Nigel Anstruthers had never appeared at what the uninvited were wont2, with derisive3 smiles, to call The Great Panjandrum Function—which was an ironic4 designation not employed by such persons as received cards bidding them to the festivity. Stornham Court was not popular in the county; no one had yearned5 for the society of the Dowager Lady Anstruthers, even in her youth; and a not too well-favoured young man with an ill-favoured temper, noticeably on the lookout6 for grievances7, is not an addition to one's circle. At nineteen Nigel had discovered the older Lord Mount Dunstan and his son Tenham to be congenial acquaintances, and had been so often absent from home that his neighbours would have found social intercourse8 with him difficult, even if desirable. Accordingly, when the county paper recorded the splendours of The Great Panjandrum Function—which it by no means mentioned by that name—the list of “Among those present” had not so far contained the name of Sir Nigel Anstruthers.
So, on a morning a few days after his return, the master of Stornham turned over a card of invitation and read it several times before speaking.
“I suppose you know what this means,” he said at last to Rosalie, who was alone with him.
“It means that we are invited to Dunholm Castle for the ball, doesn't it?”
Her husband tossed the card aside on the table.
“It means that Betty will be invited to every house where there is a son who must be disposed of profitably.
“She is invited because she is beautiful and clever. She would be invited if she had no money at all,” said Rosy9 daringly. She was actually growing daring, she thought sometimes. It would not have been possible to say anything like this a few months ago.
“Don't make silly mistakes,” said Nigel. “There are a good many handsome girls who receive comparatively little attention. But the hounds of war are let loose, when one of your swollen10 American fortunes appears. The obviousness of it 'virtuously11' makes me sick. It's as vulgar—as New York.”
What befel next brought to Sir Nigel a shock of curious enlightenment, but no one was more amazed than Rosy herself. She felt, when she heard her own voice, as if she must be rather mad.
“I would rather,” she said quite distinctly, “that you did not speak to me of New York in that way.”
“What!” said Anstruthers, staring at her with contempt which was derision.
“It is my home,” she answered. “It is not proper that I should hear it spoken of slightingly.”
“Your home! It has not taken the slightest notice of you for twelve years. Your people dropped you as if you were a hot potato.”
“They have taken me up again.” Still in amazement13 at her own boldness, but somehow learning something as she went on.
He walked over to her side, and stood before her.
“Look here, Rosalie,” he said. “You have been taking lessons from your sister. She is a beauty and young and you are not. People will stand things from her they will not take from you. I would stand some things myself, because it rather amuses a man to see a fine girl peacocking. It's merely ridiculous in you, and I won't stand it—not a bit of it.”
It was not specially15 fortunate for him that the door opened as he was speaking, and Betty came in with her own invitation in her hand. He was quick enough, however, to turn to greet her with a shrug16 of his shoulders.
“I am being favoured with a little scene by my wife,” he explained. “She is capable of getting up excellent little scenes, but I daresay she does not show you that side of her temper.”
Betty took a comfortable chintz-covered, easy chair. Her expression was evasively speculative17.
“Was it a scene I interrupted?” she said. “Then I must not go away and leave you to finish it. You were saying that you would not 'stand' something. What does a man do when he will not 'stand' a thing? It always sounds so final and appalling18—as if he were threatening horrible things such as, perhaps, were a resource in feudal19 times. What IS the resource in these dull days of law and order—and policemen?”
“Is this American chaff20?” he was disagreeably conscious that he was not wholly successful in his effort to be lofty.
The frankness of Betty's smile was quite without prejudice.
“Dear me, no,” she said. “It is only the unpicturesque result of an unfeminine knowledge of the law. And I was thinking how one is limited—and yet how things are simplified after all.”
“Simplified!” disgustedly.
“Yes, really. You see, if Rosy were violent she could not beat you—even if she were strong enough—because you could ring the bell and give her into custody21. And you could not beat her because the same unpleasant thing would happen to you. Policemen do rob things of colour, don't they? And besides, when one remembers that mere14 vulgar law insists that no one can be forced to live with another person who is brutal22 or loathsome23, that's simple, isn't it? You could go away from Rosy,” with sweet clearness, “at any moment you wished—as far away as you liked.”
