CHAPTER IX.
It has been obvious, I hope, that Lewis Ancram was temperamentally equalto adjusting himself to a situation. His philosophy was reallycharacteristic of him; and none the less so because it had a pessimisticand artistic tinge, and he wore it in a Persian motto inside a crestring on his little finger. It can hardly be said that he adjustedhimself to his engagement and his future, when it became apparent to himthat the one could not be broken or the other changed, withcheerfulness—for cheerfulness was too commonplace a mental condition tohave characterised Mr. Ancram under the happiest circumstances. Neithercan it be denied, however, that he did it with a good deal of dignityand some tact. He permitted himself to lose the abstraction that hadbeen overcoming him so habitually in Rhoda’s society, and he said moreof those clever things to her which had been temporarily obscured by thecloud on his spirits. They saw one another rather oftener than usual inthe fortnight following the evening on which Mr. Ancram thought he couldsuggest a course for their mutual benefit to Miss Daye and her daintilyauthoritative manner with him convinced him that his chains were rivetedvery firmly. At times he told himself that she had, after all,affectionate potentialities, though he met the problem of evolving themwith a shrug. He disposed himself to accept all the ameliorations of thesituation that were available, all the consolations he could find. Oneof the subtlest and therefore most appreciable of these was thenecessity, which his earlier confidence involved, of telling JudithChurch in a few suitably hesitating and well-chosen words that thingswere irrevocable. Judith kept silence for a moment, and then, with agravely impersonal smile, she said, “I hope—and think—you may be happierthan you expect,” in a manner which made further discussion of thematter impossible. It cannot be doubted, however, that she was able toconvey to him an under-current of her sympathy without embarrassment.Otherwise he would hardly have found himself so dependent on the oddhalf-hours during which they talked of Henley’s verses and Swan’spictures and the possibility of barricading oneself against the moraleffect of India. Ancram often gave her to understand, in one delicateway or another, that if there were a few more women like her in thecountry it could be done.
The opinion seemed to be general, though perhaps nobody else formulatedit exactly in those terms. People went about assuring each other thatMrs. Church was the most charming social success, asserting this as ifthey recognised that it was somewhat unusual to confer such a decorationupon a lady whose husband had as yet none whatever. People said she wasa really fascinating woman in a manner which at once condoned andsuggested her undistinguished antecedents—an art which practice has madeperfect in the bureaucratic circles of India. They even went so far asto add that the atmosphere of Belvedere had entirely changed since thebeginning of the officiating period—which was preposterous, for nothingcould change the social atmosphere of any court of Calcutta short of thereconstruction of the Indian Empire. The total of this meant that Mrs.Church had a good memory, much considerateness, an agreeabledisposition, and pretty clothes. Her virtues, certainly her virtues as Iknow them, would hardly be revealed in the fierce light which beats uponthe wife of an acting Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal from November untilApril, though a shadow of one of them might have been detected in theway she behaved to the Dayes. Ancram thought her divine in this, but shewas only an honest woman with a temptation and a scruple. Her dignitymade it difficult; she was obliged to think out delicate little ways ofoffering them her friendship in the scanty half hours she had to herselfafter dinner, while the unending scratch of her husband’s pen camethrough the portière that hung across the doorway into hisdressing-room. What she could do without consulting them she did; thoughit is not likely that Colonel Daye will ever attribute the remarkablesmoothness of his official path at this time to anything but the spiritof appreciation in which he at last found Government disposed to regardhis services. The rest was not so easy, because she had to count withRhoda. On this point her mother was in the habit of invoking Rhoda’sbetter nature, with regrettable futility. Mrs. Daye said that for herpart she accepted an invitation in the spirit in which it was given, andit is to be feared that no lady in Mrs. Church’s “official position”would be compelled to make overtures twice to Mrs. Daye, who told otherladies, in confidence, that she had the best reason to believe Mrs.Church a noble-minded woman—a beautiful soul. It distressed her that shewas not able to say this to Rhoda also, to be frank with Rhoda, todiscuss the situation and perhaps to hint to the dear child that hernon-responsiveness to Mrs. Church’s very kind attitude looked “the leastbit in the world like the little green monster, you know, dearest one.”It was not, Mrs. Daye acknowledged, that Rhoda actively resisted Mrs.Church’s interest; she simply appeared to be unaware of it, and sat on achair beside that sweet woman in the Belvedere drawing-room with theeffect of being a hundred miles away. Mrs. Daye sometimes asked herselfapprehensively how soon Mrs. Church would grow tired of coaxing Rhoda,how long their present beatitudes might be expected to last. It was withthis consideration in mind that she went to her daughter’s room the dayafter the Maharajah of Pattore’s garden-party, which was Thursday. Thewindows of that apartment were wide open, letting in great squares ofvivid sunlight, and their muslin curtains bellied inward with thepleasant north wind. It brought gusts of sound from the life outside—thehigh plaintive cheeling of the kites, the interminable cawing of thecrows, the swish of the palm fronds, the scolding of the mynas; and allthis life and light and clamour seemed to centre in and circle about theyellow-haired girl who sat, half-dressed, on the edge of the bed writinga letter. She laid it aside face downward, at her mother’s knock, andthat amiable lady found her daughter seated before the looking-glasswith a crumpled little brown ayah brushing her hair.
