XXXIV WHERE IS ROSAMOND HAYLE?

Ordham was somewhat surprised that his mother did not inflict him with Rosamond Hayle at luncheon or dinner, and wondered if she had accepted the two hundred pounds in the nature of a bribe. He was more than grateful to be spared the sight of that high-born heiress’s prominent teeth and leaden hair; but beyond forbearing to thrust the young woman upon him in person, Lady Bridgminster made no effort at self-abnegation. She talked of her Rosamond’s virtues constantly and even hinted that hair could be “touched up.” Bony structure was hopeless, but by an elaborate arrangement of red-brown tresses and large hats, front teeth could be thrown into the background, particularly when assisted by a pink and white complexion; and this, she pledged her word, the healthy English girl now possessed. Nor were her eyes at all bad, and she had eyebrows, which were a distinct advantage when fixing up a plain girl. As for figure—what were dressmakers for? Besides, these lovely ?sthetic gowns were invented to make skeletons the fashion.

Ordham acquired a certain adroitness in changing the current of his mother’s thought by introducing the subject of her poverty. This was real enough. Her father grew stingier day by day, and her mother, once the essence of worldliness (she, too, had been a beauty), now compromising with heaven through the expensive medium of royal charities, gave her smaller checks every year. How she lived at all heaven only knew. To be sure she had friends, and, thank God! was invited for Homburg or the Riviera every season, and never got round to the same country houses two years in succession. But all that meant clothes, clothes! Heavens, how things did cost! Sometimes she had wished that the boys were girls, but think what they would have cost in clothes. And girls made slaves of their mothers. As to the boys, they were better off without her and could be kept in the country the year round. Their health was wonderful. If they had ever had even the measles or whooping-cough, she had not heard of it. Mortimer (the family solicitor) paid their bills.

If Lady Bridgminster had a preference for any of her children, for any mortal, indeed, save herself, it was for her oldest son, whom she understood in some things so well, and in others not at all. He was interesting, he never bored her. The other five were fine orthodox straightforward English boys, who were only happy when out of doors or satisfying their mighty appetites. She was a little uncomfortable about her second son, Stanley, now twenty-two, and, no doubt, expecting to be entertained in town occasionally. But until her brilliant eldest brought gold to the coffers Stanley must content himself where he was, and there was plenty of room for him, during his holidays, in the dower house. She ran down to see him occasionally, as well as to Kent, and the boys were immensely flattered; Stanley, in particular, when she honoured Sandhurst, showing her off to his companions with a pride not without its pathos. She would willingly have showered money on them, poor souls, and had the youngest up for the pantomimes; but what could she do?

Ordham went one day to visit his brothers. He was fond of them in the abstract, although after the first half hour he was at a loss for subjects of conversation and wearied of theirs. They were somewhat in awe of their magnificent brother, whom they regarded as the head of the family, Bridgminster being more or less of a myth to them. Ordham upon this occasion felt pride as ever in their fine manly appearance, but when the youngest frankly demanded tips was mortified not to be able to respond generously, and wished that he had not come. To them he stood in the shoes of their indulgent father; moreover, Ordham was one of those unfortunate persons who, while possessing the very special gift of wearing new clothes for the first time as if they had been in his wardrobe for at least two months, yet impressed the beholder as a young man of unlimited income, and on the Continent sent the prices up in every shop he entered. He left the house in Kent so deeply vexed at being obliged to give his brothers silver instead of gold that he was in a frame of mind to call on Rosamond Hayle; but in London he found a note from his mother informing him that she had run down to Brighton for the night with that paragon, and he dismissed all things disagreeable from his mind and spent the evening with the Cuttings.

He had lunched or dined or driven with them every day for a fortnight, always entering the cool exquisite house with a sensation of gratitude, especially now that he spent his mornings in the Foreign Office, for the weather continued hot. And this house, with shades drawn and great bunches of flowers in priceless bowls, always struck him afresh as the most perfect setting possible for the young chatelaine, always drifting about in a pale diaphanous gown; she wore a new one every time he saw her. Mrs. Cutting invariably wore black,—jet, lace, or net,—and he sometimes wondered if she deliberately were making a foil of herself; she was still young enough to take pleasure in colours. This question did not give him pause, however, his mental processes being now wholly engaged with the riddle of his sentiments toward Mabel Cutting. Was he on the edge of love, at last? He had gone so far as to resolve to marry her if she would have him, for wed he must, and never could he hope to find another girl with so much to recommend her. But he was still reluctant to give up his liberty; could he but fall a victim to the grand passion, hesitation would be consumed, and he should count himself the happiest of mortals—that is, if she would accept him. He forced his mind to dwell upon her and angrily reproached himself for being as cold as a fish. That she interested and intrigued him beyond any girl he had ever met was indisputable, and he increasingly longed for talks alone with her, that he might explore the tempting by-paths of that mind and character. But Mrs. Cutting was a stickler for the proprieties and did not believe in exposing young people to the criticism of servants. Occasionally Mabel enlivened and talked rapidly and pleasantly about a new play or a bit of news in the artist or social world, but soon relapsed into her usual dreamy silence and left the burden of the conversation to her mother. Once she deliberately picked up a book and read for an hour; and upon another occasion, when the weather was more than commonly warm, she took a little gold box from her pocket and powdered her nose. This Ordham found quite adorable, and was even fascinated by the independence that prompted her to turn from the conversation that did not interest her to the literature that did.

Mrs. Cutting was ever bright and entertaining, being a passed mistress of the art of small talk, but there were times when Ordham hated the sound of her voice, and was not sure whether his impatience were due to his desire to talk with the daughter, or to the possible fact that Margarethe Styr had spoilt him for the conversation of other women. Although grateful that she was not close enough to divert him from his purpose, he felt the sudden deprivation of her society; the more as her letters were brief and unsatisfactory. She was on her Gastspiel and the weather was very warm; but she promised him long letters upon her return to Munich—that is, unless he delightfully returned, as he had promised. This he now knew he should not do until he was safely married; but he was not the man to give his beloved friend a hint of the matrimonial state of his mind or the fluid condition of his affections. Styr pictured him dutifully dancing attendance upon his mother, who, for reasons, was detained in London.

Once he gently insinuated to Miss Cutting that he should like to read with her during the long afternoons, or at least discuss with her the books that occupied her morning hours. But to these hints she was impervious, and, by way of compensating him, Mrs. Cutting proposed a game of tennis every morning before his duties commenced. To this bait Ordham rose like a famished trout, and it somewhat surprised him that Mabel accepted the suggestion no less eagerly than himself. The three drove out to a court in Chelsea every morning at half-past eight, and he played for an hour or two with a radiant vision in a short skirt, a red jersey, and tumbling yellow hair. Mabel did not play a particularly good game, but her interest was youthful and eager, and her admiration of his so outspoken, when her manners, like her toilette, were in déshabillé, that he wondered if there were no end to the charms of this remarkable girl.