CHAPTER 21.
Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Byng, seated at a table in the corner of theRegent Grill-Room, gazed fondly into each other's eyes. George,seated at the same table, but feeling many miles away, watched themmoodily, fighting to hold off a depression which, cured for a whileby the exhilaration of the ride in Reggie's racing-car (it hadbeaten its previous record for the trip to London by nearly twentyminutes), now threatened to return. The gay scene, the ecstasy ofReggie, the more restrained but equally manifest happiness of hisbride--these things induced melancholy in George. He had not wishedto attend the wedding-lunch, but the happy pair seemed to berevolted at the idea that he should stroll off and get a bite toeat somewhere else.
"Stick by us, laddie," Reggie had said pleadingly, "for there ismuch to discuss, and we need the counsel of a man of the world. Weare married all right--"
"Though it didn't seem legal in that little registrar's office,"put in Alice.
"--But that, as the blighters say in books, is but a beginning, notan end. We have now to think out the most tactful way of lettingthe news seep through, as it were, to the mater."
"And Lord Marshmoreton," said Alice. "Don't forget he has lost hissecretary."
"And Lord Marshmoreton," amended Reggie. "And about a million otherpeople who'll be most frightfully peeved at my doing the WeddingGlide without consulting them. Stick by us, old top. Join oursimple meal. And over the old coronas we will discuss many things."
The arrival of a waiter with dishes broke up the silent communionbetween husband and wife, and lowered Reggie to a more earthlyplane. He refilled the glasses from the stout bottle that nestledin the ice-bucket--("Only this one, dear!" murmured the bride ina warning undertone, and "All right darling!" replied the dutifulgroom)--and raised his own to his lips.
"Cheerio! Here's to us all! Maddest, merriest day of all the gladNew Year and so forth. And now," he continued, becoming sternlypractical, "about the good old sequel and aftermath, so to speak,of this little binge of ours. What's to be done. You're a brainysort of feller, Bevan, old man, and we look to you for suggestions.How would you set about breaking the news to mother?"
"Write her a letter," said George.
Reggie was profoundly impressed.
"Didn't I tell you he would have some devilish shrewd scheme?" hesaid enthusiastically to Alice. "Write her a letter! What could bebetter? Poetry, by Gad!" His face clouded. "But what would you sayin it? That's a pretty knotty point."
"Not at all. Be perfectly frank and straightforward. Say you aresorry to go against her wishes--"
"Wishes," murmured Reggie, scribbling industrially on the back ofthe marriage licence.
"--But you know that all she wants is your happiness--"
Reggie looked doubtful.
"I'm not sure about that last bit, old thing. You don't know themater!"
"Never mind, Reggie," put in Alice. "Say it, anyhow. Mr. Bevan isperfectly right."
"Right ho, darling! All right, laddie--'happiness'. And then?"
"Point out in a few well-chosen sentences how charming Mrs. Byngis . . ."
"Mrs. Byng!" Reggie smiled fatuously. "I don't think I ever heardanything that sounded so indescribably ripping. That part'll beeasy enough. Besides, the mater knows Alice."
"Lady Caroline has seen me at the castle," said his bridedoubtfully, "but I shouldn't say she knows me. She has hardlyspoken a dozen words to me."
"There," said Reggie, earnestly, "you're in luck, dear heart! Themater's a great speaker, especially in moments of excitement. I'mnot looking forward to the time when she starts on me. Betweenourselves, laddie, and meaning no disrespect to the dear soul, whenthe mater is moved and begins to talk, she uses up most of thelanguage."
"Outspoken, is she?"
"I should hate to meet the person who could out-speak her," saidReggie.
George sought information on a delicate point.
"And financially? Does she exercise any authority over you in thatway?"
"You mean has the mater the first call on the family doubloons?"said Reggie. "Oh, absolutely not! You see, when I call her themater, it's using the word in a loose sense, so to speak. She's mystep-mother really. She has her own little collection of pieces ofeight, and I have mine. That part's simple enough."
"Then the whole thing is simple. I don't see what you've beenworrying about."
"Just what I keep telling him, Mr. Bevan," said Alice.
"You're a perfectly free agent. She has no hold on you of anykind."
Reggie Byng blinked dizzily.
"Why, now you put it like that," he exclaimed, "I can see that Ijolly well am! It's an amazing thing, you know, habit and all that.I've been so accustomed for years to jumping through hoops andshamming dead when the mater lifted a little finger, that itabsolutely never occurred to me that I had a soul of my own. I giveyou my honest word I never saw it till this moment."