“You seem to forget,” still feeling that convincing loftiness was not easy, “that when a man leaves his wife, or she deserts him, it is she who is likely to be called upon to bear the onus24 of public opinion.”
“Would she be called upon to bear it under all circumstances?”
“Damned clever woman as you are, you know that she would, as well as I know it.” He made an abrupt25 gesture with his hand. “You know that what I say is true. Women who take to their heels are deucedly unpopular in England.”
“I have not been long in England, but I have been struck by the prevalence of a sort of constitutional British sense of fair play among the people who really count. The Dunholms, for instance, have it markedly. In America it is the men who force women to take to their heels who are deucedly unpopular. The Americans' sense of fair play is their most English quality. It was brought over in ships by the first colonists—like the pieces of fine solid old furniture, one even now sees, here and there, in houses in Virginia.”
“The fact that does remain,” said Betty, not unpleasantly at all, and still with her gentle air of mere unprejudiced speculation27, “is that, if a man or woman is properly ill-treated—PROPERLY—not in any amateurish28 way—they reach the point of not caring in the least—nothing matters, but that they must get away from the horror of the unbearable29 thing —never to see or hear of it again is heaven enough to make anything else a thing to smile at. But one could settle the other point by experimenting. Suppose you run away from Rosy, and then we can see if she is cut by the county.”
His laugh was unpleasant again.
“So long as you are with her, she will not be cut. There are a number of penniless young men of family in this, as well as the adjoining, counties. Do you think Mount Dunstan would cut her?”
She looked down at the carpet thoughtfully a moment, and then lifted her eyes.
“I do not think so,” she answered. “But I will ask him.”
He was startled by a sudden feeling that she might be capable of it.
“Oh, come now,” he said, “that goes beyond a joke. You will not do any such absurd thing. One does not want one's domestic difficulties discussed by one's neighbours.”
Betty opened coolly surprised eyes.
“I did not understand it was a personal matter,” she remarked. “Where do the domestic difficulties come in?”
He stared at her a few seconds with the look she did not like, which was less likeable at the moment, because it combined itself with other things.
“Hang it,” he muttered. “I wish I could keep my temper as you can keep yours,” and he turned on his heel and left the room.
Rosy had not spoken. She had sat with her hands in her lap, looking out of the window. She had at first had a moment of terror. She had, indeed, once uttered in her soul the abject30 cry: “Don't make him angry, Betty—oh, don't, don't!” And suddenly it had been stilled, and she had listened. This was because she realised that Nigel himself was listening. That made her see what she had not dared to allow herself to see before. These trite31 things were true. There were laws to protect one. If Betty had not been dealing32 with mere truths, Nigel would have stopped her. He had been supercilious33, but he could not contradict her.
“Betty,” she said, when her sister came to her, “you said that to show ME things, as well as to show them to him. I knew you did, and listened to every word. It was good for me to hear you.”
“Clear-cut, unadorned facts are like bullets,” said Betty. “They reach home, if one's aim is good. The shiftiest people cannot evade34 them.”
. . . . .
