Part 7 (1/2)
Mr. Parker sat for several moments in profound silence. I could not make out what his mood was, He seemed neither unduly depressed nor elated. He was obviously puzzled, however--puzzled to know precisely what to do or what to say. He sat in the middle of the divan with one thumb in his waistcoat pocket and the other hand flat upon the table. His round face was innocent of smile or frown. Yet I knew he was taking what I had said seriously, though for some reason or other it did not seem to give him unqualified pleasure.
”Well, well!” he said at last. ”You've spoken up like a man, anyway--and like a man who knows what he wants. I can't tell how to answer you. I have never lived on any one yet. Sponging's never been in my line. I have enjoyed living on my wits. And Eve--she's a little that way, too. Makes me kind of sorry I've let her go about with me so much. It's a wonderful cloak of respectability you'd throw over us; but I'm wondering whether it's large enough!”
”As my wife--” I began.
”Oh, yes! you'd gather her in all right to start with,” he interrupted; ”but there are other things,” he added, turning a little toward me and looking me in the face. ”Suppose she didn't turn out just as you thought!
She's a wild, high-spirited sort of creature--is Eve. She loves the music and the rattle of life. I can't fancy her in one of those out-of-the-way, G.o.d-forsaken little mudholes you call an English village, sitting in an early-Victorian drawing-room all the afternoon, waiting for the vicar's wife to come to tea, and taking a walk before dinner for entertainment, with an umbrella and mackintosh.”
”You've been reading Jane Austen,” I told him.
”Never heard of her,” he replied promptly. ”I once--but never mind. Just keep this to yourself for a bit, my boy. If we come to any arrangement there are one or two things we've got on that we might have to drop. We'll think this over. So long until this evening.”
He bustled away then, evidently anxious to escape any further conversation. I went about my business, which consisted of a visit to my lawyer's and a couple of rubbers of bridge at my club before dinner.
At half past seven precisely I strolled into Stephano's. I had scarcely taken my table before Mr. Parker and Eve entered. Contrary to his usual custom, Mr. Parker was wearing a dress coat, white waistcoat and white tie; and Eve looked exquisite in a low-necked gown of white silk. Mr.
Parker, according to his promise, at once beckoned me over.
”My dear boy,” he said, ”I insist upon it that you sit down and dine with us. Last night I dined with you. To be literal, I ate off your plate.
Tonight I return the compliment.”
I had no idea of refusing, but I was watching Eve with some anxiety. Her att.i.tude seemed a little negative. However, she welcomed me pleasantly.
”Well,” she asked, ”is your conscience beginning to p.r.i.c.k yet?”
”My conscience,” I replied, ”is about as imaginary a thing as my early- Victorian drawing-room. I can a.s.sure you I have the most profound admiration for your father. I think he is one of the cleverest men I ever met.”
She seemed a little taken aback. My tone, I felt quite sure, was convincing.
”Of course,” she remarked, ”it is possible I have formed a wrong idea of Englishmen. I have met only one or two.”
”I should say it is highly probable,” I agreed. ”What scheme of villainy is before us to-night? I claim a share in it at any rate.”
She shook her head.
”Not to-night, I am afraid.”
Mr. Parker, with the menu in front of him, was busy with the waiter and a _maitre d'hotel_. I dropped my voice a little.
”Why not? Are you going to the theater?”
”To the opera.”
”You love music?” I asked.
She leaned a little toward me. Her hair almost brushed my cheek as she whispered:
”We love jewelry!”
I flatter myself that not a muscle of my face moved.