"Grosvenor Square."
"Well, I don"t care. I shall go straight to the emba.s.sy," said Bruce.
"No, I sha"n"t. I"ll send them back and write him a line--tell him that Englishwomen are not in the habit of accepting presents from undesirable aliens.... I consider it a great liberty. Aren"t I right, Vincy?"
"Quite. But perhaps he means no harm, Bruce. I daresay it"s the custom in the place with the funny name. You see, you never know, in a place like that."
"Then you don"t think I ought to take it up?"
"I don"t want them. It"s a very oppressive basket," Edith said.
"How like you, Edith! I thought you were fond of flowers."
"So I am, but I like one at a time. This is too miscellaneous and crowded."
"Some women are never satisfied. It"s very rude and ungrateful to the poor old man, who meant to be nice, no doubt, and to show his respect for Englishwomen. I think you ought to write and thank him," said Bruce. "And let me see the letter before it goes."
CHAPTER VII
Coup de Foudre
When Aylmer Ross got back to the little brown house in Jermyn Street he went to his library, and took from a certain drawer an ivory miniature framed in black. He looked at it for some time. It had a sweet, old-fashioned face, with a very high forehead, blue eyes, and dark hair arranged in two festoons of plaits, turned up at the sides. It represented his mother in the early sixties and he thought it was like Edith. He had a great devotion and cult for the memory of his mother.
When he was charmed with a woman he always imagined her to be like his mother.
He had never thought this about his wife People had said how extraordinarily Aylmer must have been in love to have married that uninteresting girl, no-one in particular, not pretty and a little second-rate. As a matter of fact the marriage had happened entirely by accident. It had occurred through a misunderstanding during a game of consequences in a country house. She was terribly literal. Having taken some joke of his seriously, she had sent him a touchingly coy letter saying she was overwhelmed at his offer (feeling she was hardly worthy to be his wife) and must think it over. He did not like to hurt her feelings by explaining, and when she relented and accepted him he couldn"t bear to tell her the truth. He was absurdly tender-hearted, and he thought that, after all, it didn"t matter so very much. The little house left him by his mother needed a mistress; he would probably marry somebody or other, anyhow; and she seemed such a harmless little thing. It would please her so much! When the hurried marriage had come to a pathetic end by her early death everyone was tragic about it except Aylmer. All his friends declared he was heart-broken and lonely and would never marry again. He had indeed been shocked and grieved at her death, but only for her--not at being left alone. That part, was a relief. The poor little late Mrs Aylmer Ross had turned out a terrible mistake. She had said the wrong thing from morning till night, and, combining a prim, refined manner with a vulgar point of view, had been in every way dreadfully impossible. He had really been patience and unselfishness itself to her, but he had suffered. The fact was, he had never even liked her. That was the reason he had not married again.
But he was devoted to his boy in a quiet way. He was the sort of man who is adored by children, animals, servants and women. Tall, strong and handsome, with intelligence beyond the average, yet with nothing alarming about him, good-humoured about trifles, jealous in matters of love--perhaps that is, after all, the type women really like best. It is sheer nonsense to say that women enjoy being tyrannised over. No doubt there are some who would rather be bullied than ignored. But the hectoring man is, with few exceptions, secretly detested. In so far as one can generalise (always a dangerous thing to do) it may be said that women like best a kind, clever man who can be always trusted; and occasionally (if necessary) deceived.
Aylmer hardly ever got angry except in an argument about ideas. Yet his feelings were violent; he was impulsive, and under his suave and easy-going manner emotional. He was certainly good-looking, but had he not been he would have pleased all the same. He seemed to radiate warmth, life, a certain careless good-humour. To be near him was like warming one"s hands at a warm fire. Superficially susceptible and inclined to be experimental he had not the instinct of the collector and was devoid of fatuousness. But he could have had more genuine successes than all the Don Juans and Romeos and Fausts who ever climbed rope ladders. Besides his physical attraction he inspired a feeling of reliance. Women felt safe with him; he would never treat anyone badly.
He inspired that kind of trust enormously in men also, and his house was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself he had become almost a professional trustee.
As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but he needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to the man who won"t wait. He was not above detesting little material hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery to the opera, to hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the faintest tinge of sn.o.bbishness, but simply because such trifling drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure.
Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously, Aylmer"s real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite; delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. He often had delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general look of the house was, consequently, distinguished, sincere and extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities.
Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger, but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And now he wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never get it.
Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no difference.
The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all romance being, perhaps, based on science--that Edith"s appearance corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had left a vague and lasting impression, or whatever the reason was, the moment he saw her he felt, with a curious mental sensation, as of something that fell into its place with a click ("ca y est!"), that she realised some half-forgotten dream. In fact, it was a rare and genuine case of _coup de foudre_. Had she been a girl he would have proposed to her the next day, and they might quite possibly have married in a month, and lived happily ever after. These things occasionally happen. But she was married already.
Had she been a fool, or a bore, a silly little idiot or a fisher of men, a social sham who prattled of d.u.c.h.esses or a strenuous feminine politician who babbled of votes; a Christian Scientist bent on converting, an adventuress without adventures (the worst kind), a mind-healer or a body-s.n.a.t.c.her, a hockey-player or even a lady novelist, it would have been exactly the same; whatever she had been, mentally or morally, he would undoubtedly have fallen in love with her physically, at first sight. But it was very much worse than that. He found her delightful, and clever; he was certain she was an angel. She was married to Ottley. Ottley was all right.... Rather an a.s.s ...
rather ridiculous; apparently in every way but one.
