“I should just think so!” said Evelyn. “The little woman he is talking to is Mrs. Jack Yilke. Doesn’t she look as hard as nails? She’s an M.F.H.”
“First-rate!” said Graham admiringly; while I remembered, by a fearful effort, what an M.F.H. was.
“She hunts the Famine—has ever since her husband died. That’s just about the ne plus ultra, you know. As far as I’ve observed the top thing to be over here is a Bishop, then comes a thing they call a Head Master,—they often turn into Bishops,—and then an M.F.H. And talk about dukes being scarce! Lady ‘Masters’ are a good deal scarcer.”
We contemplated, feeling very much privileged indeed, the two exceptional persons on the hearth-rug. It was easy to clothe Mrs. Yilke in a safety-habit. She stood as if she were in one then, briskly talking to the Duke, with her best side, as it were, foremost, and tapped her leg with the fan Lady Doleford had given her to protect her from the fire, forgetting, I am sure, that it was not a hunting-crop.
“Why the ‘Famine’?” asked Graham.
“Oh, I don’t know. Some joke of the Duke of Wellington’s, I believe. It’s as cryptic by now as he is, but they cling to it. Now, there’s somebody you are likely to see again—Margot Lippington.”
“Why,” I asked breathlessly, “are we likely to see her again?”
“Well, she’s a cousin of Lady Doleford’s and a great friend of mine, and her husband, if she can find out any way of doing it, is going to be your next Governor-General at Quebec.”
“At Ottawa,” corrected Graham. “One would suppose, Miss Dicey, that you had learned your Canada in England!”
“Well, anyhow,” said Evelyn, “Margot Lippington’s just dying to go there and put her weary little bore of a husband on the throne, or whatever you call it; and why she’s so mad about it I can’t imagine. They’ve got quite enough money to have the loveliest time right here in England; and he would rather hatch pheasants than do any other thing on earth. But, no, first she worried round till she got him the West Indies—don’t ask me where—and then she worked the Antipodes—don’t ask me what—and they’re hardly back six months before she’s worrying again to get him Canada. She’s remarkably successful, you know; she just keeps at them; and she’s a wonderful example of the value of leaving no stone unturned. I’ll introduce you—she’d just love to meet anyone from Canada, especially when I tell her who you are.”
“But we’re nobody in particular,” I protested. “It’s our father.”
“Oh, aren’t you? Well, Margot will very soon make you think you are,” said Evelyn, and a moment later we were being presented.
Lady Lippington received us with a grace and charm that had a curious general quality, suggested being part of a large reserve which she kept to meet just such cases as ours. It was as impersonal as light or heat, and she poured it over us in smiles, though with a somewhat wandering eye, until Evelyn mentioned that we came from Canada. Then it was exactly as Evelyn said—she did show an interest. Her attention hovered much nearer to us; I saw her perceive the kind of fur I was wearing. She was one of those tall, thin women with mobile lips and clear complexions and what Graham calls the noble nose—and it is essentially the noble nose, though, as he says, it is being grafted on to increasing numbers of the mere gentry. Lady Lippington lifted hers with an air of Imperial recollection at the name of our country, seemed to stiffen, as Graham said, with a sense of approaching function.
“Canada,” she said, “has the greatest fascination for me. Its history thrill-lls me; its loyalty touches me to the heart.”
It seemed a good deal to say, in public like that; still, I didn’t see why it should have irritated Graham. But it did always, any reference to Canadian loyalty upon the lips of the aristocratic classes. He got so, at last, that he preferred to hear them charge us with selfishness and sedition.
“That would greatly gratify Canada,” he replied, “if she knew.”
It sounded polite, though it was really temper; and I was thankful to see that Lady Lippington perceived only the sound. That was the worst of Graham in England; you never could depend upon his taking things as he was meant to take them. Luckily it was not often noticed that he didn’t; so I suppose no harm was done.
“Well,” said Evelyn, “if you’re thirsting for information about those parts, Margot, and I know you always are, Mr. Trent is the very person for your extremity. What he doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing, and what he doesn’t own isn’t worth owning. He’s a Member of their Congress ”
“Parliament, Evelyn!” I cried.
