Part 4 (2/2)

”I can't say for certain,” answered my host, ”I only saw the gentleman once. That was at a shareholders' meeting. I should incline to the opinion that he did.”

”I suppose the bride and bridegroom slipped out as quietly as possible and drove straight off,” I suggested.

”That would have been the sensible thing for them to do,” agreed the doctor.

”But how did she manage about her travelling frock?” I continued. ”She could hardly have gone back to her Aunt Jane's and changed her things.”

The doctor has no mind for minutiae.

”I cannot tell you about all that,” he replied. ”I think I mentioned that Mary was a practical girl. Possibly she had thought of these details.”

”And did the countess take the matter quietly?” I asked.

I like a tidy story, where everybody is put into his or her proper place at the end. Your modern romance leaves half his characters lying about just anyhow.

”That also I cannot tell you for certain,” answered the doctor, ”but I give her credit for so much sense. Lord C--- was of age, and with Mary at his elbow, quite knew his own mind. I believe they travelled for two or three years. The first time I myself set eyes on the countess (_nee_ Mary Sewell) was just after the late earl's death. I thought she looked a countess, every inch of her, but then I had not heard the story. I mistook the dowager for the housekeeper.”

BLASE BILLY

It was towards the end of August. He and I appeared to be the only two men left to the Club. He was sitting by an open window, the _Times_ lying on the floor beside him. I drew my chair a little closer and remarked:--”Good morning.”

He suppressed a yawn, and replied ”Mornin'”--dropping the ”g.” The custom was just coming into fas.h.i.+on; he was always correct.

”Going to be a very hot day, I am afraid,” I continued.

”'Fraid so,” was the response, after which he turned his head away and gently closed his eyes.

I opined that conversation was not to his wish, but this only made me more determined to talk, and to talk to him above all others in London.

The desire took hold of me to irritate him--to break down the imperturbable calm within which he moved and had his being; and I gathered myself together, and settled down to the task.

”Interesting paper the _Times_,” I observed.

”Very,” he replied, taking it from the floor and handing it to me. ”Won't you read it?”

I had been careful to throw into my voice an aggressive cheeriness which I had calculated would vex him, but his manner remained that of a man who is simply bored. I argued with him politely concerning the paper; but he insisted, still with the same weary air, that he had done with it. I thanked him effusively. I judged that he hated effusiveness.

”They say that to read a _Times_ leader,” I persisted, ”is a lesson in English composition.”

”So I've been told,” he answered tranquilly. ”Personally I don't take them.”

The _Times_, I could see, was not going to be of much a.s.sistance to me. I lit a cigarette, and remarked that he was not shooting. He admitted the fact. Under the circ.u.mstances, it would have taxed him to deny it, but the necessity for confession aroused him.

”To myself,” he said, ”a tramp through miles of mud, in company with four gloomy men in black velveteen, a couple of depressed-looking dogs, and a heavy gun, the entire cavalcade being organised for the purpose of killing some twelve-and-sixpence worth of poultry, suggests the disproportionate.”

I laughed boisterously, and cried, ”Good, good--very good!”

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