CHAPTER XXVIII
TWO OF THEM
When Tommy started impulsively on what proved to be his onlyContinental trip he had expected to join Mrs. Jerry and herstepdaughter at Bad-Platten. They had been there for a fortnight, and"the place is a dream," Mrs. Jerry had said in the letter pressing himto come; but it was at St. Gian that she met the diligence and toldhim to descend. Bad-Platten, she explained, was a horror.
Her fuller explanation was that she was becoming known there as theround lady.
"Now, am I as round as all that?" she said plaintively to Tommy.
"Mrs. Jerry," he replied, with emotion, "you must not ask me what Ithink of you." He always treated her with extraordinary respect andchivalry now, and it awed her.
She had looked too, too round because she was in the company of LadyPippinworth. Everyone seemed to be too round or too large by the sideof that gifted lady, who somehow never looked too thin. She knew herpower. When there were women in the room whom she disliked she merelywent and stood beside them. In the gyrations of the dance the onlookerwould momentarily lose sight of her; she came and went like a blinkingcandle. Men could not dance with her without its being said that theywere getting stout. There is nothing they dislike so much, yet theydid dance with her. Tommy, having some slight reason, was particularlysensitive about references to his figure, yet it was Lady Pippinworthwho had drawn him to Switzerland. What was her strange attraction?
Calmly considered, she was preposterously thin, but men, at least,could not think merely of her thinness, unless, when walking with her,they became fascinated by its shadow on the ground. She was tall, andhad a very clear, pale complexion and light-brown hair. Light brown,too, were her heavy eyelashes, which were famous for beingblack-tipped, as if a brush had touched them, though it had not. Shemade play with her eyelashes as with a fan, and sometimes the upperand lower seemed to entangle for a moment and be in difficulties, fromwhich you wanted to extricate them in the tenderest manner. And themore you wanted to help her the more disdainfully she looked at you.Yet though she looked disdainful she also looked helpless. Now we havethe secret of her charm.
This helpless disdain was the natural expression of her face, and I amsure she fell asleep with a curl of the lip. Her scorn of men somaddened them that they could not keep away from her. "Damn!" theysaid under their breath, and rushed to her. If rumour is to bebelieved, Sir Harry Pippinworth proposed to her in a fury brought onby the sneer with which she had surveyed his family portraits. I knownothing more of Sir Harry, except that she called him Pips, whichseems to settle him.
"They will be calling me the round gentleman," Tommy said ruefully toher that evening, as he strolled with her towards the lake, and indeedhe was looking stout. Mrs. Jerry did not accompany them; she wanted tobe seen with her trying stepdaughter as little as possible, andTommy's had been the happy proposal that he should attend themalternately--"fling away my own figure to save yours," he had saidgallantly to Mrs. Jerry.
"Do you mind?" Lady Pippinworth asked.
"I mind nothing," he replied, "so long as I am with you."
He had not meant to begin so near the point where they had last leftoff; he had meant to begin much farther back: but an irresistibledesire came over him to make sure that she really did permit him tosay this sort of thing.
Her only reply was a flutter of the little fans and a mostcontemptuous glance.
"Alice," said Tommy, in the old way.
"Well?"
"You don't understand what it is to me to say Alice again."
"Many people call me Alice."
"But they have a right to."
"I supposed you thought you had a right to also."
"No," said Tommy. "That is why I do it."
She strolled on, more scornful and helpless than ever. Apparently itdid not matter what one said to Lady Pippinworth; her pout kept itwithin the proprieties.
There was a magnificent sunset that evening, which dyed a snow-toppedmountain pink. "That is what I came all the way from London to see,"Tommy remarked, after they had gazed at it.
"I hope you feel repaid," she said, a little tartly.
"You mistake my meaning," he replied. "I had heard of these wonderfulsunsets, and an intense desire came over me to see you lookingdisdainfully at them. Yes, I feel amply repaid. Did you notice, Alice,or was it but a fancy of my own, that when he had seen the expressionon your face the sun quite slunk away?"
"I wonder you don't do so also," she retorted. She had no sense ofhumour, and was rather stupid; so it is no wonder that the men ranafter her.
"I am more gallant than the sun," said he. "If I had been up there inits place, Alice, and you had been looking at me, I could never haveset."
She pouted contemptuously, which meant, I think, that she was wellpleased. Yet, though he seemed to be complimenting her, she was notsure of him. She had never been sure of Tommy, nor, indeed, he of her,which was probably why they were so interested in each other still.