“Parliament—I keep forgetting—though so young. He runs the best fishing-club on the Saguenay. He’s a kind of patriotic grandson of the Canadian High Commissioner—isn’t that what you call him?—and his own legitimate parent, Senator Trent, is about the biggest berry on the bush over there. If you’re interested in those maples they talk so much about on their side, why, here’s the Maple Prince!”
“I’ve eaten maple sugar,” cried Lady Lippington; “it’s perfectly delicious! And do you know, I think Evelyn’s title rather suits you.”
She looked Graham up and down with a freedom, I must say. A freedom which I couldn’t help thinking she kept in the same box with the charm I spoke of, for just such cases as ours. I expected signs of one of his ridiculous rages; but no, he didn’t seem to mind the personal liberty. Or perhaps—you never can tell with men—it was because it was a lady, and at the bottom of his heart there was a little vanity that rather liked it. Anyway, he only smiled and said: “American titles are great. They carry no responsibility.”
“But this is too delightful!” went on Lady Lippington. “I think I take naturally to Canadians—do you remember my Montreal friend, Evelyn—the magnate? The magnet we always called him, because he was so alive. Such good brains, and such a fine, unconventional nature! I was devoted to him—what was his name, Evelyn?”
“Sir John Ames,” said Evelyn.
“Of course it was. Do you know him, Mr. Trent?”
“I’ve met him,” said Graham.
“Then there’s another bond! You must really—let me see—what can we arrange? You must come to tea with me at my club. It’s a club with a real purpose—Daughters of the Rag—that’s Daughters of the Flag, you know. In Brook Street. We have lectures—‘Outrollings of the Rag,’ we call them among ourselves—‘Outrollings of the Flag,’ of course, we ought to say. There’s one on Tuesday afternoon—the very thing!—‘Canada at the Present Time,’ with lantern slides, by such a clever man, who has been there twice. You will be interested in that.”
“I should—immensely—thanks very much,” said Graham, “and my sister, I am sure, will be delighted; but I am afraid I am engaged. Isn’t that,” he asked me, “the day Watchett mentioned?”
Lady Lippington did not seem to notice that I would be delighted. “Oh!” she exclaimed vividly, “do you know George Watchett? Isn’t he a dear?”
“Lives in his pocket,” put in Evelyn.
Lady Lippington put up an inspired hand. “Could you lunch on Friday?” she asked. “And I wonder—Evelyn, do you think I could get Alfred Somerset? It would be invaluable for Mr. Trent to meet him; and I wouldn’t hesitate, only you know what he is like about strangers—so ludicrously easily bored.”
Alfred Somerset was the Colonial Secretary. “But, Graham,” I put in, “on Friday you are lunching with Mr. Somerset.”
“So I am,” said Graham. “I seem to be desperately in demand. So sorry, Lady Lippington. But my sis ”
“No,” said I. “Don’t you remember, Graham, I was to go to Lady Selkirk.”
“The High Commissioner for Canada—those Selkirks,” said Lady Lippington. “Delightful people—I’ve been seeing a great deal of them lately. But we’re not at the end of our resources—you must come and dine. Both of you.”
“That is very kind of you, Lady Lippington,” I said. “We should love to come and dine—both of us.”
“And meet Lord Lippington,”
she added, with a little bow of deference which I felt she somehow accepted as coming from us. “You can testify, Evelyn, can’t you, how glad Amherst always is to know Colonials, and how many of them we see. Of all kinds. That will be charming. And now, Mr. Trent, you must sit down here beside me and tell me what the climate is like in your part of Canada. A lovely summer you have everywhere, I know. I was so cross with Mr. Kipling for dubbing the country ‘Our Lady of the Snows’—I told him so. These poets never know what mischief they may do.”
It seemed clear that it was Graham she wanted to talk to, so I moved away with Evelyn toward Lady Doleford, who had just been accosted by a burly person with a commanding air, who wore an uncompromising bonnet with uncompromising strings, a cape of sables, and a coat and skirt of frieze well off the ground. There was rather a space round them; but Lady Doleford smiled at Evelyn, who seemed emboldened to approach, and I with her.
