Part 15 (1/2)
Randolph; he wants us to dine with him first at the Hotel Cecil.”
”Mother!”
”Yes, darling; is there any objection?”
”Oh, I don't like it,” I continued; ”why should we put ourselves under an obligation to him?”
”I do not think, Westenra, you need be afraid; if I think it right to go you need have no scruples.”
”Of course I understand that,” I answered, ”and if it were any one else I should not think twice about it. If the d.u.c.h.ess, for instance, asked us to dine with her, and if she took us afterwards to the theatre I should quite rejoice, but I am puzzled about Mr. Randolph.”
”Prejudiced, you mean, dear; but never mind, you are young. As long as you have me with you, you need have no scruples. I have written a line to him to say that we will be pleased to dine with him. He is to meet us at the hotel, and is sending a carriage for us here. I own I shall be very glad once in a way to eat at a table where Mrs. Armstrong is not.”
”I have always tried to keep Mrs. Armstrong out of your way, mother.”
”Yes, darling; but she irritates me all the same. However, she is a good soul, and I must learn to put up with her. Now then, West, what will you wear to-night?”
”Something very quiet,” I answered.
”One of your white dresses.”
”I have only white silk, that is too much.”
”You can make it simpler; you can take away ornaments and flowers. I want to see you in white again. I am perfectly tired of that black dress which you put on every evening.”
I left mother soon afterwards, and the rest of the day proceeded in the usual routine. I would not confess even to myself that I was glad I was going to the Lyceum with Mr. Randolph and mother, but when I saw a new interest in her face and a brightness in her voice, I tried to be pleased on her account. After all, she was the one to be considered. If it gave her pleasure it was all as it should be.
When I went upstairs finally to dress for this occasion, which seemed in the eyes of Jane Mullins to be a very great occasion, she (Jane) followed me to my door. I heard her knock on the panels, and told her to come in with some impatience in my voice.
”Now that is right,” she said; ”I was hoping you would not put on that dismal black. Young things should be in white.”
”Jane,” I said, turning suddenly round and speaking with great abruptness, ”what part of the cake do you suppose Mr. Randolph represents?”
Jane paused for a moment; there came a twinkle into her eyes.
”Well, now,” she said, ”I should like to ask you that question myself, say in a year's time.”
”I have asked it of you now,” I said; ”answer, please.”
”Let's call him the nutmeg,” said Jane. ”We put nutmeg into some kinds of rich cake. It strikes me that the cake of this establishment is becoming very rich and complicated now. It gives a rare flavour, does nutmeg, used judiciously.”
”I know nothing about it,” I answered with impatience. ”What part of the cake is mother?”
”Oh, the ornamental icing,” said Jane at once; ”it gives tone to the whole.”
”And I, Jane, I?”
”A dash of spirit, which we put in at the end to give the subtle flavour,” was Jane's immediate response.