Part 60 (2/2)
”You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.”
”He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a suspiciously familiar way.”
”Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.”
”Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.”
”Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master alone. They never did you any harm.”
”No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of G.o.d--not that I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka-dhurzie way He attires those lilies of the field--this Person draws the eyes of men--and some of them nice men? It's almost enough to make one discard clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.”
”And what did that sweet youth do?”
”Turned sh.e.l.l-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn't a single woman in the land who understands me when I am--what's the word?”
”Tete-Fele'e,” suggested Mrs. Mallowe.
”Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says”--Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs.
Mallowe stared in lazy surprise.
”'G.o.d gie us a gude conceit of oorselves,'” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously, returning to her natural speech. ”Now, in any other woman that would have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I expect complications.”
”Woman of one idea,” said Mrs. Mallowe, shortly; ”all complications are as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all--all--ALL!”
”And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike.
I am old who was young--if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze--but never, no never have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this business Out to the bitter end.”
”I am going to sleep,” said Mrs. Mallowe, calmly. ”I never interfere with men or women unless I am compelled,” and she retired with dignity to her own room.
Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side.
”Behold!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. ”That is the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy--do you know the Waddy?--who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she will eventually be caught up to Heaven.”
”Don't be irreverent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. ”I like Mrs. Bent's face.”
”I am discussing the Waddy,” returned Mrs. Hauksbee, loftily. ”The Waddy will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed--yes!--everything that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my dear, is life in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about The Dancing Master and The Dowd.”
”Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into people's back bedrooms.”
”Anybody can look into their front drawing-rooms; and remember whatever I do, and whatever I look, I never talk--as the Waddy will. Let us hope that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will soften the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion.
”But what reason has she for being angry?”
”What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go?
'If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and you'll believe them all.' I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly dressed”--
”That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.”
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