“How do you do?” said the large lady to Evelyn, with what I thought rather a grumpy nod, looking at me. “And is this another American friend?” she asked Lady Doleford, as much as to defy her to say it was.
“No,” I said, “it’s not.” We had come to the briefest expressions of denial. We would refrain from affirming the truth when we thought people had rather we didn’t; but let the matter pass quite we would not.
Evelyn, for a wonder, hadn’t a word to say; and Lady Doleford, looking a little alarmed, hastened to explain.
“Oh, no!” she said; “this is a new Canadian friend, Agnes, Miss Trent, who lives by the beautiful lake of Ontario—I think you said,” she murmured to me. “My sister-in-law, the Duchess of Dulwich, Miss Trent.”
“Well, well—Canadian—that’s better!” said the Duchess; and of course I loved her, frieze and bonnet-strings and all, then and there. But in the hurry of the moment I could think of nothing else, so I said:
“How is your secretary?”
“Dear me!” said the Duchess of Dulwich. “And how came you to know about my secretary?”
“The one that had to go to the rest-cure,” I explained, dreadfully frightened.
“I’m afraid I mentioned it, Agnes,” pleaded Lady Doleford, and established that it wasn’t my fault.
The Duchess laughed, as if at some exquisitely humorous perception that was going on within her. We all waited, quite perceptibly, to know what it was.
“Upon my word,” said Her Grace, “I thought it not impossible she had read it in one of the papers. I saw with my own eyes the other day that the Portmores had lost their butler, who had been with them twenty-five years, ‘and the family were plunged in grief.’ They had got hold of it! Well, if they put in the death of the Portmores’ butler why shouldn’t they put in the illness of my secretary—which plunges me in confusion, I assure you. But I’m glad to say she’s better—I’m glad to say she’s better.”
“How tiresome for you, Agnes,” said Lady Doleford. “Just in the midst of your Royal Commission, too. Have you been able to replace her?”
“Oh, yes! I’ve got another, rather more woolly-headed than the last. Love-sick, half of these young women are, I believe. One eye on your Blue Book and the other—well, where shall we say the other is?” and the Duchess looked at me in the way that used to be described as quizzical. I mean she distinctly implied that at my age my other eye might be wandering too.
“What is your Royal Commission about, Duchess?” asked Evelyn respectfully.
“The Assimilation of Aliens. The quickest and most effective methods of turning them into loyal British subjects,” said the Duchess. “How best to understand them, and deal with them without damage to their national, political or religious prejudices. How most permanently to bind them to us, to win their affections, to educate them in British standards and traditions. We have been given the widest scope. It was, no doubt, my well-known interest in the repatriation of the Jews,” she went on, “that induced them to put me on it. Personally I am not very fond of aliens. I would repatriate them all.”
She looked severely as she spoke, not at Evelyn, but at Lady Doleford, who cast down her eyes.
CHAPTER VIII
I KNEW exactly how it would be. As soon as I let myself begin to tell about the people we came to know and the things that happened to us, all the wonderful daily romance that London has for the stranger, from the hour when “’Ulk” sounds with a clatter of tins through the cold grey dawn, to the last irresponsible beat of a hansom in the abysmal streets, would simply swim and melt away and refuse to compete, as it were, in one’s memory, with such centres of interest as the Lippingtons and Lady Barbara. It is as if all the dear, homely details knew their place, in the national way, too well to let me say another word about them when once more important matters had engaged my attention. They all humbly escape, as I knew they would, out of the back-door of my mind; and Towse, alas! Towse is the very first to go. So that while I long to linger and dwell, and relate all the small commerce and adventure by which London really opens its heart to you, it is the Lippingtons’ dinner-party that I find myself “at,” as we say, in the historical sense, and the Lippingtons themselves who walk in, without any special invitation, and take possession of this page. I am sorry to see them; I meant to devote it to Towse’s views of Out-Door Relief, but that is for ever impossible; they are already there.
