CHAPTER VIII
A STRING OF PEARLS
"So you go to parties nowadays," said Mrs. Linforth, and Sir John Casson,leaning his back against the wall of the ball-room, puzzled his brainsfor the name of the lady with the pleasant winning face to whom he hadjust been introduced. At first it had seemed to him merely that herhearing was better than his. The "nowadays," however, showed that it washer memory which had the advantage. They were apparently oldacquaintances; and Sir John belonged to an old-fashioned school whichthought it discourtesy to forget even the least memorable of hisacquaintances.
"You were not so easily persuaded to decorate a ball-room at Mussoorie,"Mrs. Linforth continued.
Sir John smiled, and there was a little bitterness in the smile.
"Ah!" he said, and there was a hint, too, of bitterness in his voice, "Iwas wanted to decorate ball-rooms then. So I didn't go. Now I am notwanted. So I do."
"That's not the true explanation," Mrs. Linforth said gently, and sheshook her head. She spoke so gently and with so clear a note of sympathyand comprehension that Sir John was at more pains than ever to discoverwho she was. To hardly anyone would it naturally have occurred that SirJohn Casson, with a tail of letters to his name, and a handsome pension,enjoyed at an age when his faculties were alert and his bodily strengthnot yet diminished, could stand in need of sympathy. But that preciselywas the fact, as the woman at his side understood. A great ruleryesterday, with a council and an organized Government, subordinated tohis leadership, he now merely lived at Camberley, and as he hadconfessed, was a bore at his club. And life at Camberley was dull.
He looked closely at Mrs. Linforth. She was a woman of forty, or perhapsa year or two more. On the other hand, she might be a year or two less.She had the figure of a young woman, and though her dark hair was fleckedwith grey, he knew that was not to be accounted as a sign of either ageor trouble. Yet she looked as if trouble had been no stranger to her.There were little lines about the eyes which told their tale to a shrewdobserver, though the face smiled never so pleasantly. In what summer, hewondered, had she come up to the hill station of Mussoorie.
"No," he said. "I did not give you the real explanation. Now I will."
He nodded towards a girl who was at that moment crossing the ball-roomtowards the door, upon the arm of a young man.
"That's the explanation."
Mrs. Linforth looked at the girl and smiled.
"The explanation seems to be enjoying itself," she said. "Yours?"
"Mine," replied Sir John with evident pride.
"She is very pretty," said Mrs. Linforth, and the sincerity of heradmiration made the father glow with satisfaction. Phyllis Casson was agirl of eighteen, with the fresh looks and the clear eyes of her years. Abright colour graced her cheeks, where, when she laughed, the dimplesplayed, and the white dress she wore was matched by the whiteness of herthroat. She was talking gaily with the youth on whose arm her handlightly rested.
"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Linforth.
Sir John raised his shoulders.
"I am not concerned," he replied. "The explanation is amusing itself, asit ought to do, being only eighteen. The explanation wants everyone tolove her at the present moment. When she wants only one, then it will betime for me to begin to get flurried." He turned abruptly to hiscompanion. "I would like you to know her."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Linforth, as she bowed to an acquaintance.
"Would you like to dance?" asked Sir John. "If so, I'll stand aside."
"No. I came here to look on," she explained.
"Lady Marfield," and she nodded towards their hostess, "is my cousin,and--well, I don't want to grow rusty. You see I have an explanationtoo--oh, not here! He's at Chatham, and it's as well to keep up with theworld--" She broke off abruptly, and with a perceptible start ofsurprise. She was looking towards the door. Casson followed the directionof her eyes, and saw young Linforth in the doorway.
At last he remembered. There had been one hot weather, years ago, whenthis boy's father and his newly-married wife had come up to thehill-station of Mussoorie. He remembered that Linforth had sent his wifeback to England, when he went North into Chiltistan on that work fromwhich he was never to return. It was the wife who was now at his side.
"I thought you said he was at Chatham," said Sir John, as Dick Linforthadvanced into the room.
"So I believed he was. He must have changed his mind at the last moment."Then she looked with a little surprise at her companion. "You know him?"
"Yes," said Sir John, "I will tell you how it happened. I was diningeighteen months ago at the Sappers' mess at Chatham. And that boy's facecame out of the crowd and took my eyes and my imagination too. You know,perhaps, how that happens at times. There seems to be no particularreason why it should happen at the moment. Afterwards you realise thatthere was very good reason. A great career, perhaps, perhaps only someone signal act, an act typical of a whole unknown life, leaps to lightand justifies the claim the young face made upon your sympathy. Anyhow, Inoticed young Linforth. It was not his good looks which attracted me.There was something else. I made inquiries. The Colonel was not a veryobservant man. Linforth was one of the subalterns--a good bat and a goodchange bowler. That was all. Only I happened to look round the walls ofthe Sappers' mess. There are portraits hung there of famous members ofthat mess who were thought of no particular account when they weresubalterns at Chatham. There's one alive to-day. Another died atKhartoum."
"Yes," said Mrs. Linforth.
"Well, I made the acquaintance of your son that night," said Sir John.
Mrs. Linforth stood for a moment silent, her face for the moment quitebeautiful. Then she broke into a laugh.
