CHAPTER XXXVI. A METAMORPHOSIS.
It seemed almost as though some magical metamorphosis had taken placewithin the walls of Ravenor Castle. Directly we came in sight of it wehad the first intimation of its altered aspect. Instead of the one or twosolitary lights shining above the dark woods, it seemed a very blaze ofillumination, and when we drew up at the great front door the change wasstill mere apparent. Liveried servants with powdered hair were movingabout the hall. From open doors there came the sound of laughing voices,and even Mr. Ravenor's manner, as he came out to meet us, seemed altered.
"Come in and have some tea here," he said, leading the way to one of thesmaller rooms. "Your mother is here, Cecil."
We followed him into Lady Silchester's favourite apartment. Severalladies and one or two men were lounging on divans and in easy chairsaround a brightly-blazing fire. Lady Silchester, who was presiding at agreen-and-gold Sevres tea-service, welcomed us both with a languid smile.
"My dear Cis, how you have grown!" she said, leaning back in her chairand leisurely sipping her tea. "I declare I had no idea that I had a sonyour height, sir! Had you, Lord Penraven?"
Lord Penraven, who was lounging by her side with his elbow upon themantelpiece, stroked a long, fair moustache vigorously and answered withemphasis:
"'Pon my word, I hadn't the slightest idea. Seems almost impossible!"
"Let me give you boys some tea!" Lady Silchester said, in her sweetesttone.
"None for me, thanks, mother," replied Cecil. "Why, Ag--Miss Hamilton, isthat really you over in the corner?" he exclaimed, rising and crossingthe room. "How awfully jolly!"
Lady Silchester shrugged her shoulders and turned to me.
"Mr. Morton?"
I took the cup which she had filled and the conversation which ourentrance had interrupted flowed on again. Presently Mr. Ravenor, who hadbeen standing on the hearthrug talking to a stately, grey-haired lady whooccupied the seat of honour--a black oak arm-chair drawn up to thefire,--moved over to my side and dropped into a vacant seat between LadySilchester and myself.
"Well, Philip," he said softly, "you seem lost in thought. Are youwondering whether a magician's wand has touched Ravenor Castle?"
"It all seems very different," I answered.
"Of course. Nothing like change, you know. It is only by comparison thatwe can appreciate. Stagnation sharpens one's appetite for gaiety, and onemust go through a course of overwork before one can taste the fullsweetness of an idle country life."
Then Mr. Ravenor was silent for a minute, leaning back in his chair andlooking steadily into the fire, and by the dancing, fitful light of theflames I could see that the old weariness and deep indefinable sadnesshad stolen into his pale face and dark eyes. It was only a passingchange. The sound of the laughing voices around seemed suddenly togalvanise him into consciousness of the _role_ which he was playing andthe expression faded away. Someone asked him a question and he answeredit with a light jest. Once more he was the courteous, smiling host, whosesole thought appeared to be the entertainment of his guests. But I knewthat there was a background.
The dressing-bell rang and the gossiping assembly broke up. Mr. Ravenor,standing with the opened door in his hand, exchanged little happyspeeches with most of the ladies as they swept out. When they were allgone he turned to Cecil and me and looked at us critically, with a faintsmile upon his lips.
"Well, are you ready for your matric., Cecil?" he asked.
Cecil made a wry face.
"Shall be soon, uncle!" he declared hopefully, "I'm getting on now firstrate. Morton here makes me work like a Trojan."
"That's right! And you, Philip? I hope my lazy nephew doesn't keep youback."
"Oh, Morton's all right for his matric. whenever he likes to go in forit!" broke in Cecil.
Mr. Ravenor nodded.
"Good! You'd better go and dress now, both of you; Richards is waiting toshow you your rooms."
We passed up the great oak staircase, and on the first corridor we cameface to face with a slim little figure in a white frock, walking demurelyby the side of her maid, with her ruddy, golden hair tumbled about heroval face and an expectant light in her dancing blue eyes.
Directly she saw us she flew into Cecil's arms.
