Part 65 (1/2)
”I suppose it is Bertie.”
”Bid him come here,” said the father. But Bertie, who was close to the door and heard the call, required no further bidding, but walked in with a perfectly unconcerned and cheerful air. It was this peculiar _insouciance_ which angered Dr. Stanhope, even more than his son's extravagance.
”Well, sir?” said the doctor.
”And how did you get home, sir, with your fair companion?” said Bertie. ”I suppose she is not upstairs, Charlotte?”
”Bertie,” said Charlotte, ”Papa is in no humour for joking. He is very angry with you.”
”Angry!” said Bertie, raising his eyebrows as though he had never yet given his parent cause for a single moment's uneasiness.
”Sit down, if you please, sir,” said Dr. Stanhope very sternly but not now very loudly. ”And I'll trouble you to sit down, too, Charlotte. Your mother can wait for her tea a few minutes.”
Charlotte sat down on the chair nearest to the door in somewhat of a perverse sort of manner, as much as though she would say--”Well, here I am; you shan't say I don't do what I am bid; but I'll be whipped if I give way to you.” And she was determined not to give way. She too was angry with Bertie, but she was not the less ready on that account to defend him from his father. Bertie also sat down. He drew his chair close to the library-table, upon which he put his elbow, and then resting his face comfortably on one hand, he began drawing little pictures on a sheet of paper with the other. Before the scene was over he had completed admirable figures of Miss Thorne, Mrs.
Proudie, and Lady De Courcy, and begun a family piece to comprise the whole set of the Lookalofts.
”Would it suit you, sir,” said the father, ”to give me some idea as to what your present intentions are? What way of living you propose to yourself?”
”I'll do anything you can suggest, sir,” replied Bertie.
”No, I shall suggest nothing further. My time for suggesting has gone by. I have only one order to give, and that is that you leave my house.”
”To-night?” said Bertie, and the simple tone of the question left the doctor without any adequately dignified method of reply.
”Papa does not quite mean to-night,” said Charlotte; ”at least I suppose not.”
”To-morrow, perhaps,” suggested Bertie.
”Yes, sir, to-morrow,” said the doctor. ”You shall leave this to-morrow.”
”Very well, sir. Will the 4.30 P.M. train be soon enough?” and Bertie, as he asked, put the finis.h.i.+ng touch to Miss Thorne's high-heeled boots.
”You may go how and when and where you please, so that you leave my house to-morrow. You have disgraced me, sir; you have disgraced yourself, and me, and your sisters.”
”I am glad at least, sir, that I have not disgraced my mother,” said Bertie.
Charlotte could hardly keep her countenance, but the doctor's brow grew still blacker than ever. Bertie was executing his _chef d'oeuvre_ in the delineation of Mrs. Proudie's nose and mouth.
”You are a heartless reprobate, sir; a heartless, thankless, good-for-nothing reprobate. I have done with you. You are my son--that I cannot help--but you shall have no more part or parcel in me as my child, nor I in you as your father.”
”Oh, Papa, Papa! You must not, shall not say so,” said Charlotte.
”I will say so, and do say so,” said the father, rising from his chair. ”And now leave the room, sir.”
”Stop, stop,” said Charlotte. ”Why don't you speak, Bertie? Why don't you look up and speak? It is your manner that makes Papa so angry.”
”He is perfectly indifferent to all decency, to all propriety,” said the doctor; then he shouted out, ”Leave the room, sir! Do you hear what I say?”
”Papa, Papa, I will not let you part so. I know you will be sorry for it.” And then she added, getting up and whispering into his ear, ”Is he only to blame? Think of that. We have made our own bed, and, such as it is, we must lie on it. It is no use for us to quarrel among ourselves,” and as she finished her whisper, Bertie finished off the countess's bustle, which was so well done that it absolutely seemed to be swaying to and fro on the paper with its usual lateral motion.