III
The next morning Mr. Prohack rose with alacrity from a hard bed, and wasgreeted in the hall by the manager of the hotel, an enormous,middle-aged, sun-burnt, jolly person in flannels and an incandescentblazer, who asked him about his interests in golf and hard-court tennis.Mr. Prohack, steeped as he felt himself to be in strange romance, wasprepared to be interested in these games, but the self-protectiveinstinct warned him that since these games could not be played alonethey would, if he indulged in them, bring him into contact with peoplewho might prove tedious. He therefore changed the conversation and askedwhether he could have strawberry jam to his breakfast. The manager'sface instantly changed, hardening to severity. Was Mr. Prohackeccentric? Did he desire to disturb the serene habits of the hotel? Themanager promised to see. He did see, and announced that he was 'afraid'that Mr. Prohack could not have strawberry jam to his breakfast. And Mr.Prohack said to himself: "What would my son Charles have done?" During asolitary breakfast (with blackberry jam) in the huge dining-room, Mr.Prohack decided that Charles would have approached the managerdifferently.
After breakfast he saw the manager again, and he did not enquire fromthe manager whether there was any chance of hiring a motor-car. He saidbriefly:
"I want to hire a car, please. It must be round here in half an hour,sharp."
"I will attend to the matter myself," said the manager humbly.
The car kept the rendezvous, and Mr. Prohack inspected Frinton from thecar. He admired the magnificent reserve of Frinton, which was the mostEnglish place he had ever seen. The houses gave nothing away; theshivering shopping ladies in the streets gave nothing away; andcertainly the shops gave nothing away. The newspaper placards announcedwhat seemed to be equivalent to the end of the existing social order;but Frinton apparently did not blench nor tremble; it went calmly andpowerfully forward into the day (which was Saturday), relying upon thegreat British axiom: "To ignore is to destroy." It ignored the end ofthe existing social order, and lo! there was no end. Up and down variouslong and infinitely correct avenues of sheltered homes drove Mr.Prohack, and was everywhere baffled in his human desire to meet Frintonhalf-way. He stopped the car at the Post Office and telegraphed to hiswife: "No strawberry jam in this city. Love. Arthur." The girl behindthe counter said: "One and a penny, please," and looked hard at him.Five minutes later he returned to the Post Office and telegraphed to hiswife: "Omitted to say in previous telegram that Frinton is the greatestexpression of Anglo-Saxon character I have ever encountered. Love.Arthur." The girl behind the counter said: "Two and three, please,"stared harder at him, and blushed. Perceiving the blush, Mr. Prohack atonce despatched a third telegram to his wife: "But it has charmingweaknesses. Love. Arthur." Extraordinarily happy and gay, he drove outof Frinton to see the remainder of North East Essex in the enhearteningeast wind.
In the evening he fell asleep in the lounge while waiting for dinner,having dressed a great deal too soon and being a great deal too full ofeast wind. When he woke up he noticed a different atmosphere in thehotel. Youth and brightness had entered it. The lounge had vivacity andexpectation; and Mr. Prohack learned that Saturday night was gala, witha dance and special bridge. Not even the news that the star-guest of thehotel, Lord Partick, was suddenly indisposed and confined to his roomcould dash the new optimism of the place.
At dinner the manager walked around the little tables and gorgeouslybabbled with diners about the sportive feats of the day. And Mr.Prohack, seeing that his own turn was coming, began to feel as if he wason board a ship. He feared the worst and the worst came.
"Perhaps you'd like to make a fourth at bridge. If so--" said themanager jollily. "Or perhaps you dance. If so--"
Mr. Prohack shut his eyes and gave forth vague affirmatives.
And as soon as the manager had left him he gazed around the room at thetoo-blonde women young and old and wondered fearfully which would be hisportion for bridge or dance. In the lounge after dinner he ignited acigar and watched the lighting up of the ball-room (ordinarily thedrawing-room) and the entry of the musicians therein. Then he observedthe manager chatting with two haughty beldames and an aged gentleman,and they all three cast assaying glances upon Mr. Prohack, and Mr.Prohack knew that he had been destined for bridge, not dancing, and themanager moved towards him, and Mr. Prohack breathed his last sigh butone....
