CHAPTER 16.
At the moment of Lord Marshmoreton's arrival, George was reading aletter from Billie Dore, which had come by that morning's post. Itdealt mainly with the vicissitudes experienced by Miss Dore'sfriend, Miss Sinclair, in her relations with the man Spenser Gray.Spenser Gray, it seemed, had been behaving oddly. Ardent towardsMiss Sinclair almost to an embarrassing point in the early stages oftheir acquaintance, he had suddenly cooled; at a recent lunch hadbehaved with a strange aloofness; and now, at this writing, hadvanished altogether, leaving nothing behind him but an abrupt noteto the effect that he had been compelled to go abroad and that,much as it was to be regretted, he and she would probably nevermeet again.
"And if," wrote Miss Dore, justifiably annoyed, "after saying allthose things to the poor kid and telling her she was the only thingin sight, he thinks he can just slide off with a 'Good-bye! Goodluck! and God bless you!' he's got another guess coming. Andthat's not all. He hasn't gone abroad! I saw him in Piccadilly thisafternoon. He saw me, too, and what do you think he did? Duckeddown a side-street, if you please. He must have run like a rabbit,at that, because, when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. Itell you, George, there's something funny about all this."
Having been made once or twice before the confidant of thetempestuous romances of Billie's friends, which always seemed to gowrong somewhere in the middle and to die a natural death beforearriving at any definite point, George was not particularlyinterested, except in so far as the letter afforded rathercomforting evidence that he was not the only person in the world whowas having trouble of the kind. He skimmed through the rest of it,and had just finished when there was a sharp rap at the front door.
"Come in!" called George.
There entered a sturdy little man of middle age whom at first sightGeorge could not place. And yet he had the impression that he hadseen him before. Then he recognized him as the gardener to whom hehad given the note for Maud that day at the castle. The alterationin the man's costume was what had momentarily baffled George. Whenthey had met in the rose-garden, the other had been arrayed inuntidy gardening clothes. Now, presumably in his Sunday suit, itwas amusing to observe how almost dapper he had become. Really, youmight have passed him in the lane and taken him for someneighbouring squire.
George's heart raced. Your lover is ever optimistic, and he couldconceive of no errand that could have brought this man to hiscottage unless he was charged with the delivery of a note fromMaud. He spared a moment from his happiness to congratulate himselfon having picked such an admirable go-between. Here evidently, wasone of those trusty old retainers you read about, faithful,willing, discreet, ready to do anything for "the little missy"(bless her heart!). Probably he had danced Maud on his knee in herinfancy, and with a dog-like affection had watched her at herchildish sports. George beamed at the honest fellow, and felt inhis pocket to make sure that a suitable tip lay safely therein.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning," replied the man.
A purist might have said he spoke gruffly and without geniality.But that is the beauty of these old retainers. They make a point ofdeliberately trying to deceive strangers as to the goldenness oftheir hearts by adopting a forbidding manner. And "Good morning!"Not "Good morning, sir!" Sturdy independence, you observe, as befitsa free man. George closed the door carefully. He glanced into thekitchen. Mrs. Platt was not there. All was well.
"You have brought a note from Lady Maud?"
The honest fellow's rather dour expression seemed to grow a shadebleaker.
"If you are alluding to Lady Maud Marsh, my daughter," he repliedfrostily, "I have not!"
For the past few days George had been no stranger to shocks, andhad indeed come almost to regard them as part of the normaleveryday life; but this latest one had a stumbling effect.
"I beg your pardon?" he said.
"So you ought to," replied the earl.
George swallowed once or twice to relieve a curious dryness of themouth.
"Are you Lord Marshmoreton?"
"I am."
"Good Lord!"
"You seem surprised."
"It's nothing!" muttered George. "At least, you--I mean to say . . .It's only that there's a curious resemblance between you and oneof your gardeners at the castle. I--I daresay you have noticed ityourself."
"My hobby is gardening."
Light broke upon George. "Then was it really you--?"
"It was!"
George sat down. "This opens up a new line of thought!" he said.
Lord Marshmoreton remained standing. He shook his head sternly.
"It won't do, Mr. . . . I have never heard your name."
"Bevan," replied George, rather relieved at being able to rememberit in the midst of his mental turmoil.
"It won't do, Mr. Bevan. It must stop. I allude to this absurdentanglement between yourself and my daughter. It must stop atonce."
It seemed to George that such an entanglement could hardly be saidto have begun, but he did not say so.
Lord Marshmoreton resumed his remarks. Lady Caroline had sent himto the cottage to be stern, and his firm resolve to be stern lenthis style of speech something of the measured solemnity and carefulphrasing of his occasional orations in the House of Lords.