"Oh, Cis, Cis, Cis, how delightful! How glad I am that you have come!They only just told me! And how do you do, Mr. Morton?"
She held out a very diminutive palm and looked up at me with a beamingsmile.
"I'm quite well, thank you, Lady Beatrice," I answered, looking down withkeen pleasure into her sweet, childish face, and repressing a strongdesire to take her up in my arms, as Cecil had done, and give her a kiss.
"You remember me, then?"
"Oh, yes!" she answered; "I remember you quite well! Your name is Philip,isn't it? You told me that I might call you by it."
"Well, we must go now, dear," Cecil said, stroking her hair. "We've gotto dress for dinner, you know."
"Oh!" The exclamation was drawn out and the little face fell. Suddenly itbrightened.
"Cecil, what do you think? I've got a pony, a real pony of my own. Willyou come for a ride with me to-morrow? Please, please, do!"
"All right!" he promised carelessly.
She clapped her hands and looked up at me.
"Will you come too, Philip?" she asked.
"I should like to very much indeed," I answered unhesitatingly.
"Oh, that's delightful!" she exclaimed gleefully. "We will have such anice ride! You shall see Queenie canter; she does go so fast! Good-byenow!"
She tripped away by the side of her maid, turning round more than once towave her hand to us. Then we hurried along to our rooms, which were atthe end of the wide, marble-pillared corridor and opened one into theother. Our portmanteaux had been placed in readiness, so dressing was nota tedious business. I had finished first and lounged in an easy chair,watching Cecil struggle with a refractory white tie.
"How pretty your sister is, Cis!" I remarked.
"Think so? She's rather an odd little thing," declared her brother,absently surveying himself at last with satisfaction in the longpier-glass. "Didn't know you'd ever seen her before. I say"--with suddenemphasis--"isn't Aggie Hamilton a jolly good-looking girl?"
"I've scarcely seen her yet," I reminded him. "Rather a chatterbox, isn'tshe?"
"Chatterbox? Not she!" Cecil protested indignantly. "Why----"
The rumble of a gong reached us from below. Cecil stopped short in hisspeech and hurried me out of the room.
"Come along, sharp!" he exclaimed. "That means dinner in ten minutes, andI promised to get down into the drawing-room first and introduce you toAggie. Come on!"
We descended into the hall and a tall footman threw open the door of thelong suite of drawing and ante-rooms in which the guests at the Castlewere rapidly assembling. To me, who had seen nothing of the sort before,it was a brilliant sight. Four rooms, all of stately dimensions and alldraped with amber satin of the same shade, were thrown into one by theupraising of heavy, clinging curtains, and each one seemed filled withgroups of charmingly-dressed women and little knots of men. A low,incessant buzz of conversation floated about in the air, which was ladenwith the scent of exotics and dainty perfumes. The light was brilliant,but soft, for the marble figures around the walls held out silver lampscovered with gauzy rose-coloured shades.
We passed through two of the rooms before we found the young lady of whomCecil was in search. Then we came upon her suddenly, sitting quite aloneand idly turning over the pages of a book of engravings. Cecil jogged meexcitedly with his elbow in a manner which elsewhere would have broughtdown anathemas and possibly retribution upon his head. As it was,however, I had to bear the pain like a Spartan.
"I say, isn't she stunning?" he whispered.
I answered in the affirmative, carefully removing myself from the rangeof his elbow. Then we approached her, and she closed the book ofengravings with a comical air of relief and
made room for us beside her.
She was even prettier than I had expected, with dark hair and eyes,dazzling complexion, a perfect figure of the _petite_ order, andfaultless teeth, which she was by no means averse from showing. She worea black lace gown, with a good deal of scarlet about it and a deep redrose in her bosom. Altogether, I was scarcely surprised at Cecil'scaptivation.
