Part 9 (2/2)

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed; and as we walked in to tea together Miss Kingsley whispered that he was about to practise his theory.

”Of course, Virginia dear, every one will understand that you are a novice, and you will be at liberty to talk in your natural manner. The rest of us are expected to a.s.sist Mr. Spence as far as possible. I am all in a flutter; I know I shall break down.”

The room in which we took tea was a veritable snuggery. The servant found it difficult to get round the table, and there was a strong smell of the frying-pan owing to the vicinity of the tiny kitchen. But these inconveniences, if they were so to be called, merely added to my zest and enjoyment. Here, indeed, was agreeable and talented society! Aunt Agnes was right,--my a.s.sociates. .h.i.therto had been frivolous and volatile. The world of fas.h.i.+on was a sham. What a contrast,--I could not help making it,--between the insipid speeches of my former friends and the clever talk of this purely literary circle, where ideas and scholars.h.i.+p were recognized and crowned.

Mr. Spence and Mr Barr sat on either side of Miss Kingsley, and I glanced from the one to the other, debating with myself whether I preferred the bold strong beauty of the artist, or the subtile and more delicate traits of feature of the philosopher. For though I had begun by regarding Mr. Spence almost as commonplace in appearance, the earnestness of his manner and the serious fervor of his eyes gave him an expression of having a deep and genuine belief in his own theories, which when compared with the impetuous but more volatile air of Paul Barr commended him to my respect and admiration even while I was flattered by the gallantries of his rival.

It was Mr. Barr who first broke the silence after we sat down to table, by asking me if I had not pa.s.sed the summer at Tinker's Reach. As he spoke in the ordinary guise, I was surprised until it occurred to me that as a member of another school he could hardly be expected, even from courtesy or friends.h.i.+p, to practise doctrines to which he could not subscribe.

”Yes,” said I.

”Malaria,” began Mr. Spence.

There was a little murmur of expectation, and Mr. Fleisch br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with excitement said, ”Bad drainage.”

”No excuse. Sea near. Inhabitants should agitate question,” continued Mr. Spence.

”Everybody appearance of health notwithstanding,” exclaimed Miss Kingsley.

”Overmuch ozone,” said Mr. Spence.

”Unhealthy stimulus. Reaction later,” added the little German.

”Are we clear? Air of Tinker's Reach you know; so clever,” whispered Miss Kingsley leaning toward me behind Mr. Spence's chair. ”Sure I shall break down.”

I nodded to give her encouragement. All this was somewhat bewildering, but I was able to follow the conversation. I was conscious too of Mr.

Barr's eyes fixed upon me with intensity. He would eat hurriedly for a moment, and then fold his arms and listen with his brow almost buried in his black bristly beard, and his glance centred on me.

The talk went on briskly. Mrs. Marsh presently joined in; and after the discussion of the atmospheric conditions of Tinker's Reach was exhausted, a criticism of a recent volume of poetry followed, in which Mr. Fleisch and Mrs. Marsh took sides against the other two. At times I lost the thread of the argument, but for the most part I understood them perfectly. Mr. Spence was by far the most proficient. It was wonderful how he was able to express frequently in a single word the idea of an entire sentence. I listened with eager and increasing interest. Every now and then Mr. Barr interrupted the conversation with a torrent of words, sometimes by way of soliloquizing comment on the views expressed, and occasionally addressed to me. In the latter case I always put my fingers on my lips and smiled, a course which had the effect of silencing him for the time being. Meanwhile everybody ate with appet.i.te of the good things provided; and the artist-poet, as though to show his contempt for the doctrines of moderation, helped himself again and again from a crystal pitcher of claret-cup that was at his elbow.

Of a sudden, to my great consternation, Mr. Spence looked directly at me and said,--

”Paris?”

All my ideas seemed to desert me on the spot. But by a rapid inspiration I shook my head and said,--

”Never.”

”There. During Commune,” continued my interrogator, and I saw from Miss Kingsley's radiant and encouraging smile and nod that I had been right in my a.s.sumption that he wished to know if I had ever been there.

”Really!” I said, emboldened.

”Grisly,” said he.

”Cat!” almost hissed Mr. Fleisch in his excitement.

”Dog!” said Mrs. Marsh.

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