"Do you know," Tommy said, "what I have told you is really at leasthalf the truth? If I did not come here to see you disdaining the sun,I think I did come to see you disdaining me. Odd, is it not, if true,that a man should travel so far to see a lip curl up?"
"You don't seem to know what brought you," she said.
"It seems so monstrous," he replied, musing. "Oh, yes, I am quitecertain that the curl of the lip is responsible for my being here; itkept sending me constant telegrams; but what I want to know is, do Icome for the pleasure of the thing or for the pain? Do I like yourdisdain, Alice, or does it make me writhe? Am I here to beg you to doit again, or to defy it?"
"Which are you doing now?" she inquired.
"I had hoped," he said with a sigh, "that you could tell me that."
On another occasion they reached the same point in this discussion,and went a little beyond it. It was on a wet afternoon, too, whenTommy had vowed to himself to mend his ways. "That disdainful look isyou," he told her, "and I admire it more than anything in nature; andyet, Alice, and yet----"
"Well?" she answered coldly, but not moving, though he had comesuddenly too near her. They were on a private veranda of the hotel,and she was lolling in a wicker chair.
"And yet," he said intensely, "I am not certain that I would not givethe world to have the power to drive that look from your face. That, Ibegin to think, is what brought me here."
"But you are not sure," she said, with a shrug of the shoulder.
It stung him into venturing further than he had ever gone with herbefore. Not too gently, he took her head in both his hands and forcedher to look up at him. She submitted without a protest. She wasdisdainful, but helpless.
"Well?" she said again.
He withdrew his hands, and she smiled mockingly.
"If I thought----" he cried with sudden passion, and stopped.
"You think a great deal, don't you?" she said. She was going now.
"If I thought there was any blood in your veins, you icy woman----"
"Or in your own," said she. But she said it a little fiercely, and henoticed that.
"Alice," he cried, "I know now. It is to drive that look from yourface that I am here."
She courtesied from the door. She was quite herself again.
But for that moment she had been moved. He was convinced of it, andhis first feeling was of exultation as in an achievement. I don't knowwhat you are doing just now, Lady Pippinworth, but my compliments toyou, and T. Sandys is swelling.
There followed on this exultation another feeling as sincere--devoutthankfulness that he had gone no further. He drew deep breaths ofrelief over his escape, but knew that he had not himself to thank. Hisfriends, the little sprites, had done it, in return for the amusementhe seemed to give them. They had stayed him in the nick of time, butnot earlier; it was quite as if they wanted Tommy to have his funfirst. So often they had saved him from being spitted, how could heguess that the great catastrophe was fixed for to-night, and thathenceforth they were to sit round
him counting his wriggles, as ifthis new treatment of him tickled them even more than the other?
But he was too clever not to know that they might be fattening him forsome very special feast, and his thanks took the form of a vow to needtheir help no more. To-morrow he would begin to climb the mountainsaround St. Gian; if he danced attendance on her dangerous Ladyshipagain, Mrs. Jerry should be there also, and he would walkcircumspectly between them, like a man with gyves upon his wrists. Hewas in the midst of all the details of these reforms, when suddenly helooked at himself thus occupied, and laughed bitterly; he had so oftencome upon Tommy making grand resolves!
He stopped operations and sat down beside them. No one could havewished more heartily to be anybody else, or have had less hope. He hadnot even the excuse of being passionately drawn to this woman; heremembered that she had never interested him until he heard of hereffect upon other men. Her reputation as a duellist, whose defencenone of his sex could pass, had led to his wondering what they saw inher, and he had dressed himself in their sentiments and so approachedher. There were times in her company when he forgot that he waswearing borrowed garments, when he went on flame, but he always knew,as now, upon reflection. Nothing seemed easier at this moment than tofling them aside; with one jerk they were on the floor. Obviously itwas only vanity that had inspired him, and vanity was satisfied: theeasier, therefore, to stop. Would you like to make the woman unhappy,Tommy? You know you would not; you have somewhere about you one of thesoftest hearts in the world. Then desist; be satisfied that you didthaw her once, and grateful that she so quickly froze again. "I am;indeed I am," he responds. "No one could have himself better in handfor the time being than I, and if a competition in morals were nowgoing on, I should certainly take the medal. But I cannot speak formyself an hour in advance. I make a vow, as I have done so oftenbefore, but it does not help me to know what I may be at before thenight is out."
When his disgust with himself was at its height he suddenly felt likea little god. His new book had come into view. He flicked a finger athis reflection in a mirror. "That for you!" he said defiantly; "atleast I can write; I can write at last!"