A certain thing became evident to Betty during the time which elapsed between the arrival of the invitations and the great ball. Despite an obvious intention to assume an amiable35 pose for the time being, Sir Nigel could not conceal36 a not quite unexplainable antipathy37 to one individual. This individual was Mount Dunstan, whom it did not seem easy for him to leave alone. He seemed to recur38 to him as a subject, without any special reason, and this somewhat puzzled Betty until she heard from Rosalie of his intimacy39 with Lord Tenham, which, in a measure, explained it. The whole truth was that “The Lout,” as he had been called, had indulged in frank speech in his rare intercourse with his brother and his friends, and had once interfered40 with hot young fury in a matter in which the pair had specially wished to avoid all interference. His open scorn of their methods of entertaining themselves they had felt to be disgusting impudence41, which would have been deservedly punished with a horsewhip, if the youngster had not been a big-muscled, clumsy oaf, with a dangerous eye. Upon this footing their acquaintance had stood in past years, and to decide—as Sir Nigel had decided—that the oaf in question had begun to make his bid for splendid fortune under the roof of Stornham Court itself was a thing not to be regarded calmly. It was more than he could stand, and the folly42 of temper, which was forever his undoing43, betrayed him into mistakes more than once. This girl, with her beauty and her wealth, he chose to regard as a sort of property rightfully his own. She was his sister-in-law, at least; she was living under his roof; he had more or less the power to encourage or discourage such aspirants44 as appeared. Upon the whole there was something soothing45 to one's vanity in appearing before the world as the person at present responsible for her. It gave a man a certain dignity of position, and his chief girding at fate had always risen from the fact that he had not had dignity of position. He would not be held cheap in this matter, at least. But sometimes, as he looked at the girl he turned hot and sick, as it was driven home to him that he was no longer young, that he had never been good-looking, and that he had cut the ground from under his feet twelve years ago, when he had married Rosalie! If he could have waited—if he could have done several other things—perhaps the clever acting46 of a part, and his power of domination might have given him a chance. Even that blackguard of a Mount Dunstan had a better one now. He was young, at least, and free—and a big strong beast. He was forced, with bitter reluctance47, to admit that he himself was not even particularly strong—of late he had felt it hideously49.
So he detested50 Mount Dunstan the more for increasing reasons, as he thought the matter over. It would seem, perhaps, but a subtle pleasure to the normal mind, but to him there was pleasure—support—aggrandisement—in referring to the ill case of the Mount Dunstan estate, in relating illustrative anecdotes51, in dwelling52 upon the hopelessness of the outlook, and the notable unpopularity of the man himself. A confiding53 young lady from the States was required, he said on one occasion, but it would be necessary that she should be a young person of much simplicity54, who would not be alarmed or chilled by the obvious. No one would realise this more clearly than Mount Dunstan himself. He said it coldly and casually55, as if it were the simplest matter of fact. If the fellow had been making himself agreeable to Betty, it was as well that certain points should be—as it were inadvertently—brought before her.
Miss Vanderpoel was really rather fine, people said to each other afterwards, when she entered the ballroom56 at Dunholm Castle with her brother-in-law. She bore herself as composedly as if she had been escorted by the most admirable and dignified57 of conservative relatives, instead of by a man who was more definitely disliked and disapproved58 of than any other man in the county whom decent people were likely to meet. Yet, she was far too clever a girl not to realise the situation clearly, they said to each other. She had arrived in England to find her sister a neglected wreck59, her fortune squandered60, and her existence stripped bare of even such things as one felt to be the mere decencies. There was but one thing to be deduced from the facts which had stared her in the face. But of her deductions61 she had said nothing whatever, which was, of course, remarkable62 in a young person. It may be mentioned that, perhaps, there had been those who would not have been reluctant to hear what she must have had to say, and who had even possibly given her a delicate lead. But the lead had never been taken. One lady had even remarked that, on her part, she felt that a too great reserve verged63 upon secretiveness, which was not a desirable girlish quality.
Of course the situation had been so much discussed that people were naturally on the lookout for the arrival of the Stornham party, as it was known that Sir Nigel had returned home, and would be likely to present himself with his wife and sister-in-law. There was not a dowager present who did not know how and where he had reprehensibly spent the last months. It served him quite right that the Spanish dancing person had coolly left him in the lurch64 for a younger and more attractive, as well as a richer man. If it were not for Miss Vanderpoel, one need not pretend that one knew nothing about the affair—in fact, if it had not been for Miss Vanderpoel, he would not have received an invitation—and poor Lady Anstruthers would be sitting at home, still the forlorn little frump and invalid65 she had so wonderfully ceased to be since her sister had taken her in hand. She was absolutely growing even pretty and young, and her clothes were really beautiful. The whole thing was amazing.
Betty, as well as Rosalie and Nigel—knew that many people turned undisguisedly to look at them—even to watch them as they came into the splendid ballroom. It was a splendid ballroom and a stately one, and Lord Dunholm and Lord Westholt shared a certain thought when they met her, which was that hers was distinctly the proud young brilliance66 of presence which figured most perfectly67 against its background. Much as people wanted to look at Sir Nigel, their eyes were drawn68 from him to Miss Vanderpoel. After all it was she who made him an object of interest. One wanted to know what she would do with him—how she would “carry him off.” How much did she know of the distaste people felt for him, since she would not talk or encourage talk? The Dunholms could not have invited her and her sister, and have ignored him; but did she not guess that they would have ignored him, if they could? and was there not natural embarrassment69 in feeling forced to appear in pomp, as it were, under his escort?
