II
A HYPOTHETICAL CASE
Carrie and I were placidly surveying, from either end of my littledining-table, the creditable wreck we had made of a rather neat littledinner. Carrie never disdains this hour of the animal, at whatever tablefortune shall place her; and when she does me the honour to dine withme, she generally pays me the compliment of evident enjoyment. It is afeature I admire in her.
I was making leisurely coffee arrangements with my latest bacheloracquisition, a pretty little silver and spirit affair, that did notnecessitate rising from a comfortable seat; while my sister purred insoft content. I moved the shaded lamp aside to see her better--Carrie isa very presentable young woman; I thought her arms decidedly pretty.
"I think, Rol," she said, as I looked carefully to the coffee, "Ithink--we will not grace the theatre this evening. It's such a wetnight, and I'm so comfy here."
I could hear the rain without getting up. It was a wet night; and shedid look comfy.
"Very well, my dear sister," I replied. "As you please. It will save mea sovereign, unless you succeed in coaxing it out of me during theevening, which I have no doubt is your real motive."
"No, Rol, really I don't want----"
"Not enough, eh? Haven't got it, my dear--this is good coffee,Caroline,--I'm really as poor as Hooley. There, that's right. _Kuemmelavec, n'est ce pas_, my dear?"
"Please. No, Rol, we'll sit here and be nice all the evening. I'll bringmy writing in--may I?"
I was only half convinced it wasn't money; she was after something.Carrie's writing is her one affectation, with which exception she is assane as would be expected of my sister.
I believe it was a modern comedy which was then occupying the years ofher youth, and whose production was to be the crown of her old age. Sheworked at it intermittently, that is to say, when there were no calls toreceive or to be made, when she could find nobody to take her to atheatre or a garden-party, when there were no women to gossip with, ormen to fascinate--whenever, in short, she felt dull. But of late she hadseemed to recover interest in it--had recast it, she said.
"Bring it in, by all means," I replied, "but bring a dictionary as well;I'm not absolute in spelling."
"Thank you, Rollo."
Why the deuce was she so uncommonly polite? She usually announced thatshe was going to spend the evening with me in much less considerateterms. I shook my head apprehensively.
When dinner was removed Carrie disappeared, and presently re-enteredwith an armful of comedy and a mouthful of quill pens. She made a cleansweep of my desk and settled herself with many quirks and little gracesbefore the recast masterpiece. I gravely asked her permission to smoke,and she, smiling at the superfluity of the question, bowed a ceremoniousassent; then got down to business, and chewed a pink knuckle in thestress of composition.
I put my feet upon a chair, lighted a cigar, and looked alternately atthe fire and at Caroline. She made my room appear very comfortable, withher evening frock and pretty airs. She was an excellent housekeeper, andkept my half of our little flat almost as dainty as her own. We gotalong very cosily, Carrie and I--for a sister, she behaved very wellindeed. She could have the sovereign if she wanted it; I only hoped itwas no worse.
By and by Carrie looked up meditatively, started on a fresh knuckle, andthen turned to me.
"What do men talk about after dinner, Rol, when the women have left?"she asked.
I looked at her curiously and smiled.
"No, Rollo," she said, "I don't mean--I mean, what do they talk about?"
"Oh!" I replied, "what do they _really_ talk about, eh?"
"Yes. I want to put it in the play."
"You want to put it in the play? Let me see." I considered a moment."Well, after the first grief at the loss of the ladies, their hands goinstinctively to their hair, to feel how they have looked. If there is amirror handy they flock to it. They then sit down, look wistfully at theempty chairs, and fold their hands patiently, to await the earliestmoment that they may rejoin their bereft partners."
"Don't be absurd, Rol," answered Carrie. "I want to know. I've got a manhere, who is to talk after dinner. He's in love with a girl he's beensitting next, and I want him to say pretty things about her."
Happy, happy innocence! dear simple Carrie! Should I be the one todestroy so sweet an illusion? Never!
I was intensely amused, but I replied thoughtfully:
"I should think in the first place it would depend a good deal on theman--and the girl. What are they like?"
"He's a soldier," said Carrie, looking timidly down at her manuscript."That is, he has not seen any active service, but he's simply thirstingto do some brave deed that shall show her how he loves her."
"Yes," I said, much interested. "A carpet knight; how old?"
"He's about four-and-twenty, I believe; and he's not a carpet knight.He's very good, and clever, and noble. He's supposed to be dining at hismarried sister's, and has to entertain the men with brilliant talk."