"I have no wish to be unduly hard upon the indiscretions of Youth.Youth is the period of Romance, when the heart rules the head. Imyself was once a young man."
"Well, you're practically that now," said George.
"Eh?" cried Lord Marshmoreton, forgetting the thread of hisdiscourse in the shock of pleased surprise.
"You don't look a day over forty."
"Oh, come, come, my boy! . . . I mean, Mr. Bevan."
"You don't honestly."
"I'm forty-eight."
"The Prime of Life."
"And you don't think I look it?"
"You certainly don't."
"Well, well, well! By the way, have you tobacco, my boy. I camewithout my pouch."
"Just at your elbow. Pretty good stuff. I bought it in the village."
"The same I smoke myself."
"Quite a coincidence."
"Distinctly."
"Match?"
"Thank you, I have one."
George filled his own pipe. The thing was becoming a love-feast.
"What was I saying?" said Lord Marshmoreton, blowing a comfortablecloud. "Oh, yes." He removed his pipe from his mouth with a touch ofembarrassment. "Yes, yes, to be sure!"
There was an awkward silence.
"You must see for yourself," said the earl, "how impossible it is."
George shook his head.
"I may be slow at grasping a thing, but I'm bound to say I can'tsee that."
Lord Marshmoreton recalled some of the things his sister had toldhim to say. "For one thing, what do we know of you? You are aperfect stranger."
"Well, we're all getting acquainted pretty quick, don't you think?I met your son in Piccadilly and had a long talk with him, and nowyou are paying me a neighbourly visit."
"This was not intended to be a social call."
"But it has become one."
"And then, that is one point I wish to make, you know. Ours is anold family, I would like to remind you that there wereMarshmoretons in Belpher before the War of the Roses."
"There were Bevans in Brooklyn before the B.R.T."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I was only pointing out that I can trace my ancestry a long way.You have to trace things a long way in Brooklyn, if you want tofind them."
"I have never heard of Brooklyn."
"You've heard of New York?"
"Certainly."
"New York's one of the outlying suburbs."
Lord Marshmoreton relit his pipe. He had a feeling that they werewandering from the point.
"It is quite impossible."
"I can't see it."
"Maud is so young."
"Your daughter could be nothing else."
"Too young t
o know her own mind," pursued Lord Marshmoreton,resolutely crushing down a flutter of pleasure. There was no doubtthat this singularly agreeable man was making things very difficultfor him. It was disarming to discover that he was really capitalcompany--the best, indeed, that the earl could remember to havediscovered in the more recent period of his rather lonely life. "Atpresent, of course, she fancies that she is very much in love withyou . . . It is absurd!"
"You needn't tell me that," said George. Really, it was only thefact that people seemed to go out of their way to call at hiscottage and tell him that Maud loved him that kept him from feelinghis cause perfectly hopeless. "It's incredible. It's a miracle."
"You are a romantic young man, and you no doubt for the momentsuppose that you are in love with her."
"No!" George was not going to allow a remark like that to passunchallenged. "You are wrong there. As far as I am concerned, thereis no question of its being momentary or supposititious or anythingof that kind. I am in love with your daughter. I was from the firstmoment I saw her. I always shall be. She is the only girl in theworld!"
"Stuff and nonsense!"
"Not at all. Absolute, cold fact."
"You have known her so little time."
"Long enough."
Lord Marshmoreton sighed. "You are upsetting things terribly."
"Things are upsetting me terribly."
"You are causing a great deal of trouble and annoyance."
"So did Romeo."
"Eh?"
"I said--So did Romeo."
"I don't know anything about Romeo."
"As far as love is concerned, I begin where he left off."
"I wish I could persuade you to be sensible."
"That's just what I think I am."
"I wish I could get you to see my point of view."
"I do see your point of view. But dimly. You see, my own takes upsuch a lot of the foreground."
There was a pause.
"Then I am afraid," said Lord Marshmoreton, "that we must leavematters as they stand."
"Until they can be altered for the better."
"We will say no more about it now."
"Very well."
"But I must ask you to understand clearly that I shall have to doeverything in my power to stop what I look on as an unfortunateentanglement."
"I understand,"
"Very well."
Lord Marshmoreton coughed. George looked at him with some surprise.He had supposed the interview to be at an end, but the other madeno move to go. There seemed to be something on the earl's mind.
"There is--ah--just one other thing," said Lord Marshmoreton. Hecoughed again. He felt embarrassed. "Just--just one other thing,"he repeated.
The reason for Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George had beentwofold. In the first place, Lady Caroline had told him to go.That would have been reason enough. But what made the visitimperative was an unfortunate accident of which he had only thatmorning been made aware.
