Sarah returned and said: "The young lady"s name is Foster, sir."
"Oh!" said Henry, bursting into speech as some plants burst suddenly and brilliantly into blossom. "Miss Foster, eh? It"s the lady who called at the office to-night. Show her into the front-room, Sarah, and light the gas. I"ll come in a minute I wonder what she wants."
"You didn"t say it was a lady," said his mother.
"No," he admitted; his tongue was unloosed now on the subject. "And I didn"t say it was a lady-journalist, either. The truth is," this liar proceeded with an effrontery which might have been born of incessant practice, but was not, "I meant it as a surprise for you. I"ve been interviewed this afternoon, for a lady"s paper. And I wouldn"t mind betting--I wouldn"t mind betting," he repeated, "that she"s come for my photograph."
All this was whispered.
Henry had guessed correctly. It was the question of a portrait which Miss Foster plunged into immediately he entered the drawing-room. She had forgotten it utterly--she had been so nervous. "So I ran down here to-night," she said, "because if I send in my stuff and the portrait to-morrow morning, it may be in time for next week"s issue. Now, don"t say you haven"t got a photograph of yourself, Mr. Knight. Don"t say that! What a pretty, old-fashioned drawing-room! Oh, there"s the very thing!"
She pointed to a framed photograph on the plush-covered mantelpiece.
"The very thing, is it?" said Henry. He was feeling his feet now, the dog. "Well, you shall have it, then." And he took the photograph out of the frame and gave it to her.
No! she wouldn"t stay, not a minute, not a second. One moment her delicious presence filled the drawing-room (he was relieved to hear her call it a pretty, old-fashioned drawing-room, because, as the drawing-room of a person important enough to be interviewed, it had seemed to him somewhat less than mediocre), and the next moment she had gone. By a singular coincidence, Aunt Annie was descending the stairs just as Henry showed Miss Foster out of the house; the stairs commanded the lobby and the front-door.
On his return to the dining-room and the companionship of his relatives, Henry was conscious of a self-preserving instinct which drove him to make conversation as rapidly and in as large quant.i.ties as possible. In a brief s.p.a.ce of time he got round to _Home and Beauty_.
"Do you know it?" he demanded.
"No," said Aunt Annie. "I never heard of it. But I dare say it"s a very good paper."
Mrs. Knight rang the bell.
"What do you want, sister?" Aunt Annie inquired.
"I"m going to send Sarah out for a copy of _Home and Beauty_," said Mrs.
Knight, with the air of one who has determined to indulge a wild whim for once in a way. "Let"s see what it"s like."
"Don"t forget the name, Sarah--_Home and Beauty_!" Aunt Annie enjoined the girl when Mrs. Knight had given the order.
"Not me, mum," said Sarah. "I know it. It"s a beautiful paper. I often buys it myself. But it"s like as if what must be--I lighted the kitchen fire with this week"s this very morning, paper pattern and all."
"That will do, thank you, Sarah," said Aunt Annie crushingly.
CHAPTER XIII
A LION IN HIS LAIR
The respectable portion of the male s.e.x in England may be divided into two cla.s.ses, according to its method and manner of complete immersion in water. One cla.s.s, the more clashing, dashes into a cold tub every morning. Another, the more cleanly, sedately takes a warm bath every Sat.u.r.day night. There can be no doubt that the former cla.s.s lends tone and distinction to the country, but the latter is the nation"s backbone.
Henry belonged to the Sat.u.r.day-nighters, to the section which calls a bath a bath, not a tub, and which contrives to approach G.o.dliness without having to boast of it on frosty mornings.
Henry performed the weekly rite in a zinc receptacle exactly circular, in his bedroom, because the house in Dawes Road had been built just before the craze for dashing had spread to such an extent among the lower middle-cla.s.ses that no builder dared build a tenement without providing for it specially; in brutal terms, the house in Dawes Road had no bathroom. The preparations for Henry"s immersion were always complex and thorough. Early in the evening Sarah began by putting two kettles and the largest saucepan to boil on the range. Then she took an old blanket and spread it out upon the master"s bedroom floor, and drew the bathing-machine from beneath the bed and coaxed it, with considerable clangour, to the mathematical centre of the blanket. Then she filled ewers with cold water and arranged them round the machine. Then Aunt Annie went upstairs to see that the old blanket was well and truly laid, not too near the bed and not too near the mirror of the wardrobe, and that the machine did indeed rest in the mathematical centre of the blanket. (As a fact, Aunt Annie"s mathematics never agreed with Sarah"s.) Then Mrs. Knight went upstairs to bear witness that the window was shut, and to decide the question of towels. Then Sarah went upstairs, panting, with the kettles and the large saucepan, two journeys being necessary; and Aunt Annie followed her in order to indicate to Sarah every step upon which Sarah had spilled boiling-water. Then Mrs.
Knight moved the key of Henry"s door from the inside to the outside; she was always afraid lest he might lock himself in and be seized with a sudden and fatal illness. Then the women dispersed, and Aunt Annie came down to the dining-room, and in accents studiously calm (as though the preparation of Henry"s bath was the merest nothing) announced:
"Henry dear, your bath is waiting."
And Henry would disappear at once and begin by mixing his bath, out of the ewers, the kettles, and the saucepan, according to a recipe of which he alone had the secret. The hour would be about nine o"clock, or a little after. It was not his custom to appear again. He would put one kettle out on an old newspaper, specially placed to that end on the doormat in the pa.s.sage, for the purposes of Sunday"s breakfast; the rest of the various paraphernalia remained in his room till the following morning. He then slept the sleep of one who is aware of being the nation"s backbone.
Now, he was just putting a toe or so into the zinc receptacle, in order to test the accuracy of his dispensing of the recipe, when he heard a sharp tap at the bedroom door.
"What is it?" he cried, withdrawing the toe.
"Henry!"
"Well?"
"Can I open the door an inch?" It was Aunt Annie"s voice.
"Yes. What"s the matter?"
"There"s come a copy of _Home and Beauty_ by the last post, and on the wrapper it says, "See page 16.""
"I suppose it contains that--thing?"
"That interview, you mean?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Shall I open it?"
"If you like," said Henry. "Certainly, with pleasure."
He stepped quietly and unconcernedly into the bath. He could hear the sharp ripping of paper.
"Oh yes!" came Aunt Annie"s voice through the c.h.i.n.k. "And there"s the portrait! Oh! and what a smudge across the nose! Henry, it doesn"t make you look at all nice. You"re too black. Oh, Henry! what _do_ you think it"s called? "Lions in their Lairs. No. 19. Interview with the brilliant author of _Love in Babylon_." And you told us her name was Foster."
"Whose name?" Henry demanded, reddening in the hot water.
"You know--that lady"s name, the one that called."
"So it is."
"No, it isn"t, dear. It"s Flossie Brighteye. Oh, I beg pardon, Henry!
I"m sure I beg pardon!"
Aunt Annie, in the excitement of discovering Miss Foster"s real name, and ground withal for her original suspicion that the self-styled Miss Foster was no better than she ought to be, had leaned too heavily against the door, and thrust it wide open. She averted her eyes and drew it to in silence.
"Shall I show the paper to your mother at once?" she asked, after a fit pause.
"Yes, do," said Henry.
"And then bring it up to you again for you to read in bed?"