The manuscript lay almost finished at the bottom of his trunk. Itcould not easily have been stolen for one hour without his knowing.Just when he was about to start on a walk with one of the ladies, hewould run upstairs to make sure that it was still there; he made sureby feeling, and would turn again at the door to make sure by looking.Miser never listened to the crispness of bank-notes with more avidity;woman never spent more time in shutting and opening her jewel-box.
"I can write at last!" He knew that, comparatively speaking, he hadnever been able to write before. He remembered the fuss that had beenmade about his former books. "Pooh!" he said, addressing themcontemptuously.
Once more he drew his beloved manuscript from its hiding-place. He didnot mean to read, only to fondle; but his eye chancing to fall on aspecial passage--two hours afterwards he was interrupted by thedinner-gong. He returned the pages to the box and wiped his eyes.While dressing hurriedly he remembered with languid interest that LadyPippinworth was staying in the same hotel.
There were a hundred or more at dinner, and they were all saying thesame thing: "Where have you been to-day?" "Really! but the lower pathis shadier." "Is this your first visit?" "The glacier is very nice.""Were you caught in the rain?" "The view from the top is very nice.""After all, the rain lays the dust." "They give you two sweets atBad-Platten and an ice on Sunday." "The sunset is very nice." "Thepoulet is very nice." The hotel is open during the summer months only,but probably the chairs in the dining-room and the knives and forks intheir basket make these remarks to each other every evening throughoutthe winter.
Being a newcomer, Tommy had not been placed beside either of hisfriends, who sat apart "because," Mrs. Jerry said, "she calls memamma, and I am not going to stand that." For some time he gavethought to neither of them; he was engrossed in what he had beenreading, and it turned him into a fine and magnanimous character. Whengradually her Ladyship began to flit among his reflections, it was notto disturb them, but because she harmonized. He wanted to apologize toher. The apology grew in grace as the dinner progressed; it was socharmingly composed that he was profoundly stirred by it.
The opportunity came presently in the hall, where it is customaryafter dinner to lounge or stroll if you are afraid of the night air.Or if you do not care for music, you can go into the drawing-room andlisten to the piano.
"I am sure mamma is looking for you everywhere," Lady Pippinworthsaid, when Tommy took a chair beside her. "It is her evening, youknow."
"Surely you would not drive me away," he replied with a languishingair, and then smiled at himself, for he was done with this sort ofthing. "Lady Pippinworth," said he, firmly--it needs firmness when oflate you have been saying "Alice."
"Well?"
"I have been thinking----" Tommy began.
"I am sure you have," she said.
"I have been thinking," he went on determinedly, "that I played a poorpart this afternoon. I had no right to say what I said to you."
"As far as I can remember," she answered, "you did not say very much."
"It is like your generosity, Lady Pippinworth," he said, "to makelight of it; but let us be frank: I made love to you."
Anyone looking at his expressionless face and her lazy disdain (andthere were many in the hall) would have guessed that their talk was ofwhere were you to-day? and what should I do to-morrow?
"You don't really mean that?" her Ladyship said incredulously. "Think,Mr. Sandys, before you tell me anything more. Are you sure you are notconfusing me with mamma?"
"I did it," said Tommy, remorsefully.
"In my absence?" she asked.
"When you were with me on the veranda."
Her eyes opened to their widest, so surprised that the lashes had notime for their usual play.
"Was that what you call making love, Mr. Sandys?" she inquired.
"I call a spade a spade."
"And now you are apologizing to me, I understand?"
"If you can in the goodness of your heart forgive me, LadyPippinworth--"
"Oh, I do," she said heartily, "I do. But how stupid you must havethought me not even to know! I feel that it is I who ought toapologize. What a number of ways there seem to be of making love, andyours is such an odd way!"
Now to apologize for playing a poor part is one thing, and to put upwith the charge of playing a part poorly is quite another.Nevertheless, he kept his temper.
"You have discovered an excellent way of punishing me," he saidmanfully, "and I submit. Indeed, I admire you the more. So I am payingyou a compliment when I whisper that I know you knew."
But she would not have it. "You are so strangely dense to-night," shesaid. "Surely, if I had known, I would have stopped you. You forgetthat I am a married woman," she added, remembering Pips rather late inthe day.
"There might be other reasons why you did not stop me," he repliedimpulsively.
"Such as?"
"Well, you--you might have wanted me to go on."
He blurted it out.