If not actually a chatterbox, she was certainly possessed of the art oftalking nonsense very volubly, and making others talk it. Before dinnerwas announced by a dignified-looking functionary we had got through quitean amazing amount of conversation. It fell to Cecil's lot to take in hisinamorata, whilst I was far away behind with the middle-aged wife of acountry clergyman. She was very pleasant, though, and I was quite contentto do but little talking throughout the long banquet, for it was all newto me and interesting.
The vast dining-hall--it was really the picture-gallery--the manyservants in rich liveries, the emblazoned plate, the glittering glasses,and the brilliant snatches of conversation which floated around me, allwere a revelation. Very soon the effect of it passed away and I was ableto choose my wines and select my dishes, and was free to take part if Ichose in the talk. But for that first evening I was content to remainsilent and, as far as possible, unnoticed.
Dinner, which had seemed to me to be growing interminable, came to an endat last. Lady Silchester, at the head of a long file of stately women,swept down the polished floor, and the procession departed with muchrustling of robes. Some of the vacant chairs were taken possession of bymen, and already delicate blue clouds of smoke were curling upwards tothe vaulted ceiling. It was the short period dearer to the heart of manthan any during the day. Every one stretched out his stiff limbs, filledhis glass and assumed his favourite attitude. Voices were raised and asudden change of tone crept in upon the conversation. Only Mr. Ravenorand a few of the older guests appeared to be still engrossed in thediscussion of some abstruse scientific controversy then raging in thereviews. Everyone else seemed to be talking lightly of the day's sport,the arrangements for the morrow, and his own and other men's horses.
It was getting a little slow for me. Cecil had found some friends, andthe sound of his hearty boyish laugh came to me often from the other endof the table. My immediate neighbours were a bishop, who was deep indiscussion with a minor canon concerning the doings of some recentdiocesan conference, at which things seemed to have been more lively thanharmonious; and on my other side Lord Penraven was quarrelling with thelord lieutenant of the county about the pedigree of a racehorse. Bothdisputes were utterly without interest to me, and it was no small reliefwhen, as I caught Mr. Ravenor's eye, he beckoned me to a vacant chair byhis side.
The conversation, which had been for a moment interrupted, was soonrenewed. I sat silent, listening with ever-increasing admiration to theplay of words, the subtle arguments, and the epigrammatic brilliancy ofexpression which flashed from one to another of the four disputants. HadI known anything of the social or literary life of London I might havebeen less astonished, for Mr. Ravenor and two of his antagonists, Mr.Justice Haselton and Professor Clumbers, were reckoned among the finesttalkers of their day.
At last Mr. Ravenor, very much to my regret, brought the conversation toan abrupt close by proposing an exodus to the drawing-rooms. A few of theyounger men looked eager to depart, but the majority rose and stretchedthemselves with the sad faces of martyrs before forming themselves intolittle groups and quitting the room. Mr. Ravenor remained until the lastand motioned me to stay with him.
"Well, Philip," he said, when everyone had gone, "how are you getting onat Dr. Randall's? Do you like being there?"
"Very much for some things," I answered.
He looked at me closely.
"There is something you have to tell me," he said. "What is it?"
I glanced around at the little army of servants moving noiselessly abouton all sides.
"There is something," I acknowledged, "but I would rather tell it youwhen we are quite alone. Besides, it is rather a long story. It hasmostly to do with Mr. Marx."
The calm, stately serenity of Mr. Ravenor's face underwent a suddenchange. His dark brows almost met into his eyes, which I could not read.The change strengthened the impression which had lately been growing uponme. There was some deep mystery connected with the personality of Mr.Marx in which Mr. Ravenor was somehow concerned.
"What about Mr. Marx? What can you have to say to me about him?" he askedcoldly.
"More than I should care to say here," I answered, glancing around. "Itis rather a long----"
"Come into the library to me the last thing tonight," he said quickly. "Imust know what this story is that you have got hold of. We will go intothe drawing-room now."
In a few moments the cloud had vanished from his face and he was againthe polished host. And I, under protest, was inveigled into a corner byMiss Agnes Hamilton, and given my first lesson in the fashionable art offlirting.
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