Part 15 (1/2)

VI

When Ashe returned to the drawing-room he found it filled with the sound of talk and laughter. But it was a talk and laughter in which the Grosville family seemed to have itself but little part. Lady Grosville sat stiffly on an early Victorian sofa, her spectacles on her nose, reading the _Times_ of the preceding day, or appearing to read it. Amy Grosville, the eldest girl, was busy in a corner, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to a piece of illumination; while Caroline, seated on the floor, was showing the small child of a neighbor how to put a picture-puzzle together. Lord Grosville was professedly in a farther room, talking with the Austrian count; but every other minute he strolled restlessly into the big drawing-room, and stood at the edge of the talk and laughter, only to turn on his heel again and go back to the count--who meanwhile appeared in the opening between the two rooms, his hands on his hips, eagerly watching Kitty Bristol and her companions, while waiting, as courtesy bade him, for the return of his host.

Ashe at once divined that the Grosville family were in revolt. Nor had he to look far to discover the cause.

Was that astonis.h.i.+ng young lady in truth identical with the pensive figure of the morning? Kitty had doffed her black, and she wore a ”demi-toilette” gown of the utmost elegance, of which the expensiveness had, no doubt, already sunk deep into Lady Grosville's soul. At Grosville Park the new fas.h.i.+on of ”tea-gowns” was not favorably regarded. It was thought to be a mere device of silly and extravagant women, and an ”afternoon dress,” though of greater pretensions than a morning gown, was still a sober affair, not in any way to be confounded with those decorative effects that nature and sound sense reserved for the evening.

But Kitty's dress was of some white silky material; and it displayed her slender throat and some portion of her thin white arms. The Dean's wife, Mrs. Winston, as she secretly studied it, felt an inward satisfaction; for here at last was one of those gowns she had once or twice gazed on with a covetous awe in the shop-windows of the Rue de la Paix, brought down to earth, and clothing a simple mortal. They were then real, and they could be worn by real women; which till now the Dean's wife had scarcely believed.

Alack! how becoming were these concoctions to minxes with fair hair and sylphlike frames! Kitty was radiant, triumphant; and Ashe was certain that Lady Grosville knew it, however she might barricade herself behind the _Times_. The girl's slim fingers gesticulated in aid of her tongue; one tiny foot swung lightly over the other; the glistening folds of the silk wrapped her in a s.h.i.+mmering whiteness, above which the fair head--negligently thrown back--shone out on a red background, made by the velvet chair in which she sat.

The Dean was placed close beside her, and was clearly enjoying himself enormously. And in front of her, absorbed in her, engaged, indeed, in hot and furious debate with her, stood the great man who had just arrived.

”How do you do, Cliffe?” said Ashe, as he approached.

Geoffrey Cliffe turned sharply, and a perfunctory greeting pa.s.sed between the two men.

”When did you arrive?” said Ashe, as he threw himself into an arm-chair.

”Last Tuesday. But that don't matter,” said Cliffe, impatiently--”nothing matters--except that I must somehow defeat Lady Kitty!”

And he stood, looking down upon the girl in front of him, his hands on his sides, his queer countenance twitching with suppressed laughter. An odd figure, tall, spare, loosely jointed, surmounted by a pale parchment face, which showed a somewhat protruding chin, a long and delicate nose, and fine brows under a strange overhanging ma.s.s of fair hair. He had the dissipated, battered look of certain Vandyck cavaliers, and certainly no handsomeness of any accepted kind. But as Ashe well knew, the aspect and personality of Geoffrey Cliffe possessed for innumerable men and women, in English ”society” and out of it, a fascination it was easier to laugh at than to explain.

Lady Kitty had eyes certainly for no one else. When he spoke of ”defeating” her, she laughed her defiance, and a glance of battle pa.s.sed between her and Cliffe. Cliffe, still holding her with his look, considered what new ground to break.

”What is the subject?” said Ashe.

”That men are vainer than women,” said Kitty. ”It's so true, it's hardly worth saying--isn't it? Mr. Cliffe talks nonsense about our love of clothes--and of being admired. As if that were vanity! Of course it's only our sense of duty.”

”Duty?” cried Cliffe, twisting his mustache. ”To whom?”

”To the men, of course! If we didn't like clothes, if we didn't like being admired--where would you be?”

”Personally, I could get on,” said Cliffe. ”You expect us to be too much on our knees.”

”As if we should ever get you there if it didn't amuse you!” said Kitty.

”Hypocrites! If we don't dress, paint, chatter, and tell lies for you, you won't look at us--and if we do--”

”Of course, it all depends on how well it's done,” threw in Cliffe.

Kitty laughed.

”That's judging by results. I look to the motive. I repeat, if I powder and paint, it's not because I'm vain, but because it's my painful duty to give you pleasure.”

”And if it doesn't give me pleasure?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

”Call me stupid then--not vain. I ought to have done it better.”

”In any case,” said Ashe, ”it's your duty to please us?”