Part 28 (2/2)

”I can't tell about being the kind of person. It has been fun,” said Bice; ”sometimes I have seen you all coming, and waited till there was just time to fly. I like leaving it till the last moment, and then there is the excitement, don't you know.”

”By Jove, what fun!” said Montjoie. He was not clever enough, few people are, to perceive that she had mimicked himself in tone and expression.

”And I might have caught you any day,” he cried. ”What a m.u.f.f I have been.”

”If I had allowed myself to be caught I should have been a greater--what do you call it? You wear beautiful things to do your smoking in, Lord Montjoie; what is it? Velvet? And why don't you wear them to dinner?--you would look so much more handsome. I am very fond myself of beautiful clothes.”

”Oh, by Jove!” cried Montjoie again, with something like a blush.

”You've seen me in those things! I only wear them when I think n.o.body sees. They're something from the East,” he added, with a tone of careless complacency; for, as a matter of fact, he piqued himself very much upon this smoking-suit which had not, at the Hall, received the applause it deserved.

”You go and smoke like that among other men? Yes, I perceive,” said Bice, ”you are just like women, there is no difference. We put on our pretty things for other ladies, because you cannot understand them; and you do the same.”

”Oh, come now, Miss---- Forno-Populo! you don't mean to tell me that you got yourself up like that for the sake of the ladies?” cried the young man.

”For whom, then?” said Bice, throwing up her head; but afterwards, with the instinct of a young actress, she remembered her _role_, which it was fun to carry out thoroughly. She laughed. ”You are the most clever,” she said. ”I see you are one that women cannot deceive.”

Montjoie laughed, too, with gratified vanity and superior knowledge.

”You are about right there,” he said. ”I am not to be taken in, don't you know. It's no good trying it on with me. I see through ladies'

little pretences. If there were no men you would not care what guys you were; and no more do we.”

Bice made no reply. She turned upon him that dazzling smile of which she had learned the secret from the Contessa, which was unfathomable to the observer but quite simple to the simple-minded; and then she said: ”Do you amuse yourself very much in the evening? I used to hear the voices and think how pleasant it would have been to be there.”

”Not so pleasant as you think,” said the young man. ”The only fun was the Contessa's, don't you know. She's a fine woman for her age, but she's---- Goodness! I forgot. She's your----”

”She is _pa.s.see_,” said the girl calmly. ”You make me afraid, Lord Montjoie. How much of a critic you are, and see through women, through and through.” At this the n.o.ble Marquis laughed with true enjoyment of his own gifts.

”But you ain't offended?” he said. ”There was no harm meant. Even a lady can't, don't you know, be always the same age.”

”Don't you think so?” said Bice. ”Oh, I think you are wrong. The Contessa is of no age. She is the age she pleases--she has all the secrets. I see n.o.body more beautiful.”

”That may be,” said Montjoie; ”but you can't see everybody, don't you know. She's very handsome and all that--and when the real thing isn't there--but when it is, don't you know----”

”English is very perplexing,” said Bice, shaking her head, but with a smile in her eyes which somewhat belied her air of simplicity. ”What may that be--the real thing? Shall I find it in the dictionary?” she asked; and then their eyes met and there was another burst of laughter, somewhat boisterous on his part, but on hers with a ring of lightheartedness which quenched the malice. She was so young that she had a pleasure in playing her _role_, and did not feel any immorality involved.

While this conversation was going on, which was much observed and commented on by all the company, Jock from one end of the table and Mr.

Derwent.w.a.ter from the other, looked on with an eager observation and breathless desire to make out what was being said which gave an expression of anxiety to the features of MTutor, and one of almost ferocity to the lowering countenance of Jock. Both of these gentlemen were eagerly questioned by the ladies next them as to who this young lady might be.

”Terribly theatrical, don't you think, to come into a room like that?”

said the mother of the girls in blue. ”If my Minnie or Edith had been asked to do it they would have died of shame.”

”I do not deny,” said Mr. Derwent.w.a.ter, ”the advantage of conventional restraints. I like the little airs of seclusion, of retirement, that surround young ladies. But the----” he paused a little for a name, and then with that acquaintance with foreign ways on which Mr. Derwent.w.a.ter prided himself, added, ”the Signorina was at home.”

”The Signorina! Is that what you call her--just like a person that is going on the stage. She will be the--niece, I suppose?”

Jock's next neighbour was the lady who was engaged in literature. She said to Jock: ”I must get you to tell me her name. She is lovely. She will make a great sensation. I must make a few notes of her dress after dinner--would you call that yellow or white? Whoever dressed her knew what they were about. Mademoiselle, I imagine, one ought to call her. I know that's French, and she's Italian, but still---- The new beauty!

that's what she will be called. I am so glad to be the first to see her; but I must get you to tell me her name.”

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