Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг
Under the Deodars
THE HILL OF ILLUSION
What rendered vain their deep desire?
A God, a God their severance ruled,
And bade between their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.
– Matthew Arnold.
He. Tell your jhampanies not to hurry so, dear. They forget I’m fresh from the Plains.
She. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they are an untrained crew. Where do we go?
He. As usual to the world’s end. No, Jakko.
She. Have your pony led after you, then. It’s a long round.
He. And for the last time, thank Heaven!
She. Do you mean that still? I didn’t dare to write to you about it all these months.
He. Mean it! I’ve been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time?
She. I? Oh! I don’t know. I’ve had long enough to think, too.
He. And you’ve changed your mind?
She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are your arrangements?
He. Ours, Sweetheart, please.
She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water?
He. It’ll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple enough. Tonga in the early morning reach Kalka at twelve Umballa at seven down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of the 21st for Rome. That’s my idea. The Continent and Sweden a ten-week honeymoon.
She. Ssh! Don’t talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long have we two been insane?
He. Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours exactly, but I’ll think.
She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the Blessington Road?
He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me everything that you’ve been doing and saying and thinking.
She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I’ve hardly been out at all.
He. That was wrong of you. You haven’t been moping?
She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I’m disinclined for amusement?
He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty?
She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I’m known here, the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don’t like that.
He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it.
She. You think so?
He. I’m sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carry us away. Ha! ha!
She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot?
He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something.
She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. Now I was thinking of the scandal.
He. Don’t think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it.
She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla telegraphed over India, and talked of at the dinners and when He goes out they will stare at Him to see how he takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy dear dead and cast into the outer darkness where there is —
He. Love at least. Isn’t that enough?
She. I have said so.
He. And you think so still?
She. What do you think?
He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life’s work. I pay my price.
She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it. Am I?
He. My Divinity what else?
She. A very ordinary woman, I’m afraid, but so far, respectable. How d’you do, Mrs. Middle-ditch? Your husband? I think he’s riding down to Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn’t it divine after the rain? Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the 17th?
He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the discussion? You were saying?
She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged?
He. Yes. Once.
She. What was it for?
He. Murder, of course.
She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt before the drop fell.
He. I don’t think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this evening! You’re shivering. Put on your cape, dear.
She. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies’ Mile! Let’s turn back.
He. What’s the good? There’s a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means it’s foggy all down the Mall. We’ll go on. It’ll blow away before we get to the Convent, perhaps. ‘Jove! It is chilly.
She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you think of my cape?
He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman’s dress when he is desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like everything else of yours it’s perfect. Where did you get it from?
She. He gave it me, on Wednesday our wedding-day, you know.
He. The Deuce He did! He’s growing generous in his old age. D’you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don’t.
She. Don’t you?
Kind Sir, o’ your courtesy,
As you go by the town, Sir,
‘Pray you o’ your love for me,
Buy me a russet gown, Sir.
He. I won’t say: ‘Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.’ Only wait a little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything else.
She. And when the frocks wear out you’ll get me new ones and everything else?
He. Assuredly.
She. I wonder!
He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn’t spend two days and two nights in the train to hear you wonder. I thought we’d settled all that at Shaifazehat.
She. (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the Amirtollah kutcha road. I don’t believe that could crumble till the Day of Judgment.
He. You think so? What is the mood now?
She. I can’t tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly.
He. ‘Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanies and get out. What’s the matter with you this evening, dear?
She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I’m boring you I can go home. Here’s Captain Congleton coming, I daresay he’ll be willing to escort me.
He. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton.
She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It jars a little, and you might swear at me.
He. My angel! I didn’t know what I was saying; and you changed so quickly that I couldn’t follow. I’ll apologise in dust and ashes.
She. There’ll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain Congleton. Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you next week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said. If you’ve made a mistake, I certainly don’t intend to suffer for it. You must alter your programme.
He. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this season?
She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances very nicely.
He. And sit out with him, I suppose?
She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in future?
He. What does he talk to you about?
She. What do men talk about when they sit out?
He. Ugh! Don’t! Well, now I’m up, you must dispense with the fascinating Congleton for a while. I don’t like him.