"And now it's too late!"
"Eh?"
George indicated Alice with a gesture. The newly-made Mrs. Byngsmiled.
"Mr. Bevan means that now you've got to jump through hoops and shamdead when I lift a little finger!"
Reggie raised her hand to his lips, and nibbled at it gently.
"Blessums 'ittle finger! It shall lift it and have 'ums Reggiejumping through. . . ." He broke off and tendered George a manlyapology. "Sorry, old top! Forgot myself for the moment. Shan'toccur again! Have another chicken or an eclair or some soup orsomething!"
Over the cigars Reggie became expansive.
"Now that you've lifted the frightful weight of the mater off mymind, dear old lad," he said, puffing luxuriously, "I find myselfsurveying the future in a calmer spirit. It seems to me that thebest thing to do, as regards the mater and everybody else, issimply to prolong the merry wedding-trip till Time the Great Healerhas had a chance to cure the wound. Alice wants to put in a week orso in Paris. . . ."
"Paris!" murmured the bride ecstatically.
"Then I would like to trickle southwards to the Riviera. . ."
"If you mean Monte Carlo, dear," said his wife with gentlefirmness, "no!"
"No, no, not Monte Carlo," said Reggie hastily, "though it's agreat place. Air--scenery--and what not! But Nice and Bordigheraand Mentone and other fairly ripe resorts. You'd enjoy them. Andafter that . . . I had a scheme for buying back my yacht, the jollyold Siren, and cruising about the Mediterranean for a month or so. Isold her to a local sportsman when I was in America a couple ofyears ago. But I saw in the paper yesterday that the poor oldbuffer had died suddenly, so I suppose it would be difficult to gethold of her for the time being." Reggie broke off with a sharpexclamation.
"My sainted aunt!"
"What's the matter?"
Both his companions were looking past him, wide-eyed. Georgeoccupied the chair that had its back to the door, and was unable tosee what it was that had caused their consternation; but he deducedthat someone known to both of them must have entered therestaurant; and his first thought, perhaps naturally, was that itmust be Reggie's "mater". Reggie dived behind a menu, which he heldbefore him like a shield, and his bride, after one quick look, hadturned away so that her face was hidden. George swung around, butthe newcomer, whoever he or she was, was now seated andindistinguishable from the rest of the lunchers.
"Who is it?"
Reggie laid down the menu with the air of one who after a momentarypanic rallies.
"Don't know what I'm making such a fuss about," he said stoutly. "Ikeep forgetting that none of these blighters really matter in thescheme of things. I've a good mind to go over and pass the time ofday."
"Don't!" pleaded his wife. "I feel so guilty."
"Who is it?" asked George again. "Your step-mother?"
"Great Scott, no!" said Reggie. "Nothing so bad as that. It's oldMarshmoreton."
"Lord Marshmoreton!"
"Absolutely! And looking positively festive."
"I feel so awful, Mr. Bevan," said Alice. "You know, I left thecastle without a word to any
one, and he doesn't know yet that therewon't be any secretary waiting for him when he gets back."
Reggie took another look over George's shoulder and chuckled.
"It's all right, darling. Don't worry. We can nip off secretly bythe other door. He's not going to stop us. He's got a girl withhim! The old boy has come to life--absolutely! He's gassing awaysixteen to the dozen to a frightfully pretty girl with gold hair.If you slew the old bean round at an angle of about forty-five,Bevan, old top, you can see her. Take a look. He won't see you.He's got his back to us."
"Do you call her pretty?" asked Alice disparagingly.
"Now that I take a good look, precious," replied Reggie withalacrity, "no! Absolutely not! Not my style at all!"
His wife crumbled bread.
"I think she must know you, Reggie dear," she said softly. "She'swaving to you."
"She's waving to _me_," said George, bringing back the sunshine toReggie's life, and causing the latter's face to lose its huntedlook. "I know her very well. Her name's Dore. Billie Dore."
"Old man," said Reggie, "be a good fellow and slide over to theirtable and cover our retreat. I know there's nothing to be afraid ofreally, but I simply can't face the old boy."
"And break the news to him that I've gone, Mr. Bevan," added Alice.
"Very well, I'll say good-bye, then."
"Good-bye, Mr. Bevan, and thank you ever so much."