So absurdly hard hit was Aylmer that it seemed to him as if to see her again as soon as possible was already the sole object in his life. Did she like him? Intuitively he felt that during his little visit his intense feeling had radiated, and not displeased--perhaps a little impressed--her. He could easily, he knew, form a friendship with them; arrange to see her often. He was going to meet her tonight, through his own arrangement. He would get them to come and dine with him soon--no, the next day.
What was the good?
Well, where was the harm?
Aylmer had about the same code of morals as the best of his numerous friends in Bohemia, in clubland and in social London. He was no more scrupulous on most subjects than the ordinary man of his own cla.s.s.
Still, _he had been married himself_. That made an immense difference, for he was positively capable of seeing (and with sympathy) from the husband"s point of view. Even now, indifferent as he had been to his own wife, and after ten years, it would have caused him pain and fury had he found out that she had ever tried to play him false. Of course, cases varied. He knew that if Edith had been free his one thought would have been to marry her. Had she been different, and differently placed, he would have blindly tried for anything he could get, in any possible way. But, as she was?... He felt convinced he could never succeed in making her care for him; there was not the slightest chance of it. And, supposing even that he could? And here came in the delicacy and scruple of the man who had been married himself. He thought he wouldn"t even wish to spoil, by the vulgarity of compromising, or by the shadow of a secret, the serenity of her face, the gay prettiness of that life. No, he wouldn"t if he could. And yet how exciting it would be to rouse her from that cool composure. She was rather enigmatic. But he thought she could be roused. And she was so clever. How well she would carry it off! How she would never bore a man! And he suddenly imagined a day with her in the country.... Then he thought that his imagination was flying on far too fast. He decided not to be a hopeless fool, but just to go ahead, and talk to her, and get to know her; not to think too much about her. She needn"t even know how he felt. To idolise her from a distance would be quite delightful enough. When a pa.s.sion is not realised, he thought, it fades away, or becomes ideal worship --Dante--Petrarch--that sort of thing! It could never fade away in this case, he was sure. How pretty she was, how lovely her mouth was when she smiled! She had no prejudices, apparently; no affectations; how she played and sang that song again when he asked her! With what a delightful sense of humour she had dealt with him, and also with Bruce, at the Mitch.e.l.ls. Ottley must be a little difficult sometimes. She had read and thought; she had the same tastes as he. He wondered if she would have liked that thing in _The Academy_, on Gardens, that he had just read. He began looking for it. He thought he would send it to her, asking her opinion; then he would get an answer, and see her handwriting. You don"t know a woman until you have had a letter from her.
But no--what a fool he would look! Besides he was going to see her tonight. It was about time to get ready.... Knowing subconsciously that he had made some slight favourable impression--at any rate that he hadn"t repelled or bored her--he dressed with all the anxiety, joy and thrills of excitement of a boy of twenty; and no boy of twenty can ever feel these things as keenly or half as elaborately as a man nearly twice that age, since all the added experiences, disillusions, practice, knowledge and life of the additional years help to form a part of the same emotion, making it infinitely deeper, and all the stronger because so much more _averti_ and conscious of itself.
He seemed so nervous while dressing that Soames, the valet, to whom he was a hero, ventured respectfully to hope there was nothing wrong.
"No. I"m all right," said Aylmer. "I"m never ill. I think, Soames, I shall probably die of middle age."
He went out laughing, leaving the valet smiling coldly out of politeness.
Soames never understood any kind of jest. He took himself and everyone else seriously. But he already knew perfectly well that his master had fallen in love last night, and he disapproved very strongly. He thought all that sort of thing ought to be put a stop to.
CHAPTER VIII
Archie"s Essay
"Mrs Ottley," said Miss Townsend," do you mind looking at this essay of Archie"s? I really don"t know what to think of it. I think it shows talent, except the spelling. But it"s _very_ naughty of him to have written what is at the end."
Edith took the paper and read:
"TRAYS OF CHARACTER
trays of character will always show threw how ever much you may polish it up trays of character will always show threw the grane of the wood.
A burd will keep on singing because he wants to and they can"t help doing what it wants this is instinkt. and it is the same with trays of charicter. having thus shown my theory that trays of carocter will always show threw in spite of all trubble and in any circemstances whatever I will conclude Archibald Bruce Ottley please t.o."
On the other side of the paper was written very neatly, still in Archie"s writing:
"3 LINDEN MANSIONS, CADOGAN SQUARE, KNIGHTSBRIDGE. _Second Floor_
1. Mr Bruce Ottley (FO) 2. Mrs Bruce Ottley 3. Master Archibald Bruce Ottley 4. Little _beast_ 5. Mary Johnson housemaid 6. Miss Thrupp Cook 7. Marie maid
8. Dorothy Margaret Miss Townsend governess 9. Ellen Maud Parrot nurse."
"Do you see?" said Miss Townsend. "It"s his way of slyly calling poor Dilly a beast, because he"s angry with her. Isn"t it a shame? What shall I do?" Both of them laughed and enjoyed it.
"Archie, what is the meaning of this? Why did you make this census of your home?" Edith asked him gently.
"Why, I didn"t make senses of my home; I just wrote down who lived here."