Part 73 (1/2)

”My dear fellow, you might give her a little more!” it came to Peter to say. ”It's rather too much to expect _me_ to make up for your omissions!”

Nick looked at him with a moment's fixedness while he polished the palette; and for that moment he felt the temptation to reply: ”There's a way you could do that, to a considerable extent--I think you guess it--which wouldn't be intrinsically disagreeable.” But the impulse pa.s.sed without expressing itself in speech, and he simply brought out; ”You can make this all clear to Biddy when she comes, and she'll make it clear to my mother.”

”Poor little Biddy!” Peter mentally sighed, thinking of the girl with that job before her; but what he articulated was that this was exactly why he had come to the studio. He had inflicted his company on Lady Agnes the previous Thursday and had partaken of a meal with her, but had not seen Biddy though he had waited for her, had hoped immensely she'd come in. Now he'd wait again--dear Bid was thoroughly worth it.

”Patience, patience then--you've always me!” said Nick; to which he subjoined: ”If it's a question of going to the play I scarcely see why you shouldn't dine at my mother's all the same. People go to the play after dinner.”

”Yes, but it wouldn't be fair, it wouldn't be decent: it's a case when I must be in my seat from the rise of the curtain.” Peter, about this, was thoroughly lucid. ”I should force your mother to dine an hour earlier than usual and then in return for her courtesy should go off to my entertainment at eight o'clock, leaving her and Grace and Biddy languis.h.i.+ng there. I wish I had proposed in time that they should go with me,” he continued not very ingenuously.

”You might do that still,” Nick suggested.

”Oh at this time of day it would be impossible to get a box.”

”I'll speak to Miss Rooth about it if you like when she comes,” smiled Nick.

”No, it wouldn't do,” said Peter, turning away and looking once more at his watch. He made tacitly the addition that still less than asking Lady Agnes for his convenience to dine early would _this_ be decent, would it be thinkable. His taking Biddy the night he dined with her and with Miss Tressilian had been something very like a violation of those proprieties. He couldn't say that, however, to the girl's brother, who remarked in a moment that it was all right, since Peter's action left him his own freedom.

”Your own freedom?”--and Peter's question made him turn.

”Why you see now I can go to the theatre myself.”

”Certainly; I hadn't thought of that. You'd naturally have been going.”

”I gave it up for the prospect of your company at home.”

”Upon my word you're too good--I don't deserve such sacrifices,” said Peter, who read in his kinsman's face that this was not a figure of speech but the absolute truth. ”Didn't it, however, occur to you that, as it would turn out, I might--I even naturally _would_--myself be going?” he put forth.

Nick broke into a laugh. ”It would have occurred to me if I understood a little better--!” But he paused, as still too amused.

”If you understood a little better what?”

”Your situation, simply.”

Peter looked at him a moment. ”Dine with me to-night by ourselves and at a club. We'll go to the theatre together and then you'll understand it.”

”With pleasure, with pleasure: we'll have a jolly evening,” said Nick.

”Call it jolly if you like. When did you say she was coming?” Peter asked.

”Biddy? Oh probably, as I tell you, at any moment.”

”I mean the great Miriam,” Peter amended.

”The great Miriam, if she's punctual, will be here in about forty minutes.”

”And will she be likely to find your sister?”

”That will depend, my dear fellow, on whether my sister remains to see her.”