Reggie shook George's hand warmly.
"Good-bye, Bevan old thing, you're a ripper. I can't tell you howbucked up I am at the sportsmanlike way you've rallied round. I'lldo the same for you one of these days. Just hold the old boy inplay for a minute or two while we leg it. And, if he wants us, tellhim our address till further notice is Paris. What ho! What ho!What ho! Toodle-oo, laddie, toodle-oo!"
George threaded his way across the room. Billie Dore welcomed himwith a friendly smile. The earl, who had turned to observe hisprogress, seemed less delighted to see him. His weather-beaten facewore an almost furtive look. He reminded George of a schoolboy whohas been caught in some breach of the law.
"Fancy seeing you here, George!" said Billie. "We're alwaysmeeting, aren't we? How did you come to separate yourself from thepigs and chickens? I thought you were never going to leave them."
"I had to run up on business," explained George. "How are you, LordMarshmoreton?"
The earl nodded briefly.
"So you're on to him, too?" said Billie. "When did you get wise?"
"Lord Marshmoreton was kind enough to call on me the other morningand drop the incognito."
"Isn't dadda the foxiest old thing!" said Billie delightedly."Imagine him standing there that day in the garden, kidding usalong like that! I tell you, when they brought me his card lastnight after the first act and I went down to take a slant at thisLord Marshmoreton and found dadda hanging round the stage door, youcould have knocked me over with a whisk-broom."
"I have not stood at the stage-door for twenty-five years," saidLord Marshmoreton sadly.
"Now, it's no use your pulling that Henry W. Methuselah stuff,"said Billie affectionately. "You can't get away with it. Anyonecan see you're just a kid. Can't they, George?" She indicated theblushing earl with a wave of the hand. "Isn't dadda the youngestthing that ever happened?"
"Exactly what I told him myself."
Lord Marshmoreton giggled. There is no other verb that describesthe sound that proceeded from him.
"I feel young," he admitted.
"I wish some of the juveniles in the shows I've been in," saidBillie, "were as young as you. It's getting so nowadays that one'sthankful if a juvenile has teeth." She glanced across the room."Your pals are walking out on you, George. The people you werelunching with," she explained. "They're leaving."
"That's all right. I said good-bye to them." He looked at LordMarshmoreton. It seemed a suitable opportunity to break the news."I was lunching with Mr. and Mrs. Byng," he said.
Nothing appeared to stir beneath Lord Marshmoreton's tannedforehead.
"Reggie Byng and his wife, Lord Marshmoreton," added George.
This time he secured the earl's interest. Lord Marshmoretonstarted.
"What!"
"They are just off to Paris," said George.
"Reggie Byng is not married!"
"Married this morning. I was best man."
"Busy little creature!" interjected Billie.
"But--but--!"
"You know his wife," said George casually. "She was a Miss Faraday.I think she was your secretary."
It would have been impossible to deny that Lord Marshmoreton showedemotion. His mouth opened, and he clutched the tablecloth. Butjust what the emotion was George was unable to say till, with asigh that seemed to come from his innermost being, the otherexclaimed "Thank Heaven!"
George was surprised.
"You're glad?"
"Of course I'm glad!"
"It's a pity they didn't know how you were going to feel. It wouldhave saved them a lot of anxiety. I rather gathered they supposedthat the shock was apt to darken your whole life."
"That girl," said Lord Marshmoreton vehemently, "was driving mecrazy. Always bothering me to come and work on that damned familyhistory. Never gave me a moment's peace . . ."
"I liked her," said George.
"Nice enough girl," admitted his lordship grudgingly. "But a damnednuisance about the house; always at me to go on with the familyhistory. As if there weren't better things to do with one's timethan writing all day about my infernal fools of ancestors!"
"Isn't dadda fractious today?" said Billie reprovingly, giving theEarl's hand a pat. "Quit knocking your ancestors! You're very luckyto have ancestors. I wish I had. The Dore family seems to go backabout as far as the presidency of Willard Filmore, and then it kindof gets discouraged and quite cold. Gee! I'd like to feel that mygreat-great-great-grandmother had helped Queen Elizabeth with therent. I'm strong for the fine old stately families of England."
"Stately old fiddlesticks!" snapped the earl.
"Did you see his eyes flash then, George? That's what they callaristocratic rage. It's the fine old spirit of the Marshmoretonsboiling over."
"I noticed it," said George. "Just like lightning."
