II
We begin on a fine May morning in Colonel Hugonin's rooms at Selwoode,which is, as you may or may not know, the Hugonins' country-place.And there we discover the Colonel dawdling over his breakfast, in anintermediate stage of that careful toilet which enables him later inthe day to pass casual inspection as turning forty-nine.
At present the old gentleman is discussing the members of hisdaughter's house-party. We will omit, by your leave, a number ofpicturesque descriptive passages--for the Colonel is, on occasion, aman of unfettered speech--and come hastily to the conclusion, to thesumming-up of the whole matter.
"Altogether," says Colonel Hugonin, "they strike me as being the mostungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noahlanded on Ararat."
Now, I am sorry that veracity compels me to present the Colonelin this particular state of mind, for ordinarily he was aspleasant-spoken a gentleman as you will be apt to meet on thelongest summer day.
"'Altogether,' says Colonel Hugonin, 'they strike me asbeing the most ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roofsince Noah landed on Ararat.'"]
You must make allowances for the fact that, on this especial morning,he was still suffering from a recent twinge of the gout, and that histoast was somewhat dryer than he liked it; and, most potent of all,that the foreign mail, just in, had caused him to rebel anew againstthe proprieties and his daughter's inclinations, which chained him toSelwoode, in the height of the full London season, to preside over ahouse-party every member of which he cordially disliked. Therefore,the Colonel having glanced through the well-known names of those atLady Pevensey's last cotillion, groaned and glared at his daughter,who sat opposite him, and reviled his daughter's friends with pointand fluency, and characterised them as above, for the reason that hewas hungered at heart for the shady side of Pall Mall, and that theirpresence at Selwoode prevented his attaining this Elysium. For, I amsorry to say that the Colonel loathed all things American, saving hisdaughter, whom he worshipped.
And, I think, no one who could have seen her preparing his second cupof tea would have disputed that in making this exception he acted witha show of reason. For Margaret Hugonin--but, as you know, she isour heroine, and, as I fear you have already learned, words are verypaltry makeshifts when it comes to describing her. Let us simply say,then, that Margaret, his daughter, began to make him a cup of tea, andadd that she laughed.
Not unkindly; no, for at bottom she adored her father--a comelyEnglishman of some sixty-odd, who had run through his wife's fortuneand his own, in the most gallant fashion--and she accorded hisopinions a conscientious, but at times, a sorely taxed, tolerance.That very month she had reached twenty-three, the age of omniscience,when the fallacies and general obtuseness of older people becomedishearteningly apparent.
"It's nonsense," pursued the old gentleman, "utter, bedlamitenonsense, filling Selwoode up with writing people! Never heard of sucha thing. Gad, I do remember, as a young man, meeting Thackeray at agarden-party at Orleans House--gentlemanly fellow with a broken nose--and Browning went about a bit, too, now I think of it. People had 'emone at a time to lend flavour to a dinner--like an olive; we didn'tdine on olives, though. You have 'em for breakfast, luncheon, dinner,and everything! I'm sick of olives, I tell you, Margaret!" Margaretpouted.
"They ain't even good olives. I looked into one of that fellowCharteris's books the other day--that chap you had here last week.It was bally rot--proverbs standing on their heads and grinninglike dwarfs in a condemned street-fair! Who wants to be told thatimpropriety is the spice of life and that a roving eye gathersremorse? _You_ may call that sort of thing cleverness, if you like; Icall it damn' foolishness." And the emphasis with which he said thisleft no doubt that the Colonel spoke his honest opinion.
"Attractive," said his daughter patiently, "Mr. Charteris is very,very clever. Mr. Kennaston says literature suffered a considerableloss when he began to write for the magazines."
And now that Margaret has spoken, permit me to call your attention toher voice. Mellow and suave and of astonishing volume was Margaret'svoice; it came not from the back of her throat, as most of our women'svoices do, but from her chest; and I protest it had the timbre of aviolin. Men, hearing her voice for the first time, were wont to stareat her a little and afterward to close their hands slowly, for alwaysits modulations had the tonic sadness of distant music, and itthrilled you to much the same magnanimity and yearning, cloudilyconceived; and yet you could not but smile in spite of yourself at thequaint emphasis fluttering through her speech and pouncing for themost part on the unlikeliest word in the whole sentence.
But I fancy the Colonel must have been tone-deaