XV
SETTLING DAY
Caroline was married, and with a decent tear had left for a month'ssweet lunacy under blue skies and on Mediterranean terraces. I hadbestowed an appropriate valediction at Victoria Station to theaccompanying exhalation of steam, the slamming of doors, and the wavingof a green flag, and had returned to my flat.
It had not appeared quite the same to me. I had peeped into the littleroom that had been so long her own, and a sense of emptiness andunfamiliarity had struck me, leaving little desire to make friends withit. My own rooms were structurally unchanged; but a corded and labelledtrunk, left to be called for after the bridal trip, seemed to occupy thewhole place to my utter exclusion, and unsettled me greatly. I perceivedthat virtue had gone out from these lifeless shells of apartments; andmy feline attachment to the building itself was not sufficiently strongto reconcile me to an immediate resumption of the old order of things.On the whole, I did not waste much sentiment over the matter, but spokea word in Mrs. Loring's ear, received an invitation from some friends ofhers in the country, left my chairs in canvas and my blinds in fullmourning, and made haste to lawns and trim, clipped hedges till I shouldsummon resolution to face the fresh conditions.
This gave Mrs. Loring, a certain opportunity which, as I had foreseen,she was little likely to waive, and which also suited my mood admirably.
Overhead the rooks were holding their sage, sustained conference, and I,I believe, nodding gravely and judicially, when an undefined sense ofintruding mortals caused me to blink through my lashes. Mrs. Loring andMillicent were slowly crossing the lawn in my direction, their whitegowns dipping from orange to grey and grey to orange as they traversedthe belts of light. Mrs. Loring was talking; this, be it said, was Mrs.Loring's supreme opportunity.
I had no wish to listen; it was forced on my passive ears.
"I suppose," she was saying, "now that Caroline's gone, he must. I knowthat Cicely Vicars told me you can do what you like with a man who feelsa little bit sorry for himself, Millicent. _She did._"
This seemed somehow to concern me. I had doubtless felt somewhat low,but had no idea I had showed it so plainly as that. Anyway, CicelyVicars doubtless knew. Millicent replied:
"I don't think it's fair, Mollie, to talk like that. Rollo Butterfieldisn't a fool; and I daresay Charlie Vicars isn't such a fool as hewas--then."
Thank you, dear lady.
"He isn't a fool," Mrs. Loring replied; "but I do call itcriminal--simply criminal--that a man who is getting olderand--fatter--every week should keep putting off and putting off for noreason at all except that he's ashamed to give in after so long. It'srank breach of promise. _I_ know Rollo Butterfield."
These were hard words to hear of one's self. Apparently Mrs. Loring'sone desire was that that presence of mine--fat, hang herimpudence!--should hold decently together through a marriage service,and run to seedy corpulence immediately afterwards for all she cared.But Millicent vindicated me nobly.
"If Rollo Butterfield, Mollie, was prepared to marry me to keep me incountenance with all the people we know, I'd never let him propose tome--which he hasn't done, by the way. But you don't understand him alittle bit. He's not much fatter, my dear, saving your presence, thanLoring; and, any way, he'll be a young man when Loring's--you understandme. And you can't say very much more to me on the subject, Mollie."
"You'll have to propose to him yourself, then, Millie," said Mrs.Loring, with a worldly shrug.
"I should not be afraid to do that," Millicent retorted defiantly.
"I should like to be there when it happened." Mrs. Loring's toneexpressed the most offhand incredulity in the affair being everdefinitely settled. There was a silence as they approached anddiscovered my presence.
Now, I had never been in the least resentful of Mrs. Loring Chatterton'sself-arrogated responsibility for my welfare and Millicent's--it hadalways been too open and frank to be regarded as interference. But inthat moment she had given me a hint that I felt half inclined to actupon. Suppose she really were there when it happened?
I rose to meet them.
"Welcome, dear ladies," I said. "You almost caught me napping. I believeI have been dreaming, and seemed to hear voices."
I looked at Millicent, and thought she understood; but it did not occurto Mrs. Loring that I might have overheard.
"You dream a good deal nowadays, Mr. Butterfield, don't you?" she said,somewhat acidulously.
"I fear, Mrs. Loring," I replied, "that I have lately done it to anextent that is almost criminal."
She was still unenlightened, but I saw that Millicent guessed. I madeplaces for them on either side of me, but Mrs. Loring hesitated,standing. No chance is too trivial for a matchmaker.
"Sit down, Mrs. Loring," I said, making myself comfortable just out ofthe sun.
She sat down. I continued:
"I have been watching the sunset here all alone. It is a lovely evening.You and Loring have doubtless been sitting hand in hand, waiting for thetwilight? No? The surroundings seem to call for that kind of thingsomehow, don't you think?"
"I'm glad to hear you say so, Mr. Butterfield. I have hopes of you evenyet. The evening certainly inspires such--such things--providing theyare strictly _en regle_."
"Most decidedly," I assented; "that must always be understood. I admitthat it is a delicate matter--that there are times when even the mostpermissible caress becomes unseasonable, just as at others anunseasonable one is almost permissible. But as a general rule suchproceedings must be, as you say, strictly _en regle_."
"I find you in a most reasonable mood this evening, Mr. Butterfield,"she approved, with a glance at Millicent. "Dreaming evidently does yougood. Pray continue."
I acknowledged her encouragement, and went on.
"It must be taken for granted, first of all, that the endearment is a_bona fide_ guarantee, in which case publicity is not only unnecessary,but impertinent. A third person, for instance, could not possibly takethe slightest interest in it."
"It would be highly unbecoming," she assented.
"Quite so," I replied half absently; "and that is where the kindlyinterest of, say, the married chaperone fails. In the moment that herpresence becomes most necessary, it becomes superfluous. Is not thatso?"
"If you mean, Mr. Butterfield, that I----" she said, making a movementas if to rise.
"My dear Mrs. Loring," I replied, "we are discussing a perfectlyabstract question; you appear to be able to deal only with a concretecase."
"Then," she retorted, "the sunset has done you less good than I thought.An abstract case on an evening like this!"
And her eyes appeared to fill with pity for Millicent. That lady lookedup, but said nothing.
"It is on such evenings, Mrs. Loring," I returned, "that nothing but thepresence of the chaperone divides the abstract from the concrete."
"Then you _do_ mean----" she said almost impetuously.
"Does it occur to you, Mrs. Loring," I replied, "that you are speakingwith remarkable freedom?"
Mrs. Loring was in a difficult position. To stay was to nullify theopportunity, and to postpone indefinitely (so she thought) theconsummation of her disinterested endeavours. To leave, on the otherhand, was a hint so pointed that even she felt it might give rise to anembarrassment that would defeat its own ends. I pointed this out toher--of course, in an entirely abstract way; and Millicent, I waspleased to see, regarded the comedy with an amused coolness that had init very little sympathy for Mrs. Loring Chatterton and her methods. Shelooked up laughing.
"It would be rather a difficult position for any chaperone to be placedin," she said mischievously. "Wouldn't it, Mollie?"
Mollie was rather at a loss.
"A chaperone's is a difficult position altogether, Millie," she said,"and it means considerable self-sacrifice on the part of the one whoundertakes it."
"It is a thankless office," I replied; "but in the case of impetuousyouth I suppose it i
s necessary. Hot blood, Mrs. Loring, must bewatched."
She was getting puzzled, and evidently losing her hold on the situation."After all," she answered doubtfully, "when one has confidence in peopleperhaps it doesn't matter so much."
"It is dangerous," I warned her. "When young recklessness takes the bitbetween its teeth and plunges headlong into a course ofmatrimony"--Millicent smiled at the description as applied toourselves--"some calmer ruling is almost essential. Personally, I thinkthat at all proposals an appointed authority should conduct theceremonies. One cannot manage such affairs alone."
She didn't quite catch the suggestion. "It is perfectly unnecessary,"she replied.
"Indeed?" I asked. "And suppose the affair hung fire, and the proposalnever came at all? Imagine the sorrow of the Goddess outside theMachine! I almost think she has a right to insist on personalsupervision."
"I think you are talking a great deal of nonsense," she replied.