But no embarrassment was perceptible. Her manner committed her to no recognition of a shadow of a flaw in the character of her companion. It even carried a certain conviction with it, and the lookers-on felt the impossibility of suggesting any such flaw by their own manner. For this evening, at least, the man must actually be treated as if he were an entirely70 unobjectionable person. It appeared as if that was what the girl wanted, and intended should happen.
This was what Nigel himself had begun to perceive, but he did not put it pleasantly. Deucedly clever girl as she was, he said to himself, she saw that it would be more agreeable to have no nonsense talked, and no ruffling71 of tempers. He had always been able to convey to people that the ruffling of his temper was a thing to be avoided, and perhaps she had already been sharp enough to realise this was a fact to be counted with. She was sharp enough, he said to himself, to see anything.
The function was a superb one. The house was superb, the rooms of entertainment were in every proportion perfect, and were quite renowned72 for the beauty of the space they offered; the people themselves were, through centuries of dignified living, so placed that intercourse with their kind was an easy and delightful73 thing. They need never doubt either their own effect, or the effect of their hospitalities. Sir Nigel saw about him all the people who held enviable place in the county. Some of them he had never known, some of them had long ceased to recall his existence. There were those among them who lifted lorgnettes or stuck monocles into their eyes as he passed, asking each other in politely subdued74 tones who the man was who seemed to be in attendance on Miss Vanderpoel. Nigel knew this and girded at it internally, while he made the most of his suave75 smile.
The distinguished personage who was the chief guest was to be seen at the upper end of the room talking to a tall man with broad shoulders, who was plainly interesting him for the moment. As the Stornham party passed on, this person, making his bow, retired76, and, as he turned towards them, Sir Nigel recognising him, the agreeable smile was for the moment lost.
“How in the name of Heaven did Mount Dunstan come here?” broke from him with involuntary heat.
“Would it be rash to conclude,” said Betty, as she returned the bow of a very grand old lady in black velvet77 and an imposing78 tiara, “that he came in response to invitation?”
The very grand old lady seemed pleased to see her, and, with a royal little sign, called her to her side. As Betty Vanderpoel was a great success with the Mrs. Weldens and old Dobys of village life, she was also a success among grand old ladies. When she stood before them there was a delicate submission79 in her air which was suggestive of obedience80 to the dignity of their years and state. Strongly conservative and rather feudal old persons were much pleased by this. In the present irreverent iconoclasm of modern times, it was most agreeable to talk to a handsome creature who was as beautifully attentive81 as if she had been a specially perfect young lady-in-waiting.
This one even patted Betty's hand a little, when she took it. She was a great county potentate82, who was known as Lady Alanby of Dole83—her house being one of the most ancient and interesting in England.
“I am glad to see you here to-night,” she said. “You are looking very nice. But you cannot help that.”
Betty asked permission to present her sister and brother-in-law. Lady Alanby was polite to both of them, but she gave Nigel a rather sharp glance through her gold pince-nez as she greeted him.
“Janey and Mary,” she said to the two girls nearest her, “I daresay you will kindly84 change your chairs and let Lady Anstruthers and Miss Vanderpoel sit next to me.”
The Ladies Jane and Mary Lithcom, who had been ordered about by her from their infancy85, obeyed with polite smiles. They were not particularly pretty girls, and were of the indigent86 noble. Jane, who had almost overlarge blue eyes, sighed as she reseated herself a few chairs lower down.
“It does seem beastly unfair,” she said in a low voice to her sister, “that a girl such as that should be so awfully87 good-looking. She ought to have a turned-up nose.”
“Thank you,” said Mary, “I have a turned-up nose myself, and I've got nothing to balance it.”