"It's no use trying to fool us, dadda," said Billie. "You know justas well as I do that it makes you feel good to think that, everytime you cut yourself with your safety-razor, you bleed blue!"
"A lot of silly nonsense!" grumbled the earl.
"What is?"
"This foolery of titles and aristocracy. Silly fetish-worship!One man's as good as another. . . ."
"This is the spirit of '76!" said George approvingly.
"Regular I.W.W. stuff," agreed Billie. "Shake hands the Presidentof the Bolsheviki!"
Lord Marshmoreton ignored the interruption. There was a strangelook in his eyes. It was evident to George, watching him with closeinterest, that here was a revelation of the man's soul; thatthoughts, locked away for years in the other's bosom were cryingfor utterance.
"Damned silly nonsense! When I was a boy, I wanted to bean engine-driver. When I was a young man, I was a Socialistand hadn't any idea except to work for my living and make aname for myself. I was going to the colonies. Canada. Thefruit farm was actually bought. Bought and paid for!" Hebrooded a moment on that long-lost fruit farm. "My father wasa younger son. And then my uncle must go and break his neckhunting, and the baby, poor little chap, got croup or something. . . And there I was, saddled with the title, and all my plansgone up in smoke . . . Silly nonsense! Silly nonsense!"
He bit the end of a cigar. "And you can't stand up against it," hewent on ruefully. "It saps you. It's like some damned drug. Ifought against it as long as I could, but it was no use. I'm as biga snob as any of them now. I'm afraid to do what I want to do.Always thinking of the family dignity. I haven't taken a free stepfor twenty-five years."
George and Billie exchanged glances. Each had the uncomfortablefeeling that they were eavesdropping and hearing things not meantto
be heard. George rose.
"I must be getting along now," he said. "I've one or twothings to do. Glad to have seen you again, Billie. Is the showgoing all right?"
"Fine. Making money for you right along."
"Good-bye, Lord Marshmoreton."
The earl nodded without speaking. It was not often now that herebelled even in thoughts against the lot which fate had thrustupon him, and never in his life before had he done so in words. Hewas still in the grip of the strange discontent which had come uponhim so abruptly.
There was a silence after George had gone.
"I'm glad we met George," said Billie. "He's a good boy." She spokesoberly. She was conscious of a curious feeling of affection forthe sturdy, weather-tanned little man opposite her. The glimpseshe had been given of his inner self had somehow made him comealive for her.
"He wants to marry my daughter," said Lord Marshmoreton. A fewmoments before, Billie would undoubtedly have replied to such astatement with some jocular remark expressing disbelief that theearl could have a daughter old enough to be married. But now shefelt oddly serious and unlike her usual flippant self.
"Oh?" was all she could find to say.
"She wants to marry him."
Not for years had Billie Dore felt embarrassed, but she felt sonow. She judged herself unworthy to be the recipient of these veryprivate confidences.
"Oh?" she said again.
"He's a good fellow. I like him. I liked him the moment we met. Heknew it, too. And I knew he liked me."
A group of men and girls from a neighbouring table passed on theirway to the door. One of the girls nodded to Billie. She returnedthe nod absently. The party moved on. Billie frowned down at thetablecloth and drew a pattern on it with a fork.
"Why don't you let George marry your daughter, Lord Marshmoreton?"
The earl drew at his cigar in silence.
"I know it's not my business," said Billie apologetically,interpreting the silence as a rebuff.
"Because I'm the Earl of Marshmoreton."
"I see."
"No you don't," snapped the earl. "You think I mean by that that Ithink your friend isn't good enough to marry my daughter. You thinkthat I'm an incurable snob. And I've no doubt he thinks so, too,though I took the trouble to explain my attitude to him when welast met. You're wrong. It isn't that at all. When I say 'I'm theEarl of Marshmoreton', I mean that I'm a poor spineless fool who'safraid to do the right thing because he daren't go in the teeth ofthe family."
"I don't understand. What have your family got to do with it?"
"They'd worry the life out of me. I wish you could meet my sisterCaroline! That's what they've got to do with it. Girls in mydaughter's unfortunate position have got to marry position ormoney."
"Well, I don't know about position, but when it comes tomoney--why, George is the fellow that made the dollar-bill famous.He and Rockefeller have got all there is, except the little bitthey have let Andy Carnegie have for car-fare."
"What do you mean? He told me he worked for a living." Billie wasbecoming herself again. Embarrassment had fled.