She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said?
He ‘Can’t say that I do exactly. I’m not in the best of tempers.
She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your ‘eternal constancy,’ ‘unalterable trust,’ and ‘reverent devotion’? I remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man’s name.
He. A good deal more than that.
She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at once distrust and insult me.
He. I never said a word.
She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our stock to start the new life on?
He. No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. On my word and honour, I didn’t. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass.
She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all through the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, and, you know too much.
He. How do you mean?
She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust between us.
He. In Heaven’s name, why not?
She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself.
He. I don’t follow.
She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man Never mind. Guy, have you ever made love to a girl a good girl?
He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago in the Dark Ages, before I ever met you, dear.
She. Tell me what you said to her.
He. What does a man say to a girl? I’ve forgotten.
She. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground she walks on, and that he’ll love and honour and protect her till her dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one girl who was not protected.
He. Well, and then?
She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and trust and honour yes, honour that was enough when she was only a mere wife if if the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even bearable. Do you understand?
He. Even bearable! It’ll be Paradise.
She. Ah! Can you give me all I’ve asked for not now, nor a few months later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you had kept your own appointment and your caste here when you begin to look upon me as a drag and a burden? I shall want it most then, Guy, for there will be no one in the wide world but you.
He. You’re a little over-tired to-night, Sweetheart, and you’re taking a stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, the road is clear to —
She. ‘The holy state of matrimony!’ Ha! ha! ha!
He. Ssh! Don’t laugh in that horrible way!
She. I I c-c-c-can’t help it! Isn’t it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, stop me quick or I shall l-l-laugh till we get to the Church.
He. For goodness sake, stop! Don’t make an exhibition of yourself. What is the matter with you?
She. N-nothing. I’m better now.
He. That’s all right. One moment, dear. There’s a little wisp of hair got loose from behind your right ear and it’s straggling over your cheek. So!
She. Thank’oo. I’m ‘fraid my hat’s on one side, too.
He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They’re big enough to kill a man with.
She. Oh! don’t kill me, though. You’re sticking it into my head! Let me do it. You men are so clumsy.
He. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us in this sort of work?
She. Guy, what is my name?
He. Eh! I don’t follow.
She. Here’s my card-case. Can you read?
He. Yes. Well?
She. Well, that answers your question. You know the other’s man’s name. Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any one else?
He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only joking. There! Lucky there’s no one on the road. They’d be scandalised.
She. They’ll be more scandalised before the end.
He. Do-on’t! I don’t like you to talk in that way.
She. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman! Swear I don’t! Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that I’m not like Mrs. Buzgago. That’s the way she stands, with her hands clasped at the back of her head. D’you like that?
He. Don’t be affected.
She. I’m not. I’m Mrs. Buzgago. Listen!
Pendant une anne’ toute entiere
Le regiment n’a pas r’paru.
Au Ministere de la Guerre
On le r’porta comme perdu.
On se r’noncait – retrouver sa trace,
Quand un matin subitement,
On le vit reparaetre sur la place,
L’Colonel toujours en avant.
That’s the way she rolls her r’s. Am I like her?
He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It isn’t a drawing-room song. It isn’t proper.
She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and in another month she’ll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she isn’t as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women and had no scruples about What is it Keene says? ‘Wearing a corpse’s hair and being false to the bread they eat.’
He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods tell me, and I’ll try to understand the last one.
She. Moods, Guy! I haven’t any. I’m sixteen years old and you’re just twenty, and you’ve been waiting for two hours outside the school in the cold. And now I’ve met you, and now we’re walking home together. Does that suit you, My Imperial Majesty?
He. No. We aren’t children. Why can’t you be rational?
She. He asks me that when I’m going to commit suicide for his sake, and, and I don’t want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I married? He’s married now. Can’t you imagine the pleasure that the news of the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased with your performances?
He. One or two. One can’t make omelets without breaking eggs.
She (slowly). I don’t see the necessity
He. Hah! What do you mean?
She. Shall I speak the truth?
He Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well.
She. Guy, I’m afraid.
