Coelebs: The Love Story of a Bachelor

laughed.

  "Is that all Moresby can produce?... You poor dear! John looks aboutas romantic as a city alderman. I can tell you exactly the kind of manhe is: he attends church regularly and collects the offertory, and hesubscribes handsomely to all the local charities. His opinion carriesweight, not because it is really worth anything, but because he is alocal institution and because the motor and the fur coat give him an airof prosperous distinction. He stands for usage in Moresby; and usage,coupled with a substantial banking account, gains respect. I shallenter the lists and try to cut you out with John."

  Peggy received this intimation with amusement.

  "Your tongue is too sharp," she said. "John likes womenly women."

  "Heavens!" ejaculated Sophy, with a curious little twist of the lips."I hope he is prepared to match his ideal's womanliness with acorresponding manliness. That is a point these fastidious people areapt to overlook." She scrutinised her sister with a wicked little smileand touched the becoming dimple at the corner of Peggy's mouth with thetip of a long, well-shaped finger. "I believe you are cultivating thequality," she said.

  "What quality?"

  "Womanliness, my innocent," Sophy retorted, and laughed again. "Don'tdo it, my Pegtop. It is not womanly to tamper with a fastidiousmiddle-aged heart."

  "John wouldn't consider it womanly of us to be discussing him in thismanner," Peggy returned.

  "And I'm equally convinced he wouldn't consider it womanly of you totake liberties with his Christian name," said Sophy. "I think it willbe a good day for John when Aunt Ruby takes you abroad in the spring.By the way, isn't John Mrs Sommers' brother? Yes! Well, she is allright. He can't be such an absolute bore, after all."

  One thing Sophy discovered during the New Year's Eve ball, which wasthat if Moresby could not produce any young men, Rushleigh could; thatone of these was well-favoured and agreeable; that, moreover, he wasvery unmistakably in love with her sister. It was significant inSophy's opinion, that her sister, while speaking of John with such readyflippancy, had refrained from mentioning Doctor Fairbridge altogether.Clearly such unnatural reserve on Peggy's side did not originate from alack of interest; no girl, Sophy's experience assured her, lacksinterest in a good-looking man who favours her with a generous share ofthat same quality. The conclusion she arrived at, therefore, was thatPeggy, being pleasantly embarrassed by his devotion, was desirous ofappearing unconscious of it.

  Peggy introduced Doctor Fairbridge to her sister; and Sophy danced withhim several times, and found him extremely entertaining. He was, andshe knew it, exerting himself to create a good impression, whichamiability, though not disinterested, pleased Sophy. She ranged herselfpromptly on his side, prepared to champion him whole-heartedly in hisbid for her sister's favour. John Musgrave she refused to consider inthe light of a possible rival.

  Mr Musgrave did not care about dancing, but he sat through one of theintervals beside Sophy in the warmth of the great fire in the hall andasked her several astonished questions relative to her work, and showedsurprise when she informed him that she had drawn up some of the plansfor the reconstruction of the home farm-buildings. He did not, sheperceived, take either herself or her work quite seriously; but that didnot trouble Sophy.

  "It is such an amazing profession for a young lady," he remarkedgravely.

  "Why?" inquired Sophy.

  "It seems so to me," he replied, unable, he found, to explain further."These new ideas appear to me fantastic. It's a reversion of things.Women's sphere should be the home."

  "Well," said Sophy, smiling, "that's where my sphere lies mainly. Iplan homes--for other people. It isn't a new idea really. Abroad, youknow, the women build the home--the blacks, I mean. Aunt Ruby says thewomen make all those jolly ill-constructed huts; they cut the poles, anddo everything. I'd like to go out and teach them how to construct themproperly, with some idea of ventilation other than a doorway." Shelaughed cheerfully, and held a daintily-gloved hand to the flames."Wouldn't it be awful if we had to sit here with the door open to letthe smoke escape?"

  Mr Musgrave looked round the beautiful old hall, looked at the severalcouples seated on the broad oak staircase, looked into his companion'syoung, fresh, smiling face, and smiled too.

