Happy-go-lucky

  BOOK TWO

  A BLIND ALLEY

  CHAPTER IV

  TRAVELS WITH A FIRST RESERVE

  I arrived at Shotley Beauchamp (for Widgerley and the Sludyard ValleyBranch) with my heart gradually settling into my boots.

  Most of us--men, not women: a woman, I fancy, provided she knows thather hat is on straight, is prepared to look the whole world in the faceat any moment--are familiar with the sinking sensation which accompaniesus to the door of a house to which we have been bidden as a guest forthe first time. We foresee ahead of us a long vista of explanations,and for the moment we hate explanations more than anything on earth.

  First, we shall have to explain ourselves to the butler. Then, pendingthe tardy appearance of our host and hostess, we shall have to explainourselves to uninterested fellow-guests. At tea, knowing no one, weshall stand miserably aloof, endeavouring _faute de mieux_ to explainour presence to ourself, and wondering whether it would be decent toleave before breakfast next morning. After dressing for dinner we shallcome down too early, and have to explain ourselves to an embarrassedgoverness and a critical little girl of twelve. There for the presentour imagination boggles. Pondering these things, we enquire bitterly whywe ever left the club, where, though life may be colourless, noquestions are asked.

  It is true that these illusions dispel themselves with the first grip ofour host's hand, but they usually cling to us right up to the opening ofthe front door; and as I on this particular occasion had only got as faras the platform of the local station, my soul _adhaesit pavimento_.

  After the habit of shy persons, I compiled a list of my own specialhandicaps as I sat in my solitary smoking-compartment. As far as I canremember they ran something like this:--

  (1) I have been roaming about the waste places of the earth for morethan ten years, and have entirely lost any social qualities that I everpossessed.

  (2) For people who like that sort of thing, house-parties are wellenough. But I do not understand the young man of the present day, andhe apparently does not understand me. As for the modern young woman, Isimply shrink from her in fear.

  (3) I have never met my host and hostess in my life.

  (4) It is quite possible that The Freak has forgotten to tell hisparents that he has invited me.

  (5) In any case I probably shall not be met at the station, and thereare never any conveyances to be had at these places. Altogether--

  At this moment the train drew up at Shotley Beauchamp, and a smilinggroom opened the door and enquired if I were for The Towers. Item NumberFive was accordingly deleted from my catalogue of woes. Two minuteslater Items One to Four slipped silently away into the limbo of thosethings that do not matter. A girl was sitting in the brougham outsidethe station.

  "Lady goin' up, too, sir," remarked the groom into my ear. "Her maid,"he added, "is in the dogcart. You got a man, sir?"

  "No."

  The groom touched his hat and departed, doubtless to comfort the maid.

  I paused at the carriage-door, and by means of a terrifying coughintimated that I, too, had been invited to The Towers, and, although astranger and unintroduced, begged leave in the humblest manner possibleto assert my right to a seat in the brougham.

  I was greeted with a friendly smile.

  "Come in! I expect you are Mr. Carmyle."

  I admitted guardedly that this was so, and proceeded to install myselfin that part of the brougham not already occupied by the lady's hat.

  "My name is Constance Damer," said my companion, as the broughamstarted. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"

  "No," I replied, "I have not."

  "Not very well put!" said Miss Damer reprovingly.

  "I have been abroad for several years," I murmured in extenuation.

  "I know," said my companion, nodding her head. "You have been buildinga dam across something in Africa."

  I accepted this precise summary of my professional career with becomingmeekness. Miss Damer continued:--

  "And I suppose you are feeling a little bit lost at present."

  "Yes," I said heartily, "I am."

  "You should have said 'Not _now_!'" explained my companion gently.

  I apologised again.

  "I shall make allowances for you until you find your feet," said MissDamer kindly.

  I thanked her, and asked whom I was likely to meet at The Towers.

  Miss Damer ticked off the names of the party on her small glovedfingers. (Have I mentioned that she was _petite_?)

  "Mr. Mainwaring and Lady Adela," she said. "You know _them_, of course?"

  "No. I saw them once on Speech Day at school fifteen years ago. Thatis all."

  "Well, they are your host and hostess."