"So," said she slowly, "you are apologizing to me for not going on?"
"I implore you, Lady Pippinworth," Tommy said, in much distress, "notto think me capable of that. If I moved you for a moment, I am farfrom boasting of it; it makes me only the more anxious to do what isbest for you."
This was not the way it had shaped during dinner, and Tommy would haveacted wisely had he now gone out to cool his head. "If you moved me?"she repeated interrogatively; but, with the best intentions, hecontinued to flounder.
"Believe me," he implored her, "had I known it could be done, I shouldhave checked myself. But they always insist that you are an iceberg,and am I so much to blame if that look of hauteur deceived me with therest? Oh, dear Lady Disdain," he said warmly, in answer to one of hermost freezing glances, "it deceives me no longer. From that moment Iknew you had a heart, and I was shamed--as noble a heart
as ever beatin woman," he added. He always tended to add generous bits when hefound it coming out well.
"Does the man think I am in love with him?" was Lady Disdain'sinadequate reply.
"No, no, indeed!" he assured her earnestly. "I am not so vain as tothink that, nor so selfish as to wish it; but if for a moment you weremoved----"
"But I was not," said she, stamping her shoe.
His dander began to rise, as they say in the north; but he kept gripof politeness.
"If you were moved for a moment, Lady Pippinworth," he went on, in aslightly more determined voice,--"I am far from saying that it was so;but if----"
"But as I was not----" she said.
It was no use putting things prettily to her when she snapped you upin this way.
"You know you were," he said reproachfully.
"I assure you," said she, "I don't know what you are talking about,but apparently it is something dreadful; so perhaps one of us ought togo away."
As he did not take this hint, she opened a tattered Tauchnitz whichwas lying at her elbow. They are always lying at your elbow in a Swisshotel, with the first pages missing.
Tommy watched her gloomily. "This is unworthy of you," he said.
"What is?"
He was not quite sure, but as he sat there misgivings entered his mindand began to gnaw. Was it all a mistake of his? Undeniably he didthink too much. After all, had she not been moved? 'Sdeath!
His restlessness made her look up. "It must be a great load off yourmind," she said, with gentle laughter, "to know that your apology wasunnecessary."
"It is," Tommy said; "it is." ('Sdeath!)
She resumed her book.
So this was how one was rewarded for a generous impulse! He felt verybitter. "So, so," he said inwardly; also, "Very well, ve-ry well."Then he turned upon himself. "Serve you right," he said brutally."Better stick to your books, Thomas, for you know nothing aboutwomen." To think for one moment that he had moved her! That streak ofmarble moved! He fell to watching her again, as if she were sometroublesome sentence that needed licking into shape. As she bentimpertinently over her book, she was an insult to man. All Tommy'sinterest in her revived. She infuriated him.
"Alice," he whispered.
"Do keep quiet till I finish this chapter," she begged lazily.
It brought him at once to the boiling-point.
"Alice!" he said fervently.
She had noticed the change in his voice. "People are looking," shesaid, without moving a muscle.
There was some subtle flattery to him in the warning, but he could notask for more, for just then Mrs. Jerry came in. She was cloaked forthe garden, and he had to go with her, sulkily. At the door sheobserved that the ground was still wet.
"Are you wearing your goloshes?" said he, brightening. "You must getthem, Mrs. Jerry; I insist."
She hesitated. (Her room was on the third floor.) "It is very good ofyou to be so thoughtful of me," she said, "but----"
"But I have no right to try to take care of you," he interposed in amelancholy voice. "It is true. Let us go."
"I sha'n't be two minutes," said Mrs. Jerry, in a flutter, and wentoff hastily for her goloshes, while he looked fondly after her. At theturn of the stair she glanced back, and his eyes were still beggingher to hurry. It was a gracious memory to her in the after years, forshe never saw him again.
As soon as she was gone he returned to the hall, and taking from a pega cloak with a Mother Goose hood, brought it to Lady Pippinworth, whohad watched her mamma trip upstairs.
"Did I say I was going out?" she asked.
"Yes," said Tommy, and she rose to let him put the elegant thing roundher. She was one of those dangerous women who look their best when youare helping them to put on their cloaks.
"Now," he instructed her, "pull the hood over your head."
"Is it so cold as that?" she said, obeying.
"I want you to wear it," he answered. What he meant was that she neverlooked quite so impudent as in her hood, and his vanity insisted thatshe should be armed to the teeth before they resumed hostilities. Thered light was in his eyes as he drew her into the garden where Grizellay.