“Oh, I didn't mean a nice turned-up nose like yours,” said Jane; “I meant an ugly one. Of course Lady Alanby wants her for Tommy.” And her manner was not resigned.
“What she, or anyone else for that matter,” disdainfully, “could want with Tommy, I don't know,” replied Mary.
“I do,” answered Jane obstinately88. “I played cricket with him when I was eight, and I've liked him ever since. It is AWFUL,” in a smothered89 outburst, “what girls like us have to suffer.”
“Jane,” she said, “are you SUFFERING about Tommy?”
“Yes, I am. Oh, what a question to ask in a ballroom! Do you want me to burst out crying?”
“No,” sharply, “look at the Prince. Stare at that fat woman curtsying to him. Stare and then wink91 your eyes.”
Lady Alanby was talking about Mount Dunstan.
“Lord Dunholm has given us a lead. He is an old friend of mine, and he has been talking to me about it. It appears that he has been looking into things seriously. Modern as he is, he rather tilts92 at injustices93, in a quiet way. He has satisfactorily convinced himself that Lord Mount Dunstan has been suffering for the sins of the fathers—which must be annoying.”
“Is Lord Dunholm quite sure of that?” put in Sir Nigel, with a suggestively civil air.
Old Lady Alanby gave him an unencouraging look.
“Quite,” she said. “He would be likely to be before he took any steps.”
“Ah,” remarked Nigel. “I knew Lord Tenham, you see.”
Lady Alanby's look was more unencouraging still. She quietly and openly put up her glass and stared. There were times when she had not the remotest objection to being rude to certain people.
“I am sorry to hear that,” she observed. “There never was any room for mistake about Tenham. He is not usually mentioned.”
“I do not think this man would be usually mentioned, if everything were known,” said Nigel.
Then an appalling thing happened. Lady Alanby gazed at him a few seconds, and made no reply whatever. She dropped her glass, and turned again to talk to Betty. It was as if she had turned her back on him, and Sir Nigel, still wearing an amiable exterior94, used internally some bad language.
“But I was a fool to speak of Tenham,” he thought. “A great fool.”
A little later Miss Vanderpoel made her curtsy to the exalted95 guest, and was commented upon again by those who looked on. It was not at all unnatural96 that one should find ones eyes following a girl who, representing a sort of royal power, should have the good fortune of possessing such looks and bearing.
Remembering his child bete noir of the long legs and square, audacious little face, Nigel Anstruthers found himself restraining a slight grin as he looked on at her dancing. Partners flocked about her like bees, and Lady Alanby of Dole, and other very grand old or middle-aged97 ladies all found the evening more interesting because they could watch her.
“She is full of spirit,” said Lady Alanby, “and she enjoys herself as a girl should. It is a pleasure to look at her. I like a girl who gets a magnificent colour and stars in her eyes when she dances. It looks healthy and young.”
It was Tommy Miss Vanderpoel was dancing with when her ladyship said this. Tommy was her grandson and a young man of greater rank than fortune. He was a nice, frank, heavy youth, who loved a simple county life spent in tramping about with guns, and in friendly hobnobbing with the neighbours, and eating great afternoon teas with people whose jokes were easy to understand, and who were ready to laugh if you tried a joke yourself. He liked girls, and especially he liked Jane Lithcom, but that was a weakness his grandmother did not at all encourage, and, as he danced with Betty Vanderpoel, he looked over her shoulder more than once at a pair of big, unhappy blue eyes, whose owner sat against the wall.
Betty Vanderpoel herself was not thinking of Tommy. In fact, during this brilliant evening she faced still further developments of her own strange case. Certain new things were happening to her. When she had entered the ballroom she had known at once who the man was who stood before the royal guest—she had known before he bowed low and withdrew. And her recognition had brought with it a shock of joy. For a few moments her throat felt hot and pulsing. It was true—the things which concerned him concerned her. All that happened to him suddenly became her affair, as if in some way they were of the same blood. Nigel's slighting of him had infuriated her; that Lord Dunholm had offered him friendship and hospitality was a thing which seemed done to herself, and filled her with gratitude98 and affection; that he should be at this place, on this special occasion, swept away dark things from his path. It was as if it were stated without words that a conservative man of the world, who knew things as they were, having means of reaching truths, vouched99 for him and placed his dignity and firmness at his side.