Mrs. Daye cried out at the glare, at the noise. “It’s like living in oneof those fretwork marble summer-houses at Delhi where the kings ofwhat-you-may-call-it dynasty kept their wives!” she declared, with herhands pressed on her eyes and a thumb in each ear; and when the shutterswere closed and the room reduced to some degree of tranquillity, brokenby glowing points where the green slats came short of the sash, shedemanded eau-de-cologne and sank into a chair. “I’ve come for ‘CruelleEnigme,’ Rhoda,” Mrs. Daye announced.
“No, you haven’t, mummie. And besides, you can’t have it—it isn’t a nicebook for you to read.”
“Can’t I?” Mrs. Daye asked plaintively. “Well, dear, I suppose I musttake your opinion—you know how much my wretched nerves will stand. Fromall I hear I certainly can’t be too thankful to you for protecting mefrom Zola.”
“Ayah,” Rhoda commanded in the ayah’s tongue, “give me the yellow bookon the little table—the yellow one, owl’s daughter! Here’s one you canhave, mother,” she said, turning over a few of the leaves with a touchthat was a caress—“‘Robert Helmont’—you haven’t read that.”
Mrs. Daye glanced at it without enthusiasm.
“It’s about a war, isn’t it? I’m not fond of books about wars as a rule,they’re so ‘bluggy,’” and the lady made a little face; “but of course—ohyes, Daudet, I know he would be charming even if he _was_ bluggy. Rhoda,don’t make any engagement for Sunday afternoon. I’ve accepted aninvitation from Belvedere for a river-party.”
The face in the looking-glass showed the least contraction between theeyebrows. The ayah saw it, and brushed even more gently than before.Mrs. Daye was watching for it, and hurried on. “I gather from Mrs.Church’s extremely kind note—she writes herself, and not theaide-de-camp—that it is a little _fête_ she is making especially, in amanner, for you and Mr. Ancram, dear—in celebration, as it were. She hasasked only people we know very well indeed; it is really almost a familyaffair. _Very_ sweet of her I call it, though of course Lewis Ancram isan old friend of—of the Lieutenant-Governor’s.”
The contraction between the girl’s brows deepened seriously, gave placeto a considering air, and for a moment she looked straight into her owneyes in the glass and said nothing. They rewarde
d her presently with abubble of mischievous intelligence, which almost broke into a smile.Mrs. Daye continued to the effect that nothing did one so much good as alittle jaunt on the river—it seemed to blow the malaria out of one’ssystem—for her part she would give up anything for it. But Rhoda had noother engagement?
“Oh dear no!” Miss Daye replied. “There is nothing in the world tointerfere!”
“Then you will go, dearest one?”
“I shall be delighted.”
“My darling child, you _have_ relieved my mind! I was so afraid thatsome silly little fad—I know how much you dislike the glare of theriver——” then, forgetfully, “I will write at once and accept for usall.” Mrs. Daye implanted a kiss upon her daughter’s forehead, with asense that she was picturesquely acknowledging dutiful obedience, andrustled out. “Robert Helmont” remained on the floor beside her chair,and an indefinitely pleasant freshness was diffused where she had been.
As Rhoda twisted her hair a little uncontrollable smile came to her lipsand stayed there. “Ayah, worthy one,” she said, “give me the letter fromthe bed”; and having read what she had written she slowly tore it intovery small pieces. “After all,” she reflected, “that would be a stupidway.”