It will be remembered that Billie Dore had told George that thegardener with whom she had become so friendly had taken her nameand address with a view later on to send her some of his roses. Thescrap of paper on which this information had been written was nowlost. Lord Marshmoreton had been hunting for it since breakfastwithout avail.
Billie Dore had made a decided impression upon Lord Marshmoreton.She belonged to a type which he had never before encountered, andit was one which he had found more than agreeable. Her knowledge ofroses and the proper feeling which she manifested towardsrose-growing as a life-work consolidated the earl's liking for her.Never, in his memory, had he come across so sensible and charming agirl; and he had looked forward with a singular intensity tomeeting her again. And now some too zealous housemaid, tidying upafter the irritating manner of her species, had destroyed the onlyclue to her identity.
It was not for some time after this discovery that hope dawnedagain for Lord Marshmoreton. Only after he had given up the searchfor the missing paper as fruitless did he recall that it was inGeorge's company that Billie had first come into his life. Betweenher, then, and himself George was the only link.
It was primarily for the purpose of getting Billie's name andaddress from George that he had come to the cottage. And now thatthe moment had arrived for touching upon the subject, he felt alittle embarrassed.
"When you visited the castle," he said, "when you visited thecastle . . ."
"Last Thursday," said George helpfully.
"Exactly. When you visited the castle last Thursday, there was ayoung lady with you."
Not realizing that the subject had been changed, George was underthe impression that the other had shifted his front and was aboutto attack him from another angle. He countered what seemed to himan insinuation stoutly.
"We merely happened to meet at the castle. She came there quiteindependently of me."
Lord Marshmoreton looked alarmed. "You didn't know her?" he saidanxiously.
"Certainly I knew her. She is an old friend of mine. But if you arehinting . . ."
"Not at all," rejoined the earl, profoundly relieved. "Not at all.I ask merely because this young lady, with whom I had someconversation, was good enough to give me her name and address. She,too, happened to mistake me for a gardener."
"It's those corduroy trousers," murmured George in extenuation.
"I have unfortunately lost them."
"You can always get another pair."
"Eh?"
"I say you can always get another pair of corduroy trousers."
"I have not lost my trousers. I have lost the young lady's name andaddress."
"Oh!"
"I promised to send her some roses. She will be expecting them."
"That's odd. I was just reading a letter from her when you came in.That must be what she's referring to when she says, 'If you seedadda, the old dear, tell him not to forget my roses.' I read itthree times and couldn't make any sense out of it. Are you Dadda?"
The earl smirked. "She did address me in the course of ourconversation as dadda."
"Then the message is for you."
"A very quaint and charming girl. What is her name? And where can Ifind her?"
"Her name's Billie Dore."
"Billie?"
"Billie."
"Billie!" said Lord Marshmoreton softly. "I had better write itdown. And her address?"
"I don't know her private address. But you could always reach herat the Regal Theatre."
"Ah! She is on the stage?"
"Yes. She's in my piece, 'Follow the Girl'."
"Indeed! Are you a playwright, Mr. Bevan?"
"Good Lord, no!" said George, shocked. "I'm a composer."
"Very interesting. And you met Miss Dore through her being in thisplay of yours?"
"Oh, no. I knew her before she went on the stage. She was astenographer in a music-publisher's office when we first met."
"Good gracious! Was she really a stenographer?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh--ah--nothing, nothing. Something just happened to come to mymind."
What happened to come into Lord Marshmoreton's mind was a fleetingvision of Billie installed in Miss Alice Faraday's place as hissecretary. With such a helper it would be a pleasure to work onthat infernal Family History which was now such a bitter toil. Butthe day-dream passed. He knew perfectly well that he had not thecourage to dismiss Alice. In the hands of that calm-eyed girl hewas as putty. She exercised over him the hypnotic spell alion-tamer exercises over his little playmates.
"We have been pals for years," said George "Billie is one of thebest fellows in the world."
"A charming girl."
"She would give her last nickel to anyone that asked for it."
"Delightful!"
"And as straight as a string. No one ever said a word againstBillie."
"No?"
"She may go out to lunch and supper and all that kind of thing, butthere's nothing to that."
"Nothing!" agreed the earl warmly. "Girls
must eat!"
"They do. You ought to see them."
"A little harmless relaxation after the fatigue of the day!"
"Exactly. Nothing more."
Lord Marshmoreton felt more drawn than ever to this sensible youngman--sensible, at least, on all points but one. It was a pity theycould not see eye to eye on what was and what was not suitable inthe matter of the love-affairs of the aristocracy.
"So you are a composer, Mr. Bevan?" he said affably.
"Yes."
