Coelebs: The Love Story of a Bachelor

boy will do what hedislikes doing if he recognises that the doing is expected of him; a manstudies in preference his inclination. You cannot urge that John'sinclination tends, towards dancing."

  "No," she answered. "But I can dispute your point, because plainlyJohn's inclination tends towards pleasing Peggy."

  "Well, yes," the vicar conceded. "I begin to believe you are right."

  If he entertained the smallest doubt on that head, the doubt would havebeen dispelled could he have looked at the moment upon the picture ofMr Musgrave seated with his late partner in a retired spot, screenedfrom the curious by tall palms and other pot-plants, to which retreatPeggy had led him, as she led only her favoured partners, at the finishof the dance. Mr Musgrave sat forward in his seat, fingering one ofthe blush roses which had fallen from Peggy's dress when she left theballroom. A clumsy movement of his own towards the finish of the dancehad been responsible for the damage, as he was well aware. He hadpicked up the rose when it fell, and he was now smoothing and touchingits petals as he held it lightly between his fingers, as once he hadsmoothed and touched, and idly played with and destroyed, a glove whichshe had dropped.

  "I fear," he said, "I am in fault for the detachment of this. You willbegin to think me a very clumsy person."

  "Those little accidents happen so often when one is dancing," shereplied. "It is of no consequence."

  "It could, perhaps," he suggested, "be sewn on again."

  "I don't think it is worth bothering about," she answered. "Besides, itis broken off at the head. Never mind the rose; it isn't a real one. Ihope you weren't horribly bored at dancing with me? I believe you onlydanced because--"

  She paused. Mr Musgrave, still fingering the silken petals of therose, looked up inquiringly.

  "Why do you think I danced?" he asked.

  "Because I asked you to," she answered, smiling.

  He smiled too.

  "No," he contradicted. "The idea certainly arose from your suggestion.I doubt whether I should have the courage to inflict myself on anyone asa dance partner without that encouragement. But I had another reason."

  "Tell me," she said softly, and looked at him with so demure anexpression, and then looked away again even more demurely, so that hadthe vicar chanced upon this tableau also he would assuredly have appliedto her the term he had once made use of to his wife in speaking of her;he would have called her a little baggage. But the vicar was not thereto see, and John Musgrave rather liked the demure expression. He had analtogether different term for it, which was "womanly."

  "If it interests you to know," he said, "I had in remembrance theoccasion when I declined to oblige you in the matter of the tableaux. Idid not desire to appear ungracious a second time."

  "Then," said Peggy, in a low voice, and still without looking at him,"you danced to please me."

  "You have stated my reason correctly this time," John Musgrave answeredquietly. "I wanted to please you."

  He rose as the sound of the music broke upon their ears, and offered herhis arm.

  "And now I am going to please myself," he said, "and watch you dancingthis."

  When he led her back to the ballroom and delivered her to her partner hebecame aware as he stood for a moment alone at the entrance to thecrowded room that he still held the silken rose in his hand. He lookedat it in some perplexity. Mr Musgrave was a man of tidy habits; todrop the rose upon the floor was not a tidy habit; it would, moreover,be in the way, and it would certainly get crushed. He slipped itinstead into his pocket. Clearly in the circumstances that was the bestthing to do with it. The present difficulty of the disposal of the rosebeing thus overcome, Mr Musgrave dismissed from his mind theembarrassment of its further disposal and turned his attention to theagreeable occupation of observing the graceful evolutions of the variouscouples on the floor; and if his eyes followed one figure moreparticularly, other eyes were doing the same, so that it could not besaid of him that he was in any way peculiar in his preference forwatching the prettiest and most graceful dancer in the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  When Peggy Annersley got out of her ball-dress in the early hours ofthat New Year's morning she slipped on a comfortable dressing-gown andsat down before the fire and lighted a cigarette, while she awaited thearrival of her sister, whose room adjoined hers, and who, on separatingoutside the bedroom door, had stated her intention of joining her totalk over the evening before going to bed. Peggy was very agreeable totalk over anything. She was not in the least sleepy, and onlypleasantly tired. Excitement with her acted as a nerve-tonic, and thenight had not been without its excitements.

  Sophy entering in a similarly comfortable deshabille, and approachingthe hearth, hairbrush in hand, surprised her sister lookingcontemplatively into the flames and smiling at her thoughts. She waswondering--and it was this speculation which brought the smile to herlips--what John had done with her rose. She had made some search for itafter he had left and had failed to discover it. It crossed her mindthat perhaps John made a practice of collecting such souvenirs.

  "You look," said Sophy, as she stood for a moment and scrutinised thesmiling face, "wicked. A lifelong acquaintance with your facialexpressions leads me to conclude that you are indulging in a review ofyour conquests. Vanity will be your undoing, Peg o' my heart."

  "Sit down," said Peggy, "and have a cigarette."

  Sophy took a cigarette, but she did not immediately light it. She puther slippered feet on the fender and continued her study of her sister'sface. Seen in the flicker of the firelight, with the brown curlsfalling about her shoulders, Peggy made a charming picture. She lookedso surprisingly young and so full of the joy of life. But she was notyoung, Sophy reflected. In a few years she would be thirty, and afterthirty a woman loses her youth.

  "I like Doctor Fairbridge," Sophy remarked, with an abruptness thatcaused the smile to fade, though the challenge did not, she observed,produce any other effect.

  "So do I," agreed Peggy.

  "He is in love with you," said Sophy.

  "He thinks he is," Peggy corrected. "I expect he often finds himself inthat condition."

  "That's hedging, Peggy. He isn't half bad. You might do worse."

  "I might. I daresay I shall," returned Peggy unmoved.

  "You'll die an old maid, my Pegtop; men are none too plentiful."

  "I can even contemplate that condition undismayed," Peggy repliedcalmly. "The unmarried woman is the best off, if she would onlyrecognise it. Marriage is--"

  She paused, at a loss for a fitting definition, and during the pauseSophy lighted her cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully and looked intothe fire.

  "Marriage isn't the heaven many people think, I know," she allowed; "butit--settles one."

  "It settles two as a rule," Peggy retorted flippantly.

  She wrinkled her brows and stared into the fire likewise, and was silentawhile.

  "I have never heard you so eloquent on marriage before," she saidpresently. "I don't believe, as a matter of fact, I have heard youdiscuss the subject until now. Are you contemplating it?"

  Sophy laughed consciously.

  "There's some one," she confided, and hesitated, aware of her sister'squickened interest. "But he's poor," she added hastily. "He's anarchitect too. One day, perhaps..."

  "One day, of course," Peggy returned softly, and got up and kissed theyoung, earnest face.

  "I'm so glad, dear. I want to hear all about him."

  "Another time," said Sophy, smiling. "I am a little shy of talkingabout him yet. But he is a dear."

  "I am sure he is, or you wouldn't care for him."

  Peggy stood in front of the fire with her back to it, and regarded hersister critically. She regretted that Sophy's romance had not soonerrevealed itself. Assuredly, if their aunt had known of it, the dearwould have been included in the Hall party.

  "And so we have the reason for your newly-awakened interest in theaffairs of the heart of less fortunate folk," she remarked pres
ently."That's rather nice of you, Sophy. Most people when they have `settled'themselves don't care a flick of the fingers about the settlement of theworld in general."

  "I don't suppose I feel especially concerned about the world in generalmyself," replied Sophy. "You can scarcely class yourself in thatcategory."

  "Oh, it's I?" said Peggy, smiling ironically. "I thought it was DoctorFairbridge you were particularly interested in."

  "He is nice," Sophy insisted.

  "Is he? He