But the revolving doors at the entrance revolved, and out of theFrintonian night appeared Lady Massulam, magnificently enveloped. Seldomhad Mr. Prohack's breast received a deeper draught of mingledastonishment and solace. Hitherto he had not greatly cared for LadyMassulam, and could not see what Charlie saw in her. Now he saw whatCharlie saw and perhaps more also. She had more than dignity,--she hadstyle. And she femininely challenged. She was like a breeze on theFrench shore to a British barque cruising dully in the Channel. Shewelcomed the sight of Mr. Prohack, and her greeting of him made aconsiderable change in the managerial attitude towards the unassumingTerror of the departments. The manager respectfully informed LadyMassulam that Lord Partick was indisposed, and respectfully took himselfoff. Lady Massulam and Mr. Prohack then proceeded to treat each otherlike new toys. Mr. Prohack had to explain why he was at Frinton, andLady Massulam explained that whenever she was in Frinton at the week-endshe always came to the Majestic to play bridge with old Lord Partick. Itflattered him; she liked him, though he had bought his peerage; he was afine player--so was she; and lastly they had had business relations, andfinancially Lord Partick watched over her as over a young girl.
Mr. Prohack was relieved thus to learn that Lady Massulam had notstrolled into the Majestic Hotel, Frinton, to play bridge with nobody inparticular. Still, she was evidently well known to the habitues, severalof whom approached to greet her. She temporised with them in her calmLatin manner, neither encouraging nor discouraging their advances, andturning back to Mr. Prohack by her side at every surcease.
"We shall be compelled to play bridge if we do not take care," shemurmured in his ear, as a dowager larger than herself loomed up.
"Yes," murmured Mr. Prohack, "I've been feeling the danger ever sincedinner. Will you dance with me,--not of course as a pleasure--I won'tflatter myself--but as a means of salvation?"
The dowager bore down with a most definite suggestion for bridge in thecard-room. Lady Massulam definitely stated that she was engaged todance....
Well, of course Lady Massulam was something of a galleon herself; butshe was a beautiful dancer; that is to say, she responded perfectly tothe male volition; she needed no pushing and no pulling; she moved underhis will as lightly as a young girl. Her elaborately dressed hair had anagreeable scent; her complexion was a highly successful achievement;everything about her had a quiet and yet a dazzling elegance which hadbeen obtained regard-less of expense. As for her figure, it was on aconsiderable scale, but its important contours had a soft and delicatecharm. And all that was nothing in the estimation of Mr. Prohackcompared with her glance. At intervals in the fox-trot he caught theglance. It was arch, flirtatious, eternally youthful, challenging; andit expressed pleasure in the fox-trot. Mr. Prohack was dancing betterthan ever before in his career as a dancer. She made him dance better.She was not the same woman whom he had first met at lunch at the GrandBabylon Hotel. She was a new revelation, packed with possibilities. Mr.Prohack recalled his wife's phrase: "You know she adores you." He hadn'tknown. Honestly such an idea had not occurred to him. But did she adorehim? Not "adore"--naturally--but had she a bit of a fancy for him?
Mr. Prohack became the youngest man in the room,--an extraordinary caseof rejuvenescence. He surveyed the room with triumph. He sniffed up thebrassy and clicking music into his vibrating nostrils. He felt no envyof any man in the room. When the band paused he clapped like a child foranother dose of fox-trot. At the end of the third dose they were both alittle breathless and they had ices. After a waltz they both realisedthat excess would be imprudent, and returned to the lounge.
"I wish you'd tell me something about my son," said Mr. Prohack. "Ithink yo
u must be the greatest living authority on him."
"Here?" exclaimed Lady Massulam.
"Anywhere. Any time."
"It would be safer at my house," said Lady Massulam. "But before I go Imust just write a little note to Lord Partick. He will expect it."
That was how she invited him to The Lone Cedar, the same being herfamous bungalow on the Front.
IV
"Your son," said Lady Massulam, in a familiar tone, but mostreassuringly like an aunt of Charlie's, after she had explained how theyhad met in Glasgow through being distantly connected by the samebusiness deal, and how she had been impressed by Charlie's youthfulcapacity, "your son has very great talent for big affairs, but he is nowplaying a dangerous game--far more dangerous than he imagines, and hewill not be warned. He is selling something he hasn't got before heknows what price he will have to pay for it."