"Then, Mrs. Loring, you fail to follow me. Take a case, say, in whichthe woman proposes--I suppose you will admit the possibility--the manmight be a fool--or dilatory--or getting fat----"
Mrs. Loring Chatterton turned suddenly on me, looked me up, down,widthwise, and through, and found no speech. I returned her look, andMillicent broke into unrestrained laughter. The light that came to theGoddess outside the Machine was too much for her coherence.
"Rollo Butterfield--and you, too, Millicent Dixon!--Millicent--Mr.Butterfield, how dare you, sir? You listened? I didn't say it!"
"You didn't say--what, Mrs. Loring?" I asked.
"Oh, don't take the trouble to feign innocence! I always thought, Mr.Butterfield--! I never--stop laughing, Millicent, this is not a farce--Ididn't think, Mr. Butterfield, that you would _use_, at least, anythingyou heard in so discreditable a manner!"
"Mrs. Loring," I answered, "I did not listen. I was dreaming--dreamingdoes me good--and I heard the rooks calling, and several other things,quite against my will. Besides," I added, "if you will consider amoment, don't you think I was too deeply concerned in your--friendlyaspersions--not to have some kind of right in them? I wish to put thething euphoniously, you understand, Mrs. Loring, but--haven't youinterested yourself too long in what concerns me first of all, to takeup any position of outraged propriety now?"
I awaited her reply, my eyes on her face. I should have been sorry tofall out with Mrs. Loring; I had had too much amusement out of her totake her too seriously, and I recognized that meddling was too harsh aword for her conduct. For a full minute she sat looking straight infront of her, and then smiled. All was well.
"I'm sorry for you, Millicent," she said. "For the first time I havedoubts as to your happiness with this--creature. I may yet have torepent that ever I gathered you both under my wing. Rollo Butterfield,you think I'm laughing, but I'm not. I haven't forgiven you."
"You reserve your forgiveness, Mrs. Loring, till no further evasion ispossible. You are still, permit me to remind you, premature."
I looked at Millicent, whose face expressed the greatest relish for thewhole scene. Millicent understood, and cared as little for Mrs. Loring'spresence as I did myself. A new recklessness took possession of me; solong as she knew, I didn't give a schoolgirl's kiss what happened. Mrs.Loring was making uneasy motions, and had attempted several falsestarts, with the object of leaving us alone. I took Millicent's hand,imprisoned it in both my own, and looked squarely at Mrs. Loring. Shesat spellbound, fascinated, a wedding guest who could not choose buthear.
"Millicent----" I said, and paused.
"Rollo----" she replied.
Mrs. Loring made another attempt to break away.
"Sit in the middle, Mrs. Loring," I said, and we made the rearrangement.I turned again to Millicent.
"Mrs. Loring says you are to propose to me, Millicent."
"Mrs. Loring says you would be ashamed to give in after so long, Rollo."
"You are afraid, Millicent, that I shall say it's sudden?"
"I am not afraid of anything that you will say. Or do," she added, as Itook her hands across Mrs. Loring.
"Then," I replied, "I have the honour to ask you, Miss Dixon----"
This was too much for Mrs. Loring. She burst through our hands, andstood, trembling, staring, lost, hysterical. Then fled.
* * * * *
When the moon, a timid _debutante_ in a faint sky, rose behind theclipped boxhedge, we were still in the arbour, Millicent and I. One ofher hands shone with an unaccustomed jewel--it had been my mother'sring--and her other was in my personal and private keeping.
"I believe, Rollo," she said, "that you are still little more than aboy."
"Millicent," I replied, "I realise less now than ever the prospect ofbeing grown up. I am merely grown out--though scarcely more so thanLoring," I added.
She laughed at the recollection.
"And you didn't mind proposing to me?" I said.
"I _shouldn't_ have minded proposing to you, Rollo, had you not----"
"Did I propose to you, then, Millicent?"
"I'm sure I don't know," she replied. "Perhaps Mollie had her wish afterall."
Anyway, it didn't make much difference.
THE END.
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Transcriber's notes:
1. Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
2. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; retained non-standard spellings and hyphenation.
3. In page 124, a paragraph break was removed to be consistent with the style of the book.
4. Italic text in the original is delimited by _underscores_.
The Compleat Bachelor Page 15