And there was the gladness at the sight of him. It was an overpoweringly strong thing. She had never known anything like it. She had not seen him since Nigel's return, and here he was, and she knew that her life quickened in her because they were together in the same room. He had come to them and said a few courteous100 words, but he had soon gone away. At first she wondered if it was because of Nigel, who at the time was making himself rather ostentatiously amiable to her. Afterwards she saw him dancing, talking, being presented to people, being, with a tactful easiness, taken care of by his host and hostess, and Lord Westholt. She was struck by the graceful101 magic with which this tactful ease surrounded him without any obviousness. The Dunholms had given a lead, as Lady Alanby had said, and the rest were following it and ignoring intervals102 with reposeful103 readiness. It was wonderfully well done. Apparently104 there had been no past at all. All began with this large young man, who, despite his Viking type, really looked particularly well in evening dress. Lady Alanby held him by her chair for some time, openly enjoying her talk with him, and calling up Tommy, that they might make friends.
After a while, Betty said to herself, he would come and ask for a dance. But he did not come, and she danced with one man after another. Westholt came to her several times and had more dances than one. Why did the other not come? Several times they whirled past each other, and when it occurred they looked—both feeling it an accident—into each other's eyes.
The strong and strange thing—that which moves on its way as do birth and death, and the rising and setting of the sun—had begun to move in them. It was no new and rare thing, but an ancient and common one—as common and ancient as death and birth themselves; and part of the law as they are. As it comes to royal persons to whom one makes obeisance105 at their mere passing by, as it comes to scullery maids in royal kitchens, and grooms106 in royal stables, as it comes to ladies-in-waiting and the women who serve them, so it had come to these two who had been drawn near to each other from the opposite sides of the earth, and each started at the touch of it, and withdrew a pace in bewilderment, and some fear.
“I wish,” Mount Dunstan was feeling throughout the evening, “that her eyes had some fault in their expression—that they drew one less—that they drew ME less. I am losing my head.”
“It would be better,” Betty thought, “if I did not wish so much that he would come and ask me to dance with him—that he would not keep away so. He is keeping away for a reason. Why is he doing it?”
The music swung on in lovely measures, and the dancers swung with it. Sir Nigel walked dutifully through the Lancers once with his wife, and once with his beautiful sister-in-law. Lady Anstruthers, in her new bloom, had not lacked partners, who discovered that she was a childishly light creature who danced extremely well. Everyone was kind to her, and the very grand old ladies, who admired Betty, were absolutely benign107 in their manner. Betty's partners paid ingenuous108 court to her, and Sir Nigel found he had not been mistaken in his estimate of the dignity his position of escort and male relation gave to him.
Rosy, standing109 for a moment looking out on the brilliancy and state about her, meeting Betty's eyes, laughed quiveringly.
“I am in a dream,” she said.
From the opposite side of the room someone was coming towards them, and, seeing him, Rosy smiled in welcome.
“I am sure Lord Mount Dunstan is coming to ask you to dance with him,” she said. “Why have you not danced with him before, Betty?”
“He has not asked me,” Betty answered. “That is the only reason.”
“Lord Dunholm and Lord Westholt called at the Mount a few days after they met him at Stornham,” Rosalie explained in an undertone. “They wanted to know him. Then it seems they found they liked each other. Lady Dunholm has been telling me about it. She says Lord Dunholm thanks you, because you said something illuminating111. That was the word she used—'illuminating.' I believe you are always illuminating, Betty.”
Mount Dunstan was certainly coming to them. How broad his shoulders looked in his close-fitting black coat, how well built his whole strong body was, and how steadily112 he held his eyes! Here and there one sees a man or woman who is, through some trick of fate, by nature a compelling thing unconsciously demanding that one should submit to some domineering attraction. One does not call it domineering, but it is so. This special creature is charged unfairly with more than his or her single share of force. Betty Vanderpoel thought this out as this “other one” came to her. He did not use the ballroom formula when he spoke12 to her. He said in rather a low voice:
“Will you dance with me?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Lord Dunholm and his wife agreed afterwards that so noticeable a pair had never before danced together in their ballroom. Certainly no pair had ever been watched with quite the same interested curiosity. Some onlookers113 thought it singular that they should dance together at all, some pleased themselves by reflecting on the fact that no other two could have represented with such picturesqueness114 the opposite poles of fate and circumstance. No one attempted to deny that they were an extraordinarily115 striking-looking couple, and that one's eyes followed them in spite of one's self.
