Part 21 (1/2)

He turned from her as well. He didn't know what he had done to deserve such treatment. It was a complete surprise; he had never seen her like that before. She was a very vulgar woman; that was the way people dealt with each other, he supposed, on hideous back piazzas. He threw himself almost pa.s.sionately into contact with the others, who all seemed to him, possibly a little by contrast, extraordinarily genial and friendly. He had not, however, the consolation of seeing Mrs. Headway punished for her rudeness-she wasn't in the least neglected. On the contrary, in the part of the room where she sat the group was denser and repeatedly broke into gusts of unanimous laughter. Yes, if she should amuse them she might doubtless get anywhere and do anything, and evidently she was amusing them.

VII

If she was strange, at any rate he hadn't come to the end of her strangeness. The next day was a Sunday and uncommonly fine; he was down before breakfast and took a walk in the park, stopping to gaze at the thin-legged deer on the remoter slopes, who reminded him of small pin-cus.h.i.+ons turned upside down, and wandering along the edge of a large sheet of ornamental water which had a temple in imitation of that of Vesta on an island in the middle. He thought at this time no more of Mrs. Headway; he only reflected that these stately objects had for at least a hundred years furnished a background to a great deal of heavy history. Further reflexion would perhaps have suggested to him that she might yet become a feature in the record that so spread itself. Two or three ladies failed to appear at breakfast; the well-known Texan belle was one of them.

”She tells me she never leaves her room till noon,” he heard Lady Demesne say to the General, her companion of the previous evening, who had asked about her. ”She takes three hours to dress.”

”She's a monstrous clever woman!” the General declared.

”To do it in three hours?”

”No, I mean the way she keeps her wits about her.”

”Yes; I think she's very clever,” said Lady Demesne on a system in which our young man flattered himself he saw more meaning than the General could. There was something in this tall straight deliberate woman, who seemed at once to yearn and to retire, that Waterville admired. With her delicate surface, her conventional mildness, he made out she was strong; she had set her patience upon a height and carried it like a diadem. She had the young American little visibly on her mind, but every now and then she indulged in some vague demonstration that showed she had not forgotten him. Sir Arthur himself was apparently in excellent spirits, though he too never bustled nor overflowed; he only went about looking very fresh and fair, as if he took a bath every hour or two, and very secure against the unexpected. Waterville had exchanged even fewer remarks with him than with his mother; but the master of the house had found occasion to say the night before, in the smoking-room, that he was delighted this friend had been able to come, and that if he was fond of real English scenery there were several things about that he should like very much to show him.

”You must give me an hour or two before you go, you know; I really think there are some things you'll care for.”

Sir Arthur spoke as if Waterville would be very fastidious; he seemed to wish to do the right thing by him. On the Sunday morning after breakfast he inquired if he should care to go to church; most of the ladies and several of the men were going. ”It's just as you please, you know; but there's rather a pretty walk across the fields and a curious little church-they say of King Stephen's time.”

Waterville knew what this meant; it was already a treasure. Besides, he liked going to church, above all when he sat in the Squire's pew, which was sometimes as big as a boudoir and all fadedly upholstered to match.

So he replied that he should be delighted. Then he added without explaining his reason: ”Is Mrs. Headway going?”

”I really don't know,” said his host with an abrupt change of tone-as if he inquired into the movements of the housekeeper.

”The English are awfully queer!” Waterville consoled himself with secretly exclaiming; to which wisdom, since his arrival among them, he had had recourse whenever he encountered a gap in the consistency of things. The church was even a rarer treasure than Sir Arthur's description of it, and Waterville felt Mrs. Headway had been a fool not to come. He knew what she was after-she wished to study English life so that she might take possession of it; and to pa.s.s in among a hedge of bobbing rustics and sit among the monuments of the old Demesnes would have told her a great deal about English life. If she wished to fortify herself for the struggle she had better come to that old church. When he returned to Longlands-he had walked back across the meadows with the archdeacon's lady, who was a vigorous pedestrian-it wanted half an hour of luncheon and he was unwilling to go indoors. He remembered he had not yet seen the gardens, and wandered away in search of them. They were on a scale that enabled him to find them without difficulty, and they looked as if they had been kept up unremittingly for a century or two. He hadn't advanced very far between their blooming borders when he heard a voice that he recognised, and a moment after, at the turn of an alley, came upon Mrs. Headway, who was attended by the master of the scene. She was bareheaded beneath her parasol, which she flung back, stopping short as she beheld her compatriot.

”Oh it's Mr. Waterville come to spy me out as usual!” It was with this remark she greeted the slightly-embarra.s.sed young man.

”Hallo, you've come home from church?” Sir Arthur said, pulling out his watch.

Waterville was struck with his coolness. He admired it; for, after all, he noted, it must have been disagreeable to him to be interrupted. He felt rather an a.s.s, and wished he had kept hold of Mrs. April, to give him the air of having come for her sake. Mrs. Headway was looking adorably fresh in attire that Waterville, who had his ideas on such matters, felt sure wouldn't be regarded as the proper thing for a Sunday morning in an English country-house: a neglige of white flounces and frills interspersed with yellow ribbons-a garment Madame de Pompadour might have sported to receive Louis XV., but probably wouldn't have worn for a public airing. The sight of this costume gave the finis.h.i.+ng touch to his impression that she knew on the whole what she was about. She would take a line of her own; she wouldn't be too accommodating. She wouldn't come down to breakfast; she wouldn't go to church; she would wear on Sunday mornings little elaborately informal dresses and look dreadfully un-British and un-Protestant. Perhaps after all this was best. She began to talk with a certain volubility.

”Isn't this too lovely? I walked all the way from the house. I'm not much at walking, but the gra.s.s in this place is like a parlour. The whole thing's driving me wild. Sir Arthur, you ought to go and look after the Amba.s.sador; it's shameful the way I've kept you. You don't trouble about the Amba.s.sador? You said just now you had scarcely spoken to him, and you must make that right up. I never saw such a way of neglecting your guests. Is it the usual style over here? Go and take him out to ride or make him play a game of billiards. Mr. Waterville will take me home; besides, I want to scold him for spying on me.”

Our young man sharply resented her charge. ”I had no idea whatever you were here.”

”We weren't hiding,” said Sir Arthur quietly. ”Perhaps you'll see Mrs.

Headway back to the house. I think I ought to look after old Davidoff.

I believe luncheon's at two.”

He left them, and Waterville wandered through the gardens with Mrs.

Headway. She at once sought again to learn if he had come there to ”dog”

her; but this inquiry wasn't accompanied, to his surprise, with the acrimony she had displayed the night before. He was determined not to let that pa.s.s, however; when people had treated him in that way they shouldn't be allowed to forget it.

”Do you suppose I'm always thinking of you?” he derisively demanded.

”You're out of my mind _sometimes_. I came this way to look at the gardens, and if you hadn't spoken to me should have pa.s.sed on.”

Mrs. Headway was perfectly good-natured; she appeared not even to hear his defence. ”He has got two other places,” she simply rejoined.

”That's just what I wanted to know.”