Part 3 (1/2)
”So he still persecutes the weaker s.e.x unremittingly?” I asked, laughing.
”In a way peculiar to himself,” said Forrester; ”he is always strictly courteous, but decidedly sarcastic. Poor things, they are easily imposed upon; he very soon has them well in hand, and they can never get their heads up afterward. I suppose they like it, for it seems to answer admirably. Last season he divided himself pretty equally between Constance Brandon and Flora Bellasys--quite the two best things out, though as opposite to each other in every way as the poles. To do Miss Brandon justice, I don't think she knew much of the other flirtation; she always went away early, and he used to take up her rival for the rest of the evening.”
”But the said rival--how did she like the divided homage?”
”Not at all at first; at least, she used to look revolvers at Guy from time to time--(ah! you should see the Bellasys' eyes when they begin to lighten)--but he always brought her back to the lure, and at last she seemed to take it quite as a matter of course, keeping all her after-supper waltzes for him religiously, though half the men in town were trying to cut in. I can't make out how he does it. Do you think his size and sinews can have any thing to do with it?” He said this gravely and reflectively.
”Not unlikely,” I replied; ”the _fort.i.ter in re_ goes a long way with women apparently, even where there is not a tongue like his to back it.
Don't you remember Juvenal's strong-minded heroine, who left husband and home to follow the scarred, maimed gladiator? I doubt if the Mirmillo was a pleasant or intellectual companion. Now I want you to tell me something about Guy's cousin and her father; they are coming here to-day, and I have never met them.”
”Mr. Raymond is very like most calm, comfortable old men with a life interest in 2000 a year,” Charley said; ”rather more cold and impa.s.sible than the generality, perhaps. He _must_ be clever, for he plays whist better than any one I know; but not brilliant, certainly.
His daughter is”--the color deepened on his cheek perceptibly--”very charming, most people think; but I hate describing people. I always caricature the likeness. You'll form your own judgment at dinner. Shall we go in? We shoot an outlying cover after luncheon, and the blackthorns involve gaiters.”
We had very fair sport, and were returning across the park, picking up a stray rabbit every now and then in the tufts of long gra.s.s and patches of brake. One had just started before Forrester, and he was in the act of pulling the trigger, when Livingstone said suddenly,
”There's my uncle's carriage coming down the north avenue.”
It was an easy shot in the open, but Charley missed it clean.
”What eyes you have, Guy,” he said, pettishly; ”but I wish you wouldn't speak to a man on his shot.”
Guy's great Lancaster rang out with the roar of a small field-piece, and the rabbit was rolling over, riddled through the head, before he answered,
”Yea, my eyes _are_ good, and I see a good many things, but I _don't_ see why you should have m.u.f.fled that shot, particularly as my intelligence was meant for the world in general, and it was not such an astounding remark, after all.”
Charley did not seem ready with a reply, so he retained his look of injured innocence, and walked on, sucking silently at his cigar. The Raymonds reached the house before us; but, not being in a presentable state, I did not see them before dinner.
Forrester was right; there was nothing startling about Mr. Raymond. He had one of those thin, high-bred looking faces that one always fancies would have suited admirably the powder and ruffles of the last century.
It expressed little except perfect repose, and when he spoke, which was but seldom, no additional light came into his hard blue eyes. His daughter was his absolute contrast--a lovely, delicate little creature, with silky dark-brown hair, and eyes _en suite_, and color that deepened and faded twenty times in an hour, without ever losing the softness of its tints. She had the ways of a child petted all its life through, that a harsh word would frighten to annihilation. She seemed very fond of Guy, though evidently rather afraid of him at times.
Nothing pa.s.sed at dinner worth mentioning; but soon after the ladies left us, Mr. Raymond turned lazily to his nephew to inquire,
”If he would mind asking Bruce to come and stay at Kerton, as he was to be in the neighborhood soon after Christmas.”
He did not seem to feel the faintest interest in the reply.
”I shall be too glad, Uncle Henry,” answered Guy (he did not look particularly charmed though), ”if it will give you or Bella any pleasure. Need he be written to immediately?”
”Thank you very much,” said Raymond, languidly. ”I know he bores you, and I am sure I don't wonder at it; but one must be civil to one's son-in-law that is to be. No, you need not trouble yourself to invite him yet. Bella can do it when she writes. I suppose she _does_ write to him sometimes.”
I looked across the table at Forrester. This was the first time I had heard of Miss Raymond's engagement. He met my eye quite unconcernedly, pursuing with great interest his occupation of peeling walnuts and dropping them into Sherry. It did not often happen to him to blush _twice_ in the twenty-four hours. Directly afterward we began to talk about pheasants and other things.
After coffee in the drawing-room Guy sat down to piquet with his uncle.
Raymond liked to utilize his evenings, and never played for nominal stakes. He was the _beau ideal_ of a card-player, certainly; no revolution or persistence of luck could ruffle the dead calm of his courteous face. He would win the money of his nearest and dearest friend, or lose his own to an utter stranger with the same placidity. To be sure, to a certain extent, he had enslaved Fortune; though he always played most loyally, and sometimes would forego an advantage he might fairly have claimed, his rare science made ultimate success scarcely doubtful. He never touched a game of mere chance.
I heard a good story of him in Paris. They were playing a game like Brag; the principle being that the players increase the stakes without seeing each other's cards, till one refuses to go on and throws up, or shows his point. Raymond was left in at last with one adversary; the stakes had mounted up to a sum that was fearful, and it was his choice to double or _abattre_. Of course, it was of the last importance to discover whether the antagonist was strong or not; but the Frenchman's face gave not the slightest sign. He was _beau joueur s'il en fut_, and had lost two fair fortunes at play. Raymond hesitated, looking steadily into his opponent's eyes. All at once he smiled and doubled instantly.
The other dared not go on; he showed his point, and lost. They asked Raymond afterward how he could have detected any want of confidence to guide him in a face that looked like marble.