“Taken together they produce an effect that is somehow rather amazing,” old Lady Alanby commented. “He is a magnificently built man, you know, and she is a magnificently built girl. Everybody should look like that. My impression would be that Adam and Eve did, but for the fact that neither of them had any particular character. That affair of the apple was so silly. Eve has always struck me as being the kind of woman who, if she lived to-day, would run up stupid bills at her dressmakers and be afraid to tell her husband. That wonderful black head of Miss Vanderpoel's looks very nice poised116 near Mount Dunstan's dark red one.”
“I am glad to be dancing with him,” Betty was thinking. “I am glad to be near him.”
“Will you dance this with me to the very end,” asked Mount Dunstan—“to the very late note?”
“Yes,” answered Betty.
He had spoken in a low but level voice—the kind of voice whose tone places a man and woman alone together, and wholly apart from all others by whomsoever they are surrounded. There had been no preliminary speech and no explanation of the request followed. The music was a perfect thing, the brilliant, lofty ballroom, the beauty of colour and sound about them, the jewels and fair faces, the warm breath of flowers in the air, the very sense of royal presence and its accompanying state and ceremony, seemed merely a naturally arranged background for the strange consciousness each held close and silently—knowing nothing of the mind of the other.
This was what was passing through the man's mind.
“This is the thing which most men experience several times during their lives. It would be reason enough for all the great deeds and all the crimes one hears of. It is an enormous kind of anguish117 and a fearful kind of joy. It is scarcely to be borne, and yet, at this moment, I could kill myself and her, at the thought of losing it. If I had begun earlier, would it have been easier? No, it would not. With me it is bound to go hard. At twenty I should probably not have been able to keep myself from shouting it aloud, and I should not have known that it was only the working of the Law. 'Only!' Good God, what a fool I am! It is because it is only the Law that I cannot escape, and must go on to the end, grinding my teeth together because I cannot speak. Oh, her smooth young cheek! Oh, the deep shadows of her lashes118! And while we sway round and round together, I hold her slim strong body in the hollow of my arm.”
It was, quite possibly, as he thought this that Nigel Anstruthers, following him with his eyes as he passed, began to frown. He had been watching the pair as others had, he had seen what others saw, and now he had an idea that he saw something more, and it was something which did not please him. The instinct of the male bestirred itself—the curious instinct of resentment119 against another man—any other man. And, in this case, Mount Dunstan was not any other man, but one for whom his antipathy was personal.
“I won't have that,” he said to himself. “I won't have it.”
. . . . .
The music rose and swelled120, and then sank into soft breathing, as they moved in harmony together, gliding121 and swirling122 as they threaded their way among other couples who swirled123 and glided124 also, some of them light and smiling, some exchanging low-toned speech—perhaps saying words which, unheard by others, touched on deep things. The exalted guest fell into momentary125 silence as he looked on, being a man much attracted by physical fineness and temperamental power and charm. A girl like that would bring a great deal to a man and to the country he belonged to. A great race might be founded on such superbness of physique and health and beauty. Combined with abnormal resources, certainly no more could be asked. He expressed something of the kind to Lord Dunholm, who stood near him in attendance.
To herself Betty was saying: “That was a strange thing he asked me. It is curious that we say so little. I should never know much about him. I have no intelligence where he is concerned—only a strong, stupid feeling, which is not like a feeling of my own. I am no longer Betty Vanderpoel—and I wish to go on dancing with him—on and on—to the last note, as he said.”
She felt a little hot wave run over her cheek uncomfortably, and the next instant the big arm tightened127 its clasp of her—for just one second—not more than one. She did not know that he, himself, had seen the sudden ripple128 of red colour, and that the equally sudden contraction129 of the arm had been as unexpected to him and as involuntary as the quick wave itself. It had horrified130 and made him angry. He looked the next instant entirely stiff and cold.
