CHAPTER V
VERY ODIOUS
I
We found the house-party at tea in the hall of The Towers. TheMainwaring parents proved to be a little old gentleman, with greyside-whiskers and a subdued manner, and an imposing matron of fifty, whodeliberately filled the teapot to the brim with lukewarm water upon ourapproach and then gave me two fingers to shake. To Miss Damer wasaccorded a "Constance--dear child!" and a cold peck upon the rightcheek.
After that I was introduced to Dicky's sister Sylvia--a tall andpicturesque young woman, dressed in black velvet with a lace collar.She wore the air of a tragedy queen--not, it struck me, because she feltlike a tragedy queen, but because she considered that the pose suitedher.
The party was completed by a subaltern named Crick--a jovial youth witha _penchant_ for comic songs, obviously attached to the person of MissSylvia Mainwaring--and of course, The Freak's lady-love, Miss HildaBeverley, to whom I was shortly presented.
I am afraid our conversation was not a conspicuous success. MissBeverley was tall, handsome, patrician, and cultivated, obviouslywell-off and an admirable talker. Still, it takes two to make adialogue, and when one's own contributions to the same, howeverunprovocative, are taken up _seriatim_, analysed, turned inside out, andset aside with an amused smile by a lady who evidently regards aconversation with one of her _fiance's_ former associates as achastening but beneficial form of intellectual discipline, a man may beexcused for not sparkling.
Half an hour later, perspiring gently, I was rescued by The Freak andconducted to the smoking-room.
"You never told me you were engaged, old man," I said, as we settleddown to a little much-needed refreshment.
"It's a fact, though," replied The Freak proudly. "_A marriage has beenarranged_--and all that. Say when."
"_And will shortly take place_, I suppose?"
"No immediate hurry," said The Freak easily. "There are one or twothings that Hilda wants to cure me of before we face the starter. This,for instance." He held up an extremely dilute whiskey-and-soda."Between meals, that is. Likewise my--er--casual outlook on life ingeneral."
"Miss Beverley will have her hands full," I observed.
"Think so? She will do it, though," replied my renegade friendconfidently. "She is a very capable girl. Regards me as her mission inlife. I feel jolly proud about it, I can tell you--like one of thosereformed drunkards they stand up on the platform to tell people what aNut he used to be in the old days, and look at him now! By the way, Ipromised Hilda I would n't use the word 'Nut' any more. Check me if Ibecome too colloquial, old son. Hilda is rather down on what she callsmy 'inability to express myself in rational English.'"
"Colloquialism was not formerly a failing of yours, Freak," I said. "Asa small boy you were rather inclined the other way."
"As a small boy, yes," agreed The Freak. "But it is not easy to maintainthe pedantic habit at a public school," he added feelingly.
"Do you remember once," I continued, "telling old Hanbury, when hedropped upon you for giggling in form, that your 'risible faculties hadbeen unduly excited by the bovine immobility of Bailey minor'?"
"Yes, I remember. Hilda would have been proud of me that day," repliedThe Freak, sighing over his lost talent. "Now she thinks me tooflippant and easy-going. Lacking in dignity, and so forth. But if youwatch me carefully during your stay here you will find that I have verylargely regained my old form. I am getting frightfully intellectual.You ought to see us reading Browning together before breakfast. It is asublime spectacle. Talking of sublime spectacles, we are all going toLaxley Races on Tuesday, and I can give you an absolutely dead snip forthe Cup."
The next ten minutes were devoted to a conversation which, from thepoint of view both of subject-matter and expression, must have undonethe regenerative work of several weeks. Fortunately Miss Beverley wasadorning herself for dinner at the time--the most austere feminineintellect goes into _mufti_, so to speak, between the hours of seven andeight P.M.--and we made our provisional selections for Tuesday'sprogramme undisturbed.
The student of Browning finished scribbling down the names of horses onthe back of an envelope.
"That is all right," he said. "Plumstone for the Shotley Stakes, LittleEmily for the Maiden Plate, and Gigadibs or Jedfoot for the big race.The others can keep. Shall we go up and dress for dinner?"
I agreed, and we knocked out our pipes.
"What do you think, by the way," enquired The Freak casually, "of littleConnie Damer?"
I told him.
We were late for dinner.