Part 7 (1/2)

Lady Gore tried to look at it as though it were really the photograph, and not the equilibrium of a most difficult situation, that she was trying to poise. Sir William was about to propose to Rendel to come down with him to his study, but Miss Tarlton obligingly included everybody at once in the concentration upon her photographs which she felt the situation demanded.

”Look, Sir William,” she said. ”I am sure you will be interested in this one. That is Lord X. He is a little blurred, perhaps; still, when one knows who it is, it is a very interesting memento, really. Look, Miss Gore, this is the one I did when we were standing together. Do you remember?”

”Oh! yes, of course,” Rachel said. She did, as a matter of fact, very well remember the occasion, the length of time that had been necessary to adjust the legs of the camera, which appeared to have a miraculous power of interweaving themselves into the legs of the spectators; the piercing cry from Miss Tarlton at the feather of another lady's hat coming across the field of vision just as the troops came within focus; and a general sense of agitation which had prevented any one in the photographer's immediate surroundings from contemplating with a detached mind the military spectacle pa.s.sing at their feet.

”These plates are really too small,” said Miss Tarlton; ”I have been wis.h.i.+ng ever since that I had brought my larger machine that day.” Her hearers did not find it in their hearts to echo this wish. ”Of course, though, a small machine is most delightfully convenient. It is so portable, one need never be without it. I am told there is quite a tiny one to be had now. Have you seen it, Sir William?”

”No, I haven't,” said Sir William, in an entirely final and decided manner. Miss Tarlton turned to Rendel as though to ask him, but saw that he was standing apart with Rachel, apparently deep in conversation. She felt that it was rather hard on Rachel to be called away when she might have been enjoying the photographs.

”Do you know whether Mr. Rendel photographs?” she said to Lady Gore, in a more subdued tone.

”I really don't know; I think not,” Lady Gore said, amused in spite of herself at her husband's rising exasperation, although she was conscious of sharing it.

”Rendel,” said Sir William, obliged to let his feelings find vent in speech at the expense of his discretion, ”Miss Tarlton is asking whether you photograph?”

”I'm afraid I don't,” said Rendel.

”Ah, I thought not,” said Sir William, giving a sort of grunt of satisfaction.

”It is only...” said Miss Tarlton, who had relapsed into her photographs again, and was therefore constrained to speak in the sort of absent, maundering tone of people who try to frame consecutive sentences while they are looking over photographs or reading letters--”ah--this is the one I wanted you to see, Lady Gore----”

”Oh! yes, I see,” said Lady Gore, mendaciously as to the spirit, if not to the letter, for she certainly did not see in the negative held up by Miss Tarlton, which appeared to the untutored mind a square piece of grey dirty gla.s.s with confused black smudges on it, all that Miss Tarlton wished her to behold there. Then she became aware of a welcome interruption.

”How do you do, Mr. Wentworth?” she said, putting down the photograph with inward relief, as a tall young man with a fair moustache and merry blue eyes came into the room.

”Photographs?” he said, after exchanging greetings with his host and hostess, nodding to Rendel and bowing to Rachel.

”Yes,” said Lady Gore. ”Now you shall give your opinion.”

”I shall be delighted,” he said. ”I have got heaps of opinions.”

”Do you photograph?” said Miss Tarlton, with a spark of renewed hope.

”I am sorry to say I don't,” answered Wentworth. ”I believe it is a charming pursuit.”

”It is an inexhaustible pleasure,” said Miss Tarlton, with conviction.

”I congratulate you,” said Wentworth, ”on possessing it.”

”Yes,” said Miss Tarlton solemnly, ”I lead an extremely happy life. I take out my camera every day on my bicycle, and I photograph. When I get home I develop the photographs. I spend hours in my dark room.”

”It is indeed a happy temperament,” said Wentworth, ”that can find pleasure in spending hours in a dark room.”

”Have you ever tried it?” said Miss Tarlton.

”Certainly,” said Wentworth. ”In London in the winter, when it is foggy, you know.”

”Oh,” said Miss Tarlton, again with unflinching gravity. ”I don't think you quite understand what I mean. I mean in a photographic dark room, developing, you know.”

”I see,” said Wentworth. ”When I am in a dark room in the winter I generally develop theories.”