CHAPTER XVII
Leighton rang. The door was opened by a man in livery. So pompous was hethat Lewis gazed at him open-mouthed. He could hardly tear his eyes fromhim to follow his father, who was being conducted by a second footmanacross the glassy, waxed hall into a vast drawing-room.
The drawing-room might have been a tomb for kings, but Lewis felt moreawed by it than depressed. It was a room of distances. Upon its statelywalls hung only six paintings and a tapestry. Leighton did not tell hisson that the walls carried seven fortunes, because he happened to be oneof those who saw them only as seven things of joy.
There were other things in the room besides the pictures: a few chairs,the brocade of which matched the tapestry on the wall; an inlaid spinet;three bronzes. Before one of the bronzes Lewis stopped involuntarily.From its massive, columned base to the tip of the living figure it wasin one piece. Out of the pedestal itself writhed the tortured, reachingfigure--aspiring man held to earth. Lewis stretched out a reverent handas though he would touch it.
The lackey had thrown open a door and stood waiting. Leighton turned andcalled:
"Come on, boy."
Lewis followed them through a second drawing-room and into a library.Here they were asked to sit. Never had Lewis dreamed of such a room. Itwas all in oak--in oak to which a century of ripening had given a rareflower.
There was only one picture, and that was placed over the greatfireplace. It was the portrait of a beautiful woman--waves of gray hairabove a young face and bright black eyes. The face laughed at them andat the rows upon rows of somber books that reached from floor toceiling.
Before the fireplace were two leather chairs and a great leather couch.At each end of the couch stood lighted lamps, shaded to a deep-amberglow.
The lackey returned.
"Her ladyship waits for you in her room, sir."
Leighton nodded, and led Lewis down a short hall. The library had beendark, the hall was darker. Lewis felt depressed. He heard his fatherknock on a door and then open it. Lewis caught his breath.
The door had opened on a little realm of light. Fresh blue and whitecretonnes and chintzes met his unaccustomed eyes; straight chairs,easy-chairs, and deep, low comfy chairs; airy tables, the preposterouslyslender legs of which looked frail and were not; books, paper-backed,and gay magazines; a wondrous, limpid cheval-glass.
Across the farther side of the room was a very wide window. Through itsslender gothic panes one saw a walled lawn and a single elm. Beside thewindow and half turned toward it, so that the light fell across herface, sat the woman of the portrait.
"How do!" she cried gaily to Leighton, and held out her hand. She didnot rise.
"H lne," said Leighton, "your room's so cursedly feminine that it'slike an assault for a man to enter it."
"I can't give you credit for that, Glen," said the lady, laughing."You've had a year to think it up. Where have you been? That's right.Sit down, light up, and talk."
Leighton nodded over his shoulder at Lewis.
"Been fetching him."
"So this is the boy, is it?" The bright eyes stopped smiling. For aninstant they became shrewd. They swept Lewis from head to foot and backagain. Lewis bowed, and then stood very straight. He felt the colormounting in his cheeks. The smile came back to the lady's eyes.
"Sit down, boy," she said.
For an hour Lewis sat on the edge of a chair and listened to a stream ofquestions and chatter. The chatter was Greek to him. It skimmed over thesurface of things like a swift skater over thin ice. It never broke intodeep waters, but somehow you knew the deep waters were there.
At last Leighton arose.
"Boy," he said, "come here. This lady is my pal. There are times when aman has to tell things to a woman. That's what women are for. When youfeel you've got to tell things to a woman, you come and tell them toH lne. Don't be afraid of that peacock of a doorman; push him over.He's so stiff he'll topple easy."
"Oh, please don't ever!" cried the lady, turning to Lewis. "I'll giveyou money to tip him." She turned back to Leighton. "They're so hard toget with legs, Glen."
"Legs be hanged!" said Leighton. "Our age is trading civility for legs.The face that welcomes you to a house should be benign----"
"There you go," broke in the lady. "If you'd think a minute, you wouldrealize that we don't charter doormen to welcome people, but to keepthem out." She turned to Lewis. "But not you, boy. You may come any timeexcept between nine and ten. That's when I have my bath. What's yourname? I can't call you boy forever."
"Lewis."
"Well, Lew, you may call me H lne, like your father. It'll make me feeleven younger than I am."
"H lne is a pretty name," said Lewis.
"None of that, young man," said Leighton. "You'll call H lne my Lady."
"That's a pretty name, too," said Lewis.
"Yes," said the lady, rising and holding out her hand, "call me that--atthe door."
"Dad," said Lewis as they walked back to the flat, "does she live allalone in that big house?"
Leighton came out of a reverie.
"That lady, Lew, is Lady H lne Derl. She is the wife of Lord Derl. Youwon't see much of Lord Derl, because he spends most of his time in asort of home for incurables. His hobby is faunal research. In otherwords, he's a drunkard. Bah! We won't talk any more about _that_."