Part 14 (1/2)

Mrs. Thompson hated the young man at the very first glimpse of him as he came lounging into her room. He was tall and skinny; his dark, straight hair was plastered back from a low forehead; he had no moustache; and his teeth, which showed too much in a narrow mouth, were ugly, set at a slightly projecting angle, as with parrots. No reasonable being could call him handsome; but of course his general air and manner were gentlemanlike--Mrs. Thompson admitted so much at once, and disliked him all the more for it. Gentlemanlikeness was his sole stock in trade: he would push that for all it was worth, and she was immediately conscious that in his easy tone and careless lounging att.i.tude there was a quiet, steady a.s.sumption of his social value as the well-bred young gentleman whose father is related to the peerage.

”Please be seated, Mr. Kenion.”

”Thanks.”

She had ignored his obvious intention of shaking hands, and he was not apparently in the least disconcerted by her refusal of the friendly overture.

”I feel sure, Mr. Kenion, that if we have a good talk, you and I will be able to understand each other.”

”Er--yes, I hope so.”

”I think it is important that you and I _should_ understand each other as soon as possible.”

”Thanks awfully. I'm sure it's very good of you to let me come. I know how busy you are.”

He was looking at various objects in the room, and a slow smile flickered about his small mouth. He looked especially at some files on the desk, and at the ma.s.sive door of one of the big safes standing ajar and displaying iron shelves. He looked at these things with childish interest; and Mrs. Thompson felt annoyance from the thought that the smile was intended to convey the inference of his never having seen such things before, and of his being rather amused by them.

But she permitted no indication of her thoughts to escape her. The governing powers of her mind were concentrated on the business in hand; her face was a solid mask, expressing quiet strength, firm resolution, worldly shrewdness, and it never changed except in colour, now getting a little redder, now a little paler; she sat squarely, so that her revolving chair did not turn an inch to one side or the other; and throughout the interview she seemed and was redoubtable.

”My daughter tells me that you have proposed to her.”

”Yes--I may as well say at once that I'm awfully in love.... And Enid has been good enough to--er--reciprocate. I'm sure I don't know what I've done to deserve such luck.”

”Nor do I as yet, Mr. Kenion.”

”Exactly. Of course Enid is a stunner.”

”But it was about you, and not my daughter, that I wished to talk.

Perhaps it will save time if I ask you a few questions. That is usual on these occasions, is it not?”

”Well, as to that, I can't say,” and he laughed stupidly. ”This is the first time I've been bowled over.”

”As a question to begin with--what about your prospects, in whatever career you have planned?”

”My plans, don't you know, would depend more or less on Enid.”

”But you can give me some account of your position in the world--and so forth.”

”Oh, well, that's pretty well known--such as it is. Not brilliant, don't you know.... But I relied on Enid to tell you all that.”

”No, please don't rely on her. Only rely on yourself, Mr. Kenion.”

Something of the quiet swagger had evaporated. The suns.h.i.+ne came streaming down from a skylight and fell upon him. Mrs. Thompson had put him where he would get all the light, and she scrutinized him attentively.

His suit of grey flannels, although not of sporting cut or material, suggested nothing but a stable and horses; and beneath his casual air of gentlemanly ease there was raffishness, looseness, disreputability. In the bright sunbeams he looked sallow and bilious; his eyelids drooped, an incipient yawn was lazily suppressed; and she thought that very likely he had been drinking last night and would soon be drinking again this morning.

Mentally she compared him with another young man. In her mind she carried now at all times the vividly detailed picture of a masculine type; and it was impossible not to use it as a standard or measure. Mr.

Kenion seemed very weak and mean and valueless, when set beside her standard.

”What is your profession, Mr. Kenion?”