"I am glad I scratched your back first," she said. "And as for thecricket, it's quite true. I taught him to keep a straight bat myself."
Meanwhile, Dick Linforth was walking across the floor of the ball-room,quite unconscious of the two who talked of him. He was not, indeed,looking about him at all. It seemed to both his mother and Sir John, asthey watched him steadily moving in and out amongst the throng--for itwas the height of the season, and Lady Marfield's big drawing-room inChesterfield Gardens was crowded--that he was making his way to adefinite spot, as though just at this moment he had a definiteappointment.
"He changed his mind at the last moment," said Sir John with a laugh,which gave to him the look of a boy. "Let us see who it is that hasbrought him up from Chatham to London at the last moment!"
"Would it be fair?" asked Mrs. Linforth reluctantly. She was, indeed, noless curious upon the point than her companion, and while she asked thequestion, her eyes followed her son's movements. He was tall, and thoughhe moved quickly and easily, it was possible to keep him in view.
A gap in the crowd opened before them, making a lane--and at the end ofthe lane they saw Linforth approach a lady and receive the welcome ofher smile. For a moment the gap remained open, and then the brightfrocks and black coats swept across the space. But both had seen, andMrs. Linforth, in addition, was aware of a barely perceptible start madeby Sir John at her side.
She looked at him sharply. His face had grown grave.
"You know her?" asked Mrs. Linforth. There was anxiety in her voice.There was also a note of jealousy.
"Yes."
"Who is she?"
"Mrs. Oliver. Violet Oliver."
"Married!"
"A widow. I introduced her to your son at La Grave in the Dauphinecountry last summer. Our motor-car had broken down. We all stayed for acouple of days together in the same hotel. Mrs. Oliver is a friend of mydaughter's. Phyllis admires her very much, and in most instances I amprepared to trust Phyllis' instincts."
"But not in this instance," said Mrs. Linforth quietly. She had beenquick to note a very slight embarrassment in Sir John Casson's manner.
"I don't say that," he replied quickly--a little too quickly.
"Will you find me a chair?" said Mrs. Linforth, looking about her. "Thereare two over here." She led the
way to the chairs which were placed in anook of the room not very far from the door by which Linforth hadentered. She took her seat, and when Sir John had seated himself besideher, she said:
"Please tell me what you know of her."
Sir John spread out his hands in protest.
"Certainly, I will. But there is nothing to her discredit, so far as Iknow, Mrs. Linforth--nothing at all. Beyond that she is beautiful--reallybeautiful, as few women are. That, no doubt, will be looked upon as acrime by many, though you and I will not be of that number."
Sybil Linforth maintained a determined silence--not for anything wouldshe admit, even to herself, that Violet Oliver was beautiful.
"You are telling me nothing," she said.
"There is so little to tell," replied Sir John. "Violet Oliver comes of afamily which is known, though it is not rich. She studied music with aview to making her living as a singer. For she has a very sweet voice,though its want of power forbade grand opera. Her studies wereinterrupted by the appearance of a cavalry captain, who made love to her.She liked it, whereas she did not like studying music. Very naturally shemarried the cavalry officer. Captain Oliver took her with him abroad,and, I believe, brought her to India. At all events she knows somethingof India, and has friends there. She is going back there this winter.Captain Oliver was killed in a hill campaign two years ago. Mrs. Oliveris now twenty-three years old. That is all."
Mrs. Linforth, however, was not satisfied.
"Was Captain Oliver rich?" she asked.
"Not that I know of," said Sir John. "His widow lives in a little houseat the wrong end of Curzon Street."
"But she is wearing to-night very beautiful pearls," said SybilLinforth quietly.
Sir John Casson moved suddenly in his chair. Moreover, Sybil Linforth'seyes were at that moment resting with a quiet scrutiny upon his face.
"It was difficult to see exactly what she was wearing," he said. "The gapin the crowd filled up so quickly."
"There was time enough for any woman," said Mrs. Linforth with a smile."And more than time enough for any mother."
"Mrs. Oliver is always, I believe, exquisitely dressed," said Sir Johnwith an assumption of carelessness. "I am not much of a judge myself."
But his carelessness did not deceive his companion. Sybil Linforth wascertain, absolutely certain, that the cause of the constraint andembarrassment which had been audible in Sir John's voice, and noticeablein his very manner, was that double string of big pearls of perfectcolour which adorned Violet Oliver's white throat.
She looked Sir John straight in the face.
"Would you introduce Dick to Mrs. Oliver now, if you had not done itbefore?" she asked.
"My dear lady," protested Sir John, "if I met Dick at a little hotel inthe Dauphine, and did not introduce him to the ladies who were travellingwith me, it would surely reflect upon Dick, not upon the ladies"; andwith that subtle evasion Sir John escaped from the fire of questions. Heturned the conversation into another channel, pluming himself upon hiscleverness. But he forgot that the subtlest evasions of the male mind areclumsy and obvious to a woman, especially if the woman be on the alert.Sybil Linforth did not think Sir John had showed any cleverness whatever.She let him turn the conversation, because she knew what she had set outto know. That string of pearls had made the difference between Sir John'sestimate of Violet Oliver last year and his estimate of her this season.