He I thought we’d settled all that. What of?
She. Of you.
He. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too bad!
She. Of you.
He. And what now?
She. What do you think of me?
He. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do?
She. I daren’t risk it. I’m afraid. If I could only cheat
He. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That’s the one point on which I have any notion of Honour. I won’t eat his salt and steal too. I’ll loot openly or not at all.
She. I never meant anything else.
He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come?
She. It’s not pretence, Guy. I am afraid.
He. Please explain.
She. It can’t last, Guy. It can’t last. You’ll get angry, and then you’ll swear, and then you’ll get jealous, and then you’ll mistrust me you do now and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And I what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out no better than any one. And you’ll know that. Oh, Guy, can’t you see?
He I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman.
She. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you do when I am only your property stolen property? It can’t be, Guy. It can’t be! I thought it could, but it can’t. You’ll get tired of me.
He I tell you I shall not. Won’t anything make you understand that?
She. There, can’t you see? If you speak to me like that now, you’ll call me horrible names later, if I don’t do everything as you like. And if you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go? where should I go? I can’t trust you. Oh! I can’t trust you!
He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I’ve ample reason.
She. Please don’t, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me.
He. It isn’t exactly pleasant for me.
She. I can’t help it. I wish I were dead! I can’t trust you, and I don’t trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten!
He. Too late now. I don’t understand you I won’t and I can’t trust myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow?
She. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my ‘rickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti’s. You ride.
He. I’ll go on to Peliti’s too. I think I want a drink. My world’s knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in the Old Library?
She. They’re rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can’t you hear Mrs. Buzgago’s voice? She has a solo. It’s quite a new idea. Listen!
Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con molt. exp.).
See-saw! Margery Daw!
Sold her bed to lie upon straw.
Wasn’t she a silly slut
To sell her bed and lie upon dirt?
Captain Congleton, I’m going to alter that to ‘flirt.’ It sounds better.
He. No, I’ve changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little lady. I shall see you to-morrow?
She. Ye es. Good-night, Guy. Don’t be angry with me.
He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and God bless you!
(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I’d give something to discover whether there’s another man at the back of all this.
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
Est fuga, volvitur rota,
On we drift: where looms the dim port?
One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota:
Something is gained if one caught but the import,
Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.
– Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha.
‘Dressed! Don’t tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood in the middle of the room while her ayah no, her husband it must have been a man threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is she?’ said Mrs. Hauksbee.
‘Don’t!’ said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. ‘You make my head ache. I am miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for I am. Did you bring anything from Peliti’s?’
‘Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have answered them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least half-a-dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their midst.’
‘Delville,’ said Mrs. Mallowe, “‘Shady” Delville, to distinguish her from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are so interested.’
‘What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a dowd has for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her clothes until I looked at her eyes.’
‘Hooks and eyes, surely,’ drawled Mrs. Mallowe.
‘Don’t be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick stood a crowd of men a positive crowd!’
‘Perhaps they also expected.’
‘Polly, don’t be Rabelaisian!’
Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis Yeere, which has been already recorded.
Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered with thought.
‘Hah!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. ‘Indeed!’
‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily.
‘That dowd and The Dancing Master to whom I object.’
‘Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.’
‘Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should imagine that this animal how terrible her bonnet looks from above! is specially clingsome.’
‘She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.’
‘O-oh! I think I’ve met that sort of man before. And isn’t he?’
‘No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be killed.’
‘What happened then?’
‘He posed as the horror of horrors a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough but the other thing!’
‘And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide in me. How is it they come to you?’
‘For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me from men with confidences!’
‘And yet you encourage them?’
‘What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is of the most old possible.’
‘Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, whereas women’s confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except – ’
‘When they go mad and babble of the Unutter-abilities after a week’s acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more of men than of our own sex.’
‘And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say we are trying to hide something.’
‘They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These chocolates pall upon me, and I haven’t eaten more than a dozen. I think I shall go to sleep.’
‘Then you’ll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more intelligent interest in your neighbours you would – ’
‘Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You’re a darling in many ways, and I like you you are not a woman’s woman but why do you trouble yourself about mere human beings?’