"Ah!" breathed Mr. Prohack.
They were sitting together in the richly ornamented bungalowdrawing-room, by the fire. Lady Massulam sat up straight in her soberand yet daring evening frock. Mr. Prohack lounged with formless grace ina vast easy-chair neighbouring a whiskey-and-soda. She had not asked himto smoke; he did not smoke, and he had no wish to smoke. She was agorgeously mature specimen of a woman. He imagined her young, and hedecided that he preferred the autumn to the spring. She went on talkingof finance.
"She is moving in regions that Eve can never know," he thought. "But howdid Eve perceive that she had taken a fancy to me?"
The alleged danger to Charlie scarcely disturbed him. Her appreciationor depreciation of Charlie interested him only in so far as it was avehicle for the expression of her personality. He had never met such awoman. He responded to her with a vivacity that surprised himself. Helooked surreptitiously round the room, brilliantly lighted here, andthere obscure, and he comprehended how every detail of its variedsumptuosity aptly illustrated her mind and heart. His own heart was fullof quite new sensations.
"Of course," she was saying, "if Charles is to become the really greatfigure that he might be, he will have to cure his greatest fault, andperhaps it is incurable."
"I know what that is," said Mr. Prohack, softly but positively.
"What is it?" Her glance met his.
"His confounded reserve, lack of elasticity, lack of adaptability. Theold British illusion that everything will come to him who won't budge.Why, it's a ten-horse-power effort for him even to smile!"
Lady Massulam seemed to leap from her chair, and she broke swiftly intoFrench:
"Oh! You comprehend then, you? If you knew what I have suffered in yourterrible England! But you do not suspect what I have suffered! I advancemyself. They retire before me. I advance myself again. They retireagain. I open. They close. Do they begin? Never! It is always I who mustbegin! Do I make a natural gesture--they say to themselves, 'What astrange woman! How indiscreet! But she is foreign.' They lift theirshoulders. Am I frank--they pity me. They give themselves never! Theyare shut like their lips over their long teeth. Ah, but they have taughtme. In twenty years have I not learnt the lesson? There is nobody amongyou who can be more shut-tight than me. I flatter myself that I can bemore terrible than any English woman or man. You do not catch me now!But what a martyrdom!... I might return to France? No! I am become tooEnglish. In Paris I should resemble an _emigree_. And people would say:'What is that? It is like nothing at all. It has no name.' Besides, Ilike you English. You are terrible, but one can count on you.... _Vous yetes?_"
"_J'y suis_," replied Mr. Prohack, ravished.
Lady Massulam in her agitation picked up the tumbler and sipped.
"Pardon!" she cried, aghast. "It is yours," and planked the tumbler downagain on the lacquered table.
Mr. Prohack had the wit to drink also. They went on talking.... A silvertongue vibrated from the hall with solemn British deliberation--One!Two! The air throbbed to the sound for many seconds.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Prohack, rising in alarm. "And this isFrinton!" She let him out herself, with all soft precautions againstshocking the Frintonian world. His manner of regaining the MajesticHotel can only be described by saying that he 'effected an entrance'into it. He went to bed but not to sleep.
"What the deuce has happened to me?" he asked himself amazed. "Is itanything serious? Or am I merely English after all?"
V
Late the next morning, when he was dreaming, a servant awoke him withthe information that a chauffeur was demanding him. But he was sleepyand slept again. Between noon and one o'clock he encountered thechauffeur. It was Carthew, who stated that his mistress had sent himwith the car. She felt that he would need the car to go about in. As forher, she would manage without it.
Mr. Prohack remained silent for a few moments and then said:
"Be ready to start in a quarter of an hour."
"Before lunch, sir?"
"Before lunch."
Mr. Prohack paid his bill and packed.
"Which way, sir?" Carthew asked, as the Eagle moved from under theportico of the hotel.
"There is only one road out of Frinton," said Mr. Prohack. "It's theroad you came in by. Take it. I want to get off as quickly as possible.The climate of this place is the most dangerous and deceptive I was everin."
"Really, sir!" responded Carthew, polite but indifferent. "The east windI suppose, sir?"
"Not at all. The south wind."