"You won"t forget?"
"I never forget," replied the old man, who, from that moment, forgot it utterly--until the following night when throttlingly it leaped at him.
Even if he had remembered, it could only have delayed the course of events. Benny went the next day and, in going, merely accelerated a drama which perhaps was preordered.
But now, from behind the recesses of the malachite stairway, a rascal appeared and approached and opened a bronze door, from which a young gentleman pa.s.sed out and entered his car.
It was dark then, darker than convenient. There are ways that are obscure. The martyr who discovered that virtue is its own reward, died unwept, unhonoured, unsung. History does not know him. Perhaps he was an editor. But he bequeathed a valid idea.
As the car swam on, Monty Paliser was conscious of it. It would, he reflected, simplify matters very much if his father died immediately. He had no ill-feeling toward him, no good-feeling, no feeling whatever. For the property conveyed to him and otherwise bestowed, he had no grat.i.tude. These gifts were in the nature of things. Gifts similar or cognate his father had received, as also had his grandfather, his great-grandfather and so on ab initio. They were possessions handed down and handed over for the greater glory of the House. He had therefore no grat.i.tude for them. When the time came he would repeat the process and expect no grat.i.tude either. Meanwhile though the gifts were adequate, there were more en route, so many that they would lift him within hailing distance of the richest men in the world. Though whether that were worth five minutes of perplexity, ten minutes of tears, a row and, possibly, your name in the papers, depended on the point of view.
In considering it, he found himself--and very much to his disgust--rememorating a moral axiom: Great wealth is a great burden. The axiom was a favourite with his father, who had sickened him with it. But on its heels always there had trod a variant. "By Gad, sir, you can say what you like, it puts you in a position to tell anybody to go to h.e.l.l."
The variant had a lilt, a go, a flourish. To employ a vulgarism of the hour, it had the punch. It landed you and between the eyes. It required neither commentaries nor explanation. It was all there. It was tangible as a brickbat, self-evident as the sun.
In admiring it, the young man philosophised stoically. Did he not have enough for that already?
Yes, but later? Later might he not want to philosophise less stoically and more luxuriously? It was a problem. Meanwhile there was Ca.s.sy. He had no wish to lose her. Yet about him already was the shadow of the inevitable draft act. That was not a problem merely, it was a pit.
Meanwhile there was Ca.s.sy whom he did not wish to lose. She was delightful, delectable, delicious. Not divine though, thank heaven! The gleam in her eyes could be quite infernal. The gleam heightened a charm which in itself was fugitive. He recognised that. However delicious a dish may be, no man can feed on it always. Not he at any rate. But, for the time being, it was very appetising. For the present, it did very well. On the other hand, Margaret Austen represented a succession of courses which, in addition to being appetising, would lift him to a parity with the super-rich.
It was certainly perplexing. But it is a long turning that has no lane.
He was a decent whip and a string made up of Margaret and Ca.s.sy was one that, let him alone for it, he could handle.
But now the car had stopped. Abandoning perplexity, he went on and up.
XXII
"Here you are! Bright and late as usual!"
In her fluted voice, with her agreeable smile, Mrs. Austen greeted him.
The lady was attired in a manner that left her glitteringly and splendidly bare. With her, in the cluttered drawing-room, were Margaret, Kate Schermerhorn, Poppet Bleecker, Verelst, Cantillon and Ogston.
"Will you take my daughter out?" Mrs. Austen, with that smile, continued. "Oh!" she interrupted herself to remark. "You have not congratulated Mr. Cantillon. Has no little bird told you? It"s this dear child Kate. Just now--don"t you think?--engagements, like lilacs, are in the air." She turned to Verelst. "Grey deceiver!"
Verelst crooked his arm. "However much I tried to deceive, I got grey before I could."
"What are you laughing at?" Mrs. Austen with her tireless smile enquired of Paliser, who, after speaking to the girls, had said something to Cantillon.
"Somersaults being a specialty of his, I was telling him that now is the time for a triple one."
Paliser turned to Margaret. She had said nothing. She was very pale.
Mute, white, blonde, she was a vision.
At table, Verelst, addressing him, asked: "How is your father?"
"Thank you. Enjoying his usual poor health." He turned again to Margaret. "No one could mistake my father for an auctioneer. He has so few admirations. But he knew your father and admired him greatly."
Margaret made no reply. She was thinking of the land of Splendours and Terrors, where the princess sat in chains. Margaret envied her. Over the hill the true knight was hastening and Margaret knew, as we all know, what happened then. It is a very pretty story, but it can be equally sad to a sorrowing girl who has no true knight, or who had one, and who found that he was neither knightly nor true.
Paliser misconstrued her silence. About her eyes and mouth was an expression that is displayed by those who have suffered from some long malady or from some perilous constraint. That also he misconstrued. He had been told she had washed her hands of Lennox and had washed them with the soap of indifference, which is the most effective of all. He was not credulous but he had believed it. The idea that her throat was choked and her heart a haunt of regret, did not occur to this subtle young man. He attributed both her silence and her expression to neuralgia. The latter did not disturb him. But her loveliness did. It inundated him. The gallery of his memory was hung with fair faces. Her face exceeded them all.
The dinner proceeded. Presently, Kate Schermerhorn called over at him.
"Who was the damsel I saw you making up to in the Park the other day?"
Paliser turned to her. "I have forgotten."
"I don"t wonder. You seemed to have lost your head."
"Probably then because it wasn"t you."
"Fiddlesticks! You looked as though you could cut your throat for her.
Didn"t you feel that way? I am sure you did."
"You must be thinking of Cantillon. That"s the way he looks at you. If he didn"t, he wouldn"t have any feeling at all. One might even say he was quite heartless."
Kate was laughing. In laughing she showed her red mouth and her teeth, small, white, a trifle uneven, and, though she continued to show them, her laughter ceased. With her red mouth open, she stared. That mouth closed, opened again. She was saying something.
Everybody was exclaiming. All were hurriedly getting up.
Paliser turned to Margaret. She had gone.
Verelst now was between him and her chair. He was bending over. Bending also was Mrs. Austen. On the other side were Cantillon, Ogston and Miss Bleecker.
Then, as the surprise of it lifted Paliser, he saw that they were lifting her.
"Brandy!" said Verelst. "Tell the man."
"Permit me!" Without officiousness, without noticeable shoves, Paliser got among them and got on his knees beside the girl whom Verelst and Mrs. Austen were supporting.
Mrs. Austen wanted to wink at him. Instead, she made way. He took her place, took the girl in his arms and thought he would like to keep her there--though not, of course, forever. But he said: "The other room, perhaps."
Margaret"s head was on his shoulder. She raised it. Her eyes had opened.
She looked at him, at the arms that were about her. A shudder shook her.
Verelst stretched a hand, Ogston another. With them, but otherwise without effort, she stood up.
Cantillon exclaimed at her. "Right as rain again! I say, Miss Austen, you did give us a start!"
Yet at once, and so endearingly, with the air of an elder sister, Mrs.
Austen resumed the maternal functions. "Dearest child, you have been overdoing it!"
Kate patted the girl. "Margaret! I nearly fainted too. I was looking at you. You went over like that!"
"Sorry," said Margaret evenly. Her hands had gone to the back of her head. She dropped them and added: "If you will excuse me."