  "Thank you: I had gathered that," I replied deferentially.

  "Then Dicky."

  "Dicky? Who is-- Oh, The Frea-- Yes. Quite so! Proceed!"

  "What did you call him?" asked Miss Damer, frankly curious.

  "I--well--at school we used to call him The Freak," I explained. "Menvery often never know the Christian names of their closest friends," Iadded feebly. "Who else?"

  "There is Hilda Beverley, of course. You have heard of her?"

  "N--no. Ought I to have done?"

  Miss Damer's brown eyes grew quite circular with surprise.

  "Do you mean to tell me," she asked incredulously, "that Dicky neverinformed you that he was engaged?"

  "No. You see," I pointed out, anxious to clear my friend of allappearance of lukewarmness as a lover, "I only met him the other day forthe first time in fifteen years, and we naturally had a good deal totell one another; and so, as it happened--that is--" I tailed offmiserably under Miss Damer's implacable eye.

  "You are his greatest friend, aren't you?" she enquired.

  On reflection I agreed that this was so, although I had never seriouslyconsidered the matter before. Women have a curious habit of cataloguingtheir friends into a sort of order of merit--"My greatest friend, mygreatest friend but six," and so on. The more sensitive male shrinksfrom such an invidious undertaking. Dicky and I had corresponded withone another with comparative regularity ever since our University days;and when two Englishmen, one hopelessly casual and the other entirelyimmersed in his profession, achieve this feat, I suppose they rather laythemselves open to accusations of this sort.

  "And he never told you he was engaged?"

  I shook my head apologetically.

  "Ah, well," said Miss Damer charitably, "I dare say he would haveremembered later. One can't think of everything in a singleconversation, can one?" she added with an indulgent smile.

  I was still pondering a suitable and sprightly defence of masculinereserve where the heart is concerned, when the carriage swung roundthrough lodge-gates, and the gravel of the drive crunched beneath ourwheels.

  "I hope the old Freak and his girl will be very happy together," I said,rather impulsively for me. "He deserves a real prize."

  "You are right," said Miss Damer, "he does."

  My heart warmed to this little lady. She knew a good man when she sawone.

  "Have they been engaged long?" I asked.

  "About a month."

  "Where did he come across her?"

  "He did not come across her," replied Miss Damer with gentle reproof, asa Mother Superior to a novice. "They were brought together."

  "That means," I said, "that it is what is called an entirely suitablematch?"

  Miss Damer nodded her small wise head.

  "From a parental point of view," I added.

  "From Lady Adela's point of view," corrected Miss Damer. "Mr.Mainwaring, poor old dear, has not got one."

  "But what about The Freak's point of view?" I enquired.

  "I can hear you quite well in your ordinary tone of voice," Miss Damerassured me.

  I apologised, and repeated the question.

  The gir
l considered. Obviously, it was a delicate subject.

  "He seems quite content," she said at last. "But then, he never couldbear to disappoint any one who had taken the trouble to makearrangements for his happiness."

  "Would you mind telling me," I said, "without any mental reservationwhatsoever, whether you consider that this engagement is the right onefor him?"

  Miss Damer's eyes met mine with perfect frankness.

  "No," she said, "I don't. What is more, the engagement is beginning towear rather thin. In fact,"--her eyes twinkled,--"I believe that LadyAdela is thinking of calling out her First Reserve."

  "You mean--"

  "I mean," said Miss Damer, "that Lady Adela is thinking of calling outher First Reserve."

  A natural but most impertinent query sprang to my lips, to be stifledjust in time.

  "You were going to say?" enquired Miss Damer.

  "I was going to say what a pretty carriage drive this is," I repliedrapidly. "You will be glad of a cup of tea, though?"

  "Yes, indeed," replied my companion brightly; but her attitude said"Coward!" as plainly as could be.

  Still, there are some questions which one can hardly ask a lady after anacquaintance of only ten minutes.

  "There is the house," continued Miss Damer, as our conveyance weathereda great clump of rhododendrons. "Are n't you glad that this long anddusty journey is over?"

  "Not _now_!" I replied.

  My little preceptress turned and bestowed on me a beaming smile.

  "That is _much_ better!" she remarked approvingly.