"Kersley Battersby. The very man!" exclaimed Mrs. Devereaux, with animation. "How clever you are, my dear, to guess it! My sister, the Countess of Crayford, who has just come over this autumn, wants some one to paint her twin girls. It strikes me that he would be the very person to do it, if possibly you have his address. There was a sentiment, a bloom, one might call it, that seemed to characterize his children"s heads particularly. They made a real impression on me."
"Yes, Battersby has a great deal of bloom," said Mr. Fosd.y.k.e, solemnly.
"Bloom is what he excels in. Alphonse, fill Mrs. Devereaux"s gla.s.s. I will look up his address in my notebook, Mrs. Devereaux. I have an impression that he is within reach."
He turned to Marcia provocatively, but she did not respond. Her brain was suddenly in a whirl that carried her past the wild incongruities of the situation. If Kersley had "prospects" like that--She did not dare to meet his eyes.
The dinner was excellent, the waiting perfect. Marcia was in a glow of happiness. She felt repaid for her work, her struggles, and the expenditure which would make a new gown this winter impossible. This was as she had wanted it to be--a little Thanksgiving feast for this woman who was her friend. Through all Mrs. Devereaux"s interest in the others, the little inner bond was between her and Marcia. It did not matter that Ellen had stumped upstairs after the last cup of coffee, leaving Kersley to clear the table, or that the babies might wake up and cry. Nothing mattered when she knew that dear Mrs. Devereaux was pleased. She said to herself that this was what gave her such a strangely exhilarated feeling; and yet--When it was time for the guest to depart, and Marcia came from upstairs bringing Mrs. Devereaux"s fur cloak, that lady and Kitty both looked smilingly at the girl from the midst of a conversation.
"Must you go so soon?" pleaded Marcia.
"Yes, the carriage is waiting," said Mrs. Devereaux. "I am under the doctor"s orders, you remember, my dear. I"ve had a charming Thanksgiving; you don"t know how much I appreciate Mrs. Fosd.y.k.e"s letting me spend it here. And one thing has appealed to me particularly, if you won"t mind my saying it: I am more complimented, more touched, by being made one of your little family circle, without any alteration in your usual mode of living, than by any amount of the ceremony which is often so foolishly considered necessary--a man behind each chair, ma.s.ses of orchids, and expensive menus." She smiled warmly at Marcia, and added: "It is to you that I really owe my introduction into this charmingly domestic household. Your sister, however, has made me partner to a little secret, in response to my inquiries; she says that you are about to be engaged to the very Mr. Battersby of whom we were speaking, and whose address she has given me, so that I may make arrangements at once for my nieces" portraits. She tells me that he has excellent prospects."
"Oh!" murmured Marcia, in sudden crimson embarra.s.sment. She could actually feel Kersley"s triumphant smile behind the dining-room portieres.
"And as I am about to start on the Egyptian tour that will take me away for a year, I want to know if I may take advantage of having been made one of the family and ask you to make use of my cottage at Ardsley for the honeymoon--which I hope may last until my return, if Mr. Battersby"s commissions don"t call him away before. I will have my people put it at your disposal."
"Dear, dear Mrs. Devereaux!" cried Marcia. If something odd in the beating of her heart made her feel her further speech to be foolishly incoherent, it was, perhaps, not unattractively so to her smiling elders.
She did not hear Mr. Fosd.y.k.e"s exclamation as the lights of Mrs.
Devereaux"s carriage disappeared from view: "Of all the Arabian Nights"
entertainments! Who am I, anyway?"
She had been drawn into the dining-room with Kersley"s outstretched arms closing around her firmly as she mechanically but ineffectually strove to retreat, his blue eyes beaming down on her as he whispered:
"Oh, Marcia, Marcia! This comes of trying to show grat.i.tude to strangers. "_About to be engaged!_" Accepting a honeymoon cottage before you"d accepted the man!"
MR. CARTERET AND HIS FELLOW AMERICANS ABROAD[6]
BY DAVID GRAY
"It must have been highly interesting," observed Mrs. Archie Brawle; "so much pleasanter than a concert."