If I didn't know that noble young soldier, I would never look ondaylight again!
"Black hair?" I said.
"Yes," replied Carrie promptly. "That is--I don't know. I haven'tdecided yet."
I leaned back in my chair to recover from the shock. This, then, waswhat made her so loving to her brother. This was the "nice evening" wewere to have. She had a secret which pricked her conscience. She wasgoing to be nice to me for the time remaining. I might have known shedidn't visit Mrs. Loring Chatterton for nothing. A soldier to run offwith my housekeeper! She had recast the play with a vengeance; I was toplay the good brother's part.
I shut my eyes.
"Well, Rol?" said Carrie. She had evidently not noticed my state. Shedidn't know I knew.
"Let me think," I replied, "let me think."
I was not allowed to think; a tap at the door roused me, and twovisitors were announced. In came Loring Chatterton, and the youngbrother-in-law himself. I had to admit he was a not unprepossessingyoung warrior.
"How do you do, Miss Butterfield?" came simultaneously from my twoguests, while Carrie rose, putting aside her manuscript. I greeted themfrom my chair.
"I am afraid we interrupt your writing, Miss Butterfield," said Loring,sitting down.
"Oh no, Mr. Chatterton," Caroline replied. "As a matter of fact I wasrather stuck when you came in."
"Yes, Loring," I interposed, "Carrie was rather stuck when you came in.Perhaps we shall be able to help her, eh, Bassishaw?"
"Delighted," replied Bassishaw; "but I'm afraid, do you know, that Ihaven't much of a head on me for that sort of thing, Miss Butterfield."
"Rollo----" began Carrie.
"Oh, he'll do, Carrie," I replied. "Caroline wants to know, Bassishaw,what a young man, good, clever, and--let me see--was he noble, Carrie?Yes, I believe he was noble, and--a brilliant talker"--(I had himthere)--"a brilliant talker, would say after dinner about the girl hethought he loved."
Carrie was helpless. I had not given her away, and she did not dare toprotest for fear of doing so herself. She had a secret--I also had asecret. I would keep the case strictly hypothetical.
"Well, Miss Butterfield," began the hero who was thirsting to do somebrave deed, "I'm hanged, do you know, if I know what he'd say. He'd talka lot of piffle, wouldn't he--oh, but he's a brilliant sort of chap.He'd--oh, hang it, Loring, what would he say? I don't know."
I chuckled softly. I didn't want to hear Loring; I wanted to hear thebrilliant talker. It was for Carrie's benefit.
"But if he really loved her," I said, "and his eloquence came out in atorrent?"
"Oh, I see. Well, I expect he'd say she was a confounded nice girl--orsomething--pretty and all that, you know--and he'd row any chap who saidshe wasn't; don't you think, eh? But why the deuce should he sayanything?"
Bassishaw was coming out of it with more credit than I thought. Ilaughed, and even Carrie had to laugh too.
"I think," said Chatterton,
"that's about as much as he could say,unless he were an ass. I can't imagine his saying much if you werethere, Rollo."
"No," said Bassishaw. "You _are_ a mischievous sort of Johnny, you know,Butterfield. You're deuced hard on young chaps; you guy them awfully,you know. I expect you've forgotten all that."
Thus unconsciously, was Bassishaw revenged. I was hard on young chaps. Ihad forgotten, you know. I was an old fossil, or something. But I had asister, deuced nice girl, pretty, and all that. You have to keep in withJohnnies like that, you know.
One thing I must know. Did this plain-spoken young man of the sword carefor Carrie? This was soon evident from his conciliatory manner towardme. No one ever goes out of the way to consider me unless he wantssomething. Bassishaw was most attentive.
"By the way, Butterfield," he said after a while, "are you engaged forTuesday afternoon? Because if you're not, do you know, my folks aregiving a sort of garden-party, or something. There'll be lots of peopleof your sort"--(my sort!)--"coming--clever, and all that, you know; Ithought you might care to come. I'll get them to ask you, if you like.And Miss Butterfield, too; Chatterton here is coming, and he'll lookafter you, you know, Butterfield. What do you say?"
I turned to Carrie.
"I think we might go, Rol," she said. "I like to meet clever people."
I thought a moment.
"I don't know, Bassishaw," I replied--"that I care to meet peopleof--er--my sort, much. But if Carrie cares to go, I'll look after her.It may be of use to her--in a literary way. Thank you."
I wouldn't have missed that garden-party for a good deal.