It was not much of a dinner-party in the party sense, only eight altogether. We were the first to arrive; and Lady Lippington said at once that she hoped we wouldn’t mind its not being “a function.” The only thing we minded, of course, was that she should think we could; and even that, I am afraid, we were too much interested to mind much. (Do not cast up Mrs. Jerome Jarvis: if we minded there it was for altogether a different reason.) Lady Lippington went on to explain that she thought it would be so nice to begin with a little glimpse of them quite intimately, a little impression of what they were like in family life. That is, I’m afraid, a confused way of putting it. What she actually said was that they wanted a little glimpse of us quite intimately; but clever people often unconsciously convey themselves so much more clearly than stupid, literal ones do, though using exactly the same words. Anyway, she was quite right—we were delighted; and it was fascinating to hear her call Lord Lippington Amherst, and reveal her affection for him openly, and think that in a few months one might be curtseying to them both while the band played “God Save the King!”
I couldn’t help wondering, in those first few instants, why Evelyn had called Lord Lippington a weary little bore. He had a droop of the eyelids that certainly was weary, and perhaps his moustache carried it out. He had, too, a pathetic look of having done for a long time whatever was suggested to him to do, flinching at nothing, and simply seeing it no part of his duty to enquire whether nature had equipped him for the task. His eyes followed Lady Lippington now and then with a fidelity that seemed to say—or was it my imagination?—that somehow or other he knew she would see him through; he had only to do his best, and she might rely on him for that. This wasn’t boring at all, but interesting and touching; and so were his perfect manners—the way he took up his stand, nevertheless, upon his own hearth, and the inalienable rights of a British nobleman, his gentle agreeable little commonplaces, which would have compelled attention quite rightly just by the way they were said.
“The Tanners are coming, Amherst,” said Lady Lippington. “You remember the Tanners, who so thoughtfully put their stables at our disposal when ours were burnt at Christchurch? They very kindly called over a fortnight ago, and I was beginning to be afraid we couldn’t manage anything at all, but luckily, in spite, I’m afraid, of very short notice, they were free to-night. You people from abroad,” Lady Lippington charged me humorously, “are always so desperately engaged when you come to London. You will like meeting Sir Thomas and Lady Tanner. They represent, like yourselves, if you don’t mind my saying so, quite the best type of Colonials.”
It made one feel very silly; but I don’t go so far as Graham, who declared afterwards that it was
a flagrant thing to say. He stood provokingly dumb under it, however, and Lord Lippington said hastily that Tanner was a very good sort indeed.
“And so able,” added Lady Lippington. “A Member of Lord Lippington’s Government when we were there, Mr. Trent. It gave you so much pleasure to recommend him for his knighthood, didn’t it, Amherst? Did I understand that your father was a member of the present Canadian Government, Mr. Trent? No? What a pity ”
“Sir Thomas and Lady Tanner!” declared the footman.
The stout gentleman who came quickly in had the air of being able to meet any emergency, but seemed in a hurry, and wiped his face, already very red and polished, with a beautifully fresh pocket-handkerchief. His wife moved, on the contrary, most languidly, so they made rather a disjointed approach. She was dressed very elegantly indeed, and wore a tiara, that seemed, when she sat down in the blaze of the fire, a fairy addition to the electric lights. I saw Lady Lippington just glance at it, but not at all enviously.
The Lippingtons welcomed them very pleasantly, but were almost unable to reassure them about being punctual.
“I know we must be outrageously late?” said Lady Tanner, clinging to the hand of our hostess as if for absolution. “Do you know—I am afraid I must confess it—I lost your note!”
“I saw it on your dressing-table—stuck in the looking-glass—just before we started,” Sir Thomas put in.
“Oh, did you? Why didn’t you tell me? And then the three hotel clocks all told a different story, and Tom won’t alter his watch from Australian time.”
“I ask you,” said Tom; “a watch I’ve had twenty-five years, and never touched a hand of it!”
“And on the top of all our wretched hired motor broke down in Bond Street! Positively it made me wish we had brought one of ours with us. Tom gave the man such a setting-out, and that didn’t mend matters ”
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