"Rather!" replied Lord Frederic. "It was ripping!"
Mrs. Ascott-Smith turned to Mr. Carteret. She had been listening to Lord Frederic Westcote, who had just come down from town where he had seen the Wild West show. "Is it so?" she asked. "Have you ever seen them?" By "them" she meant the Indians.
Mr. Carteret nodded.
"It seems so odd," continued Mrs. Archie Brawle, "that they should ride without saddles. Is it a pose?"
"No, I fancy not," replied Lord Frederic.
"They must get very tired without stirrups," insisted Mrs. Archie. "But perhaps they never ride very long at a time."
"That is possible," said Lord Frederic doubtfully. "They are only on about twenty minutes in the show."
Mr. Pringle, the curate, who had happened in to pay his monthly call upon Mrs. Ascott-Smith, took advantage of the pause. "Of course, I am no horseman," he began apprehensively, "and I have never seen the red Indians, either in their native wilds or in a show, but I have read not a little about them, and I have gathered that they almost live on horseback."
Major Hammerslea reached toward the tea table for another m.u.f.fin and hemmed. "It is a very different thing," he said with heavy impressiveness. "It is a very different thing."
The curate looked expectant, as if believing that his remarks were going to be noticed. But nothing was further from the Major"s mind.
"What is so very different?" inquired Mrs. Ascott-Smith, after a pause had made it clear that the Major had ignored Pringle.
"It is one thing, my dear Madame, to ride a stunted, half-starved pony, as you say "bareback," and another thing to ride a conditioned British Hunter (he p.r.o.nounced it huntaw) without a saddle. I must say that the latter is an impossibility." The oracle came to an end and the material Major began on the m.u.f.fin.
There was an approving murmur of a.s.sent. The Major was the author of "Schooling and Riding British Hunters;" however, it was not only his authority which swayed the company, but individual conviction. Of the dozen people in the room, excepting Pringle, all rode to hounds with more or less enthusiasm, and no one had ever seen any one hunting without a saddle and no one had ever experienced any desire to try the experiment. Obviously it was an absurdity.
"Nevertheless," observed Lord Frederic, "I must say their riding was very creditable--quite as good as one sees on any polo field in England."
Major Hammerslea looked at him severely, as if his youth were not wholly an excuse. "It is, as I said," he observed. "It is one thing to ride an American pony and another to ride a British Hunter. One requires horsemanship, the other does not. And horsemanship," he continued, "which properly is the guiding of a horse across country, requires years of study and experience."
Lord Frederic looked somewhat unconvinced but he said nothing.
"Of course the dear Major (she called it deah Majaw) is unquestionably right," said Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"Undoubtedly," said Mr. Carteret. "I suppose that he has often seen Indians ride?"
"Have you often seen these Indians ride?" inquired Mrs. Ascott-Smith of the Major.
"Do you mean Indians or the Red Men of North America?" replied the Major. "And do you mean upon ponies in a show or upon British Hunters?"
"Which do you mean?" asked Mrs. Ascott-Smith.
"I suppose that I mean American Indians," said Mr. Carteret, "and either upon ponies or upon British Hunters."
"No," said the Major, "I have not. Have you?"
"Not upon British Hunters," said Mr. Carteret.
"But do you think that they could?" inquired Lord Frederic.
"It would be foolish of me to express an opinion," replied Mr. Carteret, "because, in the first place, I have never seen them ride British Hunters over jumps--"
"They would come off at the first obstacle," observed the Major, more in sorrow than in anger.
"And in the second place," continued Mr. Carteret, "I am perhaps naturally prejudiced in behalf of my fellow countrymen."
Mrs. Ascott-Smith looked at him anxiously. His sister had married a British peer. "But you Americans are quite distinct from the red Indians," she said. "We quite understand that nowadays. To be sure, my dear Aunt--" She stopped.
"Rather!" said Mrs. Archie Brawle. "You don"t even intermarry with them, do you?"
"That is a matter of personal taste," said Mr. Carteret. "There is no law against it."
"But n.o.body that one knows--" began Mrs. Ascott-Smith.