“He did not know it happened,” Betty resolved.
“The music is going to stop,” said Mount Dunstan. “I know the waltz. We can get once round the room again before the final chord. It was to be the last note—the very last,” but he said it quite rigidly131, and Betty laughed.
“Quite the last,” she answered.
The music hastened a little, and their gliding whirl became more rapid—a little faster—a little faster still—a running sweep of notes, a big, terminating harmony, and the thing was over.
“Thank you,” said Mount Dunstan. “One will have it to remember.” And his tone was slightly sardonic132.
“Yes,” Betty acquiesced133 politely.
“Oh, not you. Only I. I have never waltzed before.”
Betty turned to look at him curiously.
“Under circumstances such as these,” he explained. “I learned to dance at a particularly hideous48 boys' school in France. I abhorred134 it. And the trend of my life has made it quite easy for me to keep my twelve-year-old vow135 that I would never dance after I left the place, unless I WANTED to do it, and that, especially, nothing should make me waltz until certain agreeable conditions were fulfilled. Waltzing I approved of—out of hideous schools. I was a pig-headed, objectionable child. I detested myself even, then.”
Betty's composure returned to her.
“I am trusting,” she remarked, “that I may secretly regard myself as one of the agreeable conditions to be fulfilled. Do not dispel136 my hopes roughly.”
“I will not,” he answered. “You are, in fact, several of them.”
“One breathes with much greater freedom,” she responded.
This sort of cool nonsense was safe. It dispelled137 feelings of tenseness, and carried them to the place where Sir Nigel and Lady Anstruthers awaited them. A slight stir was beginning to be felt throughout the ballroom. The royal guest was retiring, and soon the rest began to melt away. The Anstruthers, who had a long return drive before them, were among those who went first.
When Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from the cloak room, they found Sir Nigel standing near Mount Dunstan, who was going also, and talking to him in an amiably138 detached manner. Mount Dunstan, himself, did not look amiable, or seem to be saying much, but Sir Nigel showed no signs of being disturbed.
“Now that you have ceased to forswear the world,” he said as his wife approached, “I hope we shall see you at Stornham. Your visits must not cease because we cannot offer you G. Selden any longer.”
He had his own reasons for giving the invitation—several of them. And there was a satisfaction in letting the fellow know, casually, that he was not in the ridiculous position of being unaware139 of what had occurred during his absence—that there had been visits—and also the objectionable episode of the American bounder. That the episode had been objectionable, he knew he had adroitly140 conveyed by mere tone and manner.
Mount Dunstan thanked him in the usual formula, and then spoke to Betty.
“G. Selden left us tremulous and fevered with ecstatic anticipation141. He carried your kind letter to Mr. Vanderpoel, next to his heart. His brain seemed to whirl at the thought of what 'the boys' would say, when he arrived with it in New York. You have materialised the dream of his life!”
“I have interested my father,” Betty answered, with a brilliant smile. “He liked the romance of the Reuben S. Vanderpoel who rewarded the saver of his life by unbounded orders for the Delkoff.”
As their carriage drove away, Sir Nigel bent142 forward to look out of the window, and having done it, laughed a little.
“Mount Dunstan does not play the game well,” he remarked.
It was annoying that neither Betty nor his wife inquired what the game in question might be, and that his temperament126 forced him into explaining without encouragement.
“He should have 'stood motionless with folded arms,' or something of the sort, and 'watched her equipage until it was out of sight.'”
“And he did not?” said Betty
“He turned on his heel as soon as the door was shut.”
“People ought not to do such things,” was her simple comment. To which it seemed useless to reply.
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1
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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onus
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| n.负担；责任 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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amateurish
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| n.业余爱好的，不熟练的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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43
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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45
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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52
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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53
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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58
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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vouched
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| v.保证( vouch的过去式和过去分词 )；担保；确定；确定地说 | |
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100
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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101
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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103
reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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106
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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107
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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113
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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picturesqueness
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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118
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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128
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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135
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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137
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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139
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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141
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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