"If you call it work. He's a composer."
"I know. Writes tunes and things."
Billie regarded him compassionately.
"And I suppose, living out in the woods the way that you do thatyou haven't a notion that they pay him for it."
"Pay him? Yes, but how much? Composers were not rich men in my day."
"I wish you wouldn't talk of 'your day' as if you telling the boysdown at the corner store about the good times they all had beforethe Flood. You're one of the Younger Set and don't let me have totell you again. Say, listen! You know that show you saw last night.The one where I was supported by a few underlings. Well, Georgewrote the music for that."
"I know. He told me so."
"Well, did he tell you that he draws three per cent of the grossreceipts? You saw the house we had last night. It was a fairaverage house. We are playing to over fourteen thousand dollars aweek. George's little bit of that is--I can't do it in my head, butit's a round four hundred dollars. That's eighty pounds of yourmoney. And did he tell you that this same show ran over a year inNew York to big business all the time, and that there are threecompanies on the road now? And did he mention that this is theninth show he's done, and that seven of the others were just as bighits as this one? And did he remark in passing that he getsroyalties on every copy of his music that's sold, and that at leastten of his things have sold over half a million? No, he didn't,because he isn't the sort of fellow who stands around blowing abouthis income. But you know it now."
"Why, he's a rich man!"
"I don't know what you call rich, but, keeping on the safe side, Ishould say that George pulls down in a good year, during theseason--around five thousand dollars a week."
Lord Marshmoreton was frankly staggered.
"A thousand pounds a week! I had no idea!"
"I thought you hadn't. And, while I'm boosting George, let me tellyou another thing. He's one of the whitest men that ever happened.I know him. You can take it from me, if there's anything rotten ina fellow, the show-business will bring it out, and it hasn't comeout in George yet, so I guess it isn't there. George is allright!"
"He has at least an excellent advocate."
"Oh, I'm strong for George. I wish there were more like him . . .Well, if you think I've butted in on your private affairssufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We've a rehearsalthis afternoon."
"Let it go!" said Lord Marshmoreton boyishly.
"Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did?I'm an honest working-girl, and I can't afford to lose jobs."
Lord Marshmoreton fiddled with his cigar-butt.
"I could offer you an alternative position, if you cared to acceptit."
Billie looked at him keenly. Other men in similar circumstances hadmade much the same remark to her. She was conscious of feeling alittle disappointed in her new friend.
"Well?" she said dryly. "Shoot."
"You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan's conversation, that mysecretary has left me and run away and got married? Would you liketo take her place?"
It was not easy to disconcert Billie Dore, but she was taken aback.She had been expecting something different.
"You're a shriek, dadda!"
"I'm perfectly serious."
"Can you see me at a castle?"
"I can see you perfectly." Lord Marshmoreton's rather formal mannerleft him. "Do please accept, my dear child. I've got to finish thisdamned family history some time or other. The family expect me to.Only yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner and bored mefor half an hour about it. I simply can't face the prospect ofgetting another Alice Faraday from an agency. Charming girl,charming girl, of course, but . . . but . . . well, I'll be damnedif I do it, and that's the long and short of it!"
Billie bubbled over with laughter.
"Of all the impulsive kids!" she gurgled. "I never met anyone likeyou, dadda! You don't even know that I can use a typewriter."
"I do. Mr. Bevan told me you were an excellent stenographer."
"So George has been boosting me, too, has he?" She mused. "I mustsay, I'd love to come. That old place got me when I saw it that day."
"That's settled, then," said Lord Marshmoreton masterfully. "Go tothe theatre and tell them--tell whatever is usual in these cases.And then go home and pack, and meet me at Waterloo at six o'clock.The train leaves at six-fifteen."
"Return of the wanderer, accompanied by dizzy blonde! You'vecertainly got it all fixed, haven't you! Do you think the familywill stand for me?"
"Damn the family!" said Lord Marshmoreton, stoutly.
"There's one thing," said Billie complacently, eyeing herreflection in the mirror of her vanity-case, "I may glitter in thefighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regularlittle tow-head."
"I never supposed for a moment that it was anything butgenuine."
"Then you've got a fine, unsuspici
ous nature, dadda, and I admireyou for it."
"Six o'clock at Waterloo," said the earl. "I will be waiting foryou."
Billie regarded him with affectionate admiration.
"Boys will be boys," she said. "All right. I'll be there."