Part 75 (1/2)
”I think there's nothing so good for him as that he happens to have such a sister as you,” Peter declared as they went out. He heard at the same time the sound of a carriage stopping, and before Biddy, who was in front of him, opened the door of the house had been able to say to himself, ”What a bore--there's Miriam!” The opened door showed him that truth--this young lady in the act of alighting from the brougham provided by Basil Dashwood's thrifty zeal. Her mother followed her, and both the new visitors exclaimed and rejoiced, in their demonstrative way, as their eyes fell on their valued friend. The door had closed behind Peter, but he instantly and violently rang, so that they should be admitted with as little delay as possible, while he stood disconcerted, and fearing he showed it, by the prompt occurrence of an encounter he had particularly sought to avert. It ministered, moreover, a little to this sensibility that Miriam appeared to have come somewhat before her time. The incident promised, however, to pa.s.s off in a fine florid way. Before he knew it both the ladies had taken possession of Biddy, who looked at them with comparative coldness, tempered indeed by a faint glow of apprehension, and Miriam had broken out:
”We know you, we know you; we saw you in Paris, and you came to my theatre a short time ago with Mr. Sherringham!”
”We know your mother, Lady Agnes Dormer. I hope her ladys.h.i.+p's very well,” said Mrs. Rooth, who had never struck Peter as a more objectionable old woman.
”You offered to do a head of me or something or other: didn't you tell me you work in clay? I daresay you've forgotten all about it, but I should be delighted,” Miriam pursued with the richest urbanity. Peter was not concerned with her mother's pervasiveness, though he didn't like Biddy to see even that; but he hoped his companion would take the overcharged benevolence of the young actress in the spirit in which, rather to his surprise, it evidently was offered. ”I've sat to your clever brother many times,” said Miriam; ”I'm going to sit again. I daresay you've seen what we've done--he's too delightful. _Si vous saviez comme cela me repose_!” she added, turning for a moment to Peter.
Then she continued, smiling at Biddy; ”Only he oughtn't to have thrown up such prospects, you know. I've an idea I wasn't nice to you that day in Paris--I was nervous and scared and perverse. I remember perfectly; I _was_ odious. But I'm better now--you'd see if you were to know me. I'm not a bad sort--really I'm not. But you must have your own friends.
Happy they--you look so charming! Immensely like Mr. Dormer, especially about the eyes; isn't she, mamma?”
”She comes of a beautiful Norman race--the finest, purest strain,” the old woman simpered. ”Mr. Dormer's sometimes so good as to come and see us--we're always at home on Sunday; and if some day you found courage to come with him you might perhaps find it pleasant, though very different of course from the circle in which you habitually move.”
Biddy murmured a vague recognition of these wonderful civilities, and Miriam commented: ”Different, yes; but we're all right, you know. Do come,” she added. Then turning to Sherringham: ”Remember what I told you--I don't expect you to-night.”
”Oh I understand; I shall come,”--and Peter knew he grew red.
”It will be idiotic. Keep him, keep him away--don't let him,” Miriam insisted to Biddy; with which, as Nick's portals now were gaping, she drew her mother away.
Peter, at this, walked off briskly with Biddy, dropping as he did so: ”She's too fantastic!”
”Yes, but so tremendously good-looking. I shall ask Nick to take me there,” the girl said after a moment.
”Well, she'll do you no harm. They're all right, as she says. It's the world of art--you were standing up so for art just now.”
”Oh I wasn't thinking so much of that kind,” she demurred.
”There's only one kind--it's all the same thing. If one sort's good the other is.”
Biddy walked along a moment. ”Is she serious? Is she conscientious?”
”She has the makings of a great artist,” Peter opined.
”I'm glad to hear you think a woman can be one.”
”In that line there has never been any doubt about it.”
”And only in that line?”
”I mean on the stage in general, dramatic or lyric. It's as the actress that the woman produces the most complete and satisfactory artistic results.”
”And only as the actress?”
He weighed it. ”Yes, there's another art in which she's not bad.”
”Which one do you mean?” asked Biddy.
”That of being charming and good, that of being indispensable to man.”
”Oh that isn't an art.”