  "It would be unpleasantly draughty," he allowed.

  She lifted her white shoulders expressively.

  "I like modern comfort," she said. "I love everything beautiful andsolid and good. I admire this house, and I admire Moresby. It ispicturesque. But I wouldn't care to live here."

  "No? Why?" he asked.

  "I don't enjoy vegetating. I should turn into a cabbage if I had toremain here. It's the same with Peggy. We are all alike that way; wemust have change."

  "Ah!" he said. "That is a sign of the times, too."

  For some reason or other he seemed ill-pleased with her last remark,though he could not have explained why a desire for change in a younglady whom he met for the first time should disturb him. Perhaps it wasless the expression of Sophy's own inclination than that reference to asimilar taste on her sister's part which vexed him; or it may have beenthat he resented the general tone of her remarks about the desirabilityof Moresby as a permanent dwelling-place. He had lived most of his lifein Moresby, and he felt no nearer in kin to the vegetable world now thanin the days of his more fervid youth.

  "It is natural that the present generation should be representative ofthe times," observed Sophy cheerfully. "I wouldn't wish to be ananachronism."

  She laughed gaily at the perplexed gravity of his face. Her sister'sopinion, expressed earlier in the evening, to the effect that John wouldnot like her because of the sharpness of her tongue, occurred to her assurprisingly astute. John certainly did not like her. Possibly hecherished antipathy towards most things which he failed to understand.

  Mr Musgrave had never met such an astounding young woman before. Bycomparison, Peggy Annersley appeared a very simple and graciouscontrast. He was getting perilously near to thinking of Peggy aswomanly; and yet when he first met Peggy that flattering adjective wasthe last he would have applied as fittingly describing her. He hadalmost forgotten the abominable overalls. He certainly was not thinkingof them when presently Peggy flitted up to them, a distractinglypleasing sight in blue, with blush roses at her breast. The roses hadbeen made in Paris, but Mr Musgrave did not detect their artificiality.Peggy dexterously exchanged her own partner for her sister's escort,and sat down beside Mr Musgrave on the big oak seat.

  "I'm tired," she said, and played absently with her fan, making theremark as though she considered some explanation of this rescue of herbored young sister necessary. Sophy's idea of enjoyment was not, sheknew, consistent with sitting out when she might be dancing; and theband, hired for the occasion from Rushleigh, was playing a two-step.

  She did not look tired when she made this admission. But Mr Musgravewas not observant, and he considered it becoming in a woman to confessto fatigue. Also the substitution of companions was entirely agreeableto him. Peggy was undeniably the more charming of the two sisters.

  "Don't you dance?" she asked presently.

  "These new dances are unfamiliar," he replied. "I used to waltz yearsago; but, save for an occasional square dance, I have not engaged in theexercise for so long that I expect I have forgotten the steps. I liketo look on."

  He was not, however, indulging his liking; there was no view of thedancing from where they sat. The couples on the staircase had meltedaway with the first strains of the music, find Peggy and John Musgravehad the old hall to themselves.

  "I don't care about looking on," said Peggy. "I like to take part, orget away from it altogether. It's nice sitting here; it's restful."

  She lifted the little decorated programme hanging from her fan andstudied it, wrinkling her pretty brows over the undecipherable initialswhich defaced its page.

  "I don't believe you have asked me for a single dance," she said, thefaintest trace of reproach perceptible in her voice.

>   Before this attack Mr Musgrave experienced some embarrassment. Therebuke in its directness was tantamount to an accusation of negligence;in its suggestion of an invitation it implied a compliment. JohnMusgrave was as much discomfited by the one as by the other.

  "I--I didn't wish to trespass on your good nature to that extent," hereplied.

  "Isn't that just a little unkind?" hazarded Peggy, with a smile whichbrought the dimple into play.

  Mr Musgrave fell to studying the dimple while Peggy studied her card,and became so intent in this pleasing form of research that he omittedto answer her