‘Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd I am interested in The Dancing Master I am interested in the Hawley Boy and I am interested in you.’
‘Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.’
‘Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I’m making a good thing out of him. When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to exact from him, I shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and’ here she waved her hands airily “‘whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no man put asunder.” That’s all.’
‘And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the Universe?’
Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe.
‘I do not know,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘what I shall do with you, dear. It’s obviously impossible to marry you to some one else your husband would object and the experiment might not be successful after all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from what is it? “sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.”’
‘Don’t! I don’t like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the Library and bring me new books.’
‘While you sleep? No! If you don’t come with me I shall spread your newest frock on my ‘rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps’s to get it let out. I shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there’s a good girl.’
Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nick-name of The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe was awake and eloquent.
‘That is the Creature!’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing out a slug in the road.
‘No,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.’
‘Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?’ answered The Dancing Master. ‘I understood I fancied I’m so sorry How very unfortunate!’
But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on.
‘For the practised equivocator you said he was,’ murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, ‘he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a walk with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective affinities, I suppose both grubby. Polly, I’d never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.’
‘I forgive every woman everything,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘He will be a sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!’
Mrs. Delville’s voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe noticed over the top of a magazine.
‘Now what is there in her?’ said Mrs. Hauksbee. ‘Do you see what I meant about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but Oh!’
‘What is it?’
‘She doesn’t know how to use them! On my honour, she does not. Look! Oh look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman’s a fool.’
‘Hsh! She’ll hear you.’
‘All the women in Simla are fools. She’ll think I mean some one else. Now she’s going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they’ll ever dance together?’
‘Wait and see. I don’t envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master loathly man! His wife ought to be up here before long?’
‘Do you know anything about him?’
‘Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her as often as possible a person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at present. So he says.’
‘Babies?’
‘One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.’
‘That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally in the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.’
‘No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.’
‘Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?’
‘Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell you. Don’t you know that type of man?’
‘Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man begins to abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer him according to his folly; and we part with a coolness between us. I laugh.’
‘I’m different. I’ve no sense of humour.’
‘Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care to think about. A well-educated sense of humour will save a woman when Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and we may all need salvation sometimes.’
‘Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour?’
‘Her dress betrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under her left arm have any notion of the fitness of things much less their folly? If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him dance, I may respect her. Otherwise – ’
‘But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw the woman at Peliti’s half an hour later you saw her walking with The Dancing Master an hour later you met her here at the Library.’
‘Still with The Dancing Master, remember.’
‘Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that should you imagine – ’
‘I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable in every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you have described him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.’
‘She is twenty years younger than he.’
‘Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for lies he will be rewarded according to his merits.’
‘I wonder what those really are,’ said Mrs. Mallowe.
But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was humming softly: ‘What shall he have who killed the Deer?’ She was a lady of unfettered speech.
One month later she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there was a great peace in the land.
‘I should go as I was,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘It would be a delicate compliment to her style.’
Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass.
‘Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning-wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the dove-coloured sweet emblem of youth and innocence and shall put on my new gloves.’
‘If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that dove-colour spots with the rain.’
‘I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her habit.’
‘Just Heavens! When did she do that?’
‘Yesterday riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back of Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.’
‘The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?’
‘Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he said, “There’s something very taking about that face.” I rebuked him on the spot. I don’t approve of boys being taken by faces.’
‘Other than your own. I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if the Hawley Boy immediately went to call.’
‘I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and his wife when she comes up. I’m rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the Delville woman together.’
Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly flushed.
‘There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble over literally stumble over in her poky, dark little drawing-room is, of course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then emerged as though she had been tipped out of the dirtyclothes-basket. You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, crrrrushingly Superior! ‘Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of nothing ‘dropped my eyes on the carpet and “really didn’t know” ‘played with my cardcase and “supposed so.” The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, and I had to freeze him with scowls between the sentences.’
‘And she?’
‘She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose, she grunted just like a buffalo in the water too lazy to move.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else or her garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.’
‘Lu cy!’
‘Well I’ll withdraw the tongue, though I’m sure if she didn’t do it when I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I can’t swear to it.’