Lord Marshmoreton gave a little sigh. "It's a long time since Iwent to see a musical performance. More than twenty years. When Iwas up at Oxford, and for some years afterwards, I was a greattheatre-goer. Never used to miss a first night at the Gaiety. Thosewere the days of Nellie Farren and Kate Vaughan. Florence St.John, too. How excellent she was in Faust Up To Date! But we missedNellie Farren. Meyer Lutz was the Gaiety composer then. But a gooddeal of water has flowed under the bridge since those days. I don'tsuppose you have ever heard of Meyer Lutz?"
"I don't think I have."
"Johnnie Toole was playing a piece called Partners. Not a goodplay. And the Yeoman of the Guard had just been produced at theSavoy. That makes it seem a long time ago, doesn't it? Well, Imustn't take up all your time. Good-bye, Mr. Bevan. I am glad tohave had the opportunity of this little talk. The Regal Theatre, Ithink you said, is where your piece is playing? I shall probably begoing to London shortly. I hope to see it." Lord Marshmoreton rose."As regards the other matter, there is no hope of inducing you tosee the matter in the right light?"
"We seem to disagree as to which is the right light."
"Then there is nothing more to be said. I will be perfectly frankwith you, Mr. Bevan. I like you . . ."
"The feeling is quite mutual."
"But I don't want you as a son-in-law. And, dammit," exploded LordMarshmoreton, "I won't have you as a son-in-law! Good God! do youthink that you can harry and assault my son Percy in the heart ofPiccadilly and generally make yourself a damned nuisance and thensettle down here without an invitation at my very gates and expectto be welcomed into the bosom of the family? If I were a youngman . . ."
"I thought we had agreed that you were a young man."
"Don't interrupt me!"
"I only said . . ."
"I heard what you said. Flattery!"
"Nothing of the kind. Truth."
Lord Marshmoreton melted. He smiled. "Young idiot!"
"We agree there all right."
Lord Marshmoreton hesitated. Then with a rush he unbosomed himself,and made his own position on the matter clear.
"I know what you'll be saying to yourself the moment my back isturned. You'll be calling me a stage heavy father and an old snoband a number of other things. Don't interrupt me, dammit! You will,I tell you! And you'll be wrong. I don't think the Marshmoretonsare fenced off from the rest of the world by some sort of divinity.My sister does. Percy does. But Percy's an ass! If ever you findyourself thinking differently from my son Percy, on any subject,congratulate yourself. You'll be right."
"But . . ."
"I know what you're going to say. Let me finish. If I were the onlyperson concerned, I wouldn't stand in Maud's way, whoever shewanted to marry, provided he was a good fellow and likely to makeher happy. But I'm not. There's my sister Caroline. There's a wholecrowd of silly, cackling fools--my sisters--my sons-in-law--all thewhole pack of them! If I didn't oppose Maud in this damnedinfatuation she's got for you--if I stood by and let her marryyou--what do you think would happen to me?--I'd never have a moment'speace! The whole gabbling pack of them would be at me, saying I wasto blame. There would be arguments, discussions, family councils!I hate arguments! I loathe discussions! Family councils make mesick! I'm a peaceable man, and I like a quiet life! And, damme,I'm going to have it. So there's the thing for you in letters ofone syllable. I don't object to you personally, but I'm not goingto have you bothering me like this. I'll admit freely that, since Ihave made your acquaintance, I have altered the unfavourableopinion I had formed of you from--from hearsay. . ."
"Exactly the same with me," said George. "You ought never tobelieve what people tell you. Everyone told me your middle name wasNero, and that. . ."
"Don't interrupt me!"
"I wasn't. I was just pointing out . . ."
"Be quiet! I say I have changed my opinion of you to a greatextent. I mention this unofficially, as a matter that has nobearing on the main issue; for, as regards any idea you may have ofinducing me to agree to your marrying my daughter, let me tell youthat I am unalterably opposed to any such thing!"
"Don't say that."
"What the devil do you mean--don't say that! I do say that! It isout of the question. Do you understand? Very well, then. Goodmorning."
The door closed. Lord Marshmoreton walked away feeling that he hadbeen commendably stern. George filled his pipe and sat smokingthoughtfully. He wondered what Maud was doing at that moment.
Maud at that moment was greeting her brother with a bright smile,as he limped downstairs after a belated shave and change ofcostume.
"Oh, Percy, dear," she was saying, "I had quite an adventurethis morning. An awful tramp followed me for miles! Such ahorrible-looking brute. I was so frightened that I had to aska curate in the next village to drive him away. I did wish Ihad had you there to protect me. Why don't you come out withme sometimes when I take a country walk? It really isn't safefor me to be alone!"