a lump came in my throat. Véronique had gone to
bed, tired out with her day’s packing.
I suddenly felt utterly alone, all the exaltation gone. For the moment
I hated the two downstairs. I felt the situation equivocal, and
untenable, and it had amused me so much an hour ago.
It is stupid and silly, and makes one’s nose red, but I felt like
crying a little before I got into bed.
BRANCHES,
_Saturday afternoon, Nov. 5th._
THIS morning I woke with a headache, to see the rain beating against
my windows, and mist and fog--a fitting day for the fifth of November.
I would not go down to breakfast. Véronique brought me mine to my
sitting-room fire, and, with Spartan determination, I packed steadily
all the morning.
About twelve a note came up from Lord Robert; I paste it in:
“DEAR MISS TRAVERS,--Why are you hiding? Was I a bore last night? Do
forgive me and come down. Has Christopher locked you in your room? I
will murder the brute if he has!
“Yours very sincerely,
“ROBERT VAVASOUR.”
“Can’t, I am packing,” I scribbled in pencil on the envelope, and gave
it back to Charles, who was waiting in the hall for the answer. Two
minutes after Lord Robert walked into the room, the door of which the
footman had left open.
“I have come to help you,” he said in that voice of his that sounds so
sure of a welcome you can’t snub him; “but where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” I said, a little forlornly, and then bent down and
vigorously collected photographs.
“Oh, but you can’t go to London by yourself!” he said, aghast. “Look
here, I will come up with you, and take you to my aunt, Lady Merrenden.
She is such a dear, and I am sure when I have told her all about you
she will be delighted to take care of you for some days until you can
hunt round.”
He looked such a boy, and his face was so kind, I was touched.
“Oh no, Lord Robert! I cannot do that, but I thank you. I don’t want
to be under an obligation to any one,” I said firmly. “Mr. Carruthers
suggests a way out of the difficulty--that I should marry him, and stay
here. I don’t think he means it really, but he pretends he does.”
He sat down on the edge of a table already laden with books, most of
which overbalanced and fell crash on the floor.
“So Christopher wants you to marry him, the old fox!” he said,
apparently oblivious of the wreck of literature he had caused. “But you
won’t do that, will you? And yet I have no business to say that. He is
a dam-- good friend, Christopher.”
“I am sure you ought not to swear so often, Lord Robert, it shocks me,
brought up as I have been,” I said, with the air of a little angel.
“Do I swear?” he asked, surprised. “Oh no, I don’t think so--at least
there is no ‘n’ to the end of the ‘dams,’ so they are only an innocent
ornament to conversation. But I won’t do it, if you don’t wish me to.”
After that he helped me with the books, and was so merry and kind I
soon felt cheered up, and by lunch time all were finished, and in
the boxes ready to be tied up, and taken away. Véronique, too, had
made great progress in the adjoining room, and was standing stiff and
_maussade_ by my dressing-table when I came in. She spoke respectfully
in French, and asked me if I had made my plans yet, for, as she
explained to me, her own position seemed precarious, and yet having
been with me for five years, she did not feel she could leave me at
a juncture like this. At the same time she hoped Mademoiselle would
make some suitable decision, as she feared (respectfully) it was “_une
si drole de position pour une demoiselle du monde_,” alone with “_ces
messieurs_.”
I could not be angry, it was quite true what she said.
“I shall go up this evening to Claridge’s, Véronique,” I assured her,
“by about the 5.15 train. We will wire to them after luncheon.”
She seemed comforted, but she added, in the abstract, that a rich
marriage was what was obviously Mademoiselle’s fate, and she felt
sure great happiness and many jewels would await Mademoiselle, if
Mademoiselle could be persuaded to make up her mind. Nothing is sacred
to one’s maid! She knew all about Mr. Carruthers, of course. Poor old
Véronique--I have a big, warm corner for her in my heart--sometimes she
treats me with the frigid respect one would pay to a queen, and at
others I am almost her _enfant_, so tender and motherly she is to me.
And she puts up with all my tempers and moods, and pets me like a baby
just when I am the worst of all.
Lord Robert had left me reluctantly when the luncheon gong sounded.
“Haven’t we been happy?” he said, taking it for granted I felt the same
as he did. This is a very engaging quality of his, and makes one feel
sympathetic, especially when he looks into one’s eyes with his sleepy
blue ones. He has lashes as long and curly as a gipsy’s baby.
Mr. Carruthers was alone in the dining-room when I got in; he was
looking out of the window, and turned round sharply as I came up the
room. I am sure he would like to have been killing flies on the panes
if he had been a boy! His eyes were steel.
“Where have you been all the time?” he asked, when he had shaken hands
and said good-morning.
“Up in my room packing,” I said simply. “Lord Robert was so kind, he
helped me--we have got everything done, and may I order the carriage
for the 5.15 train, please?”
“Certainly not--confound Lord Robert!” Mr. Carruthers said. “What
business is it of his? You are not to go. I won’t let you. Dear, silly,
little child--” his voice was quite moved. “You can’t possibly go out
into the world all alone. Evangeline, why won’t you marry me? I--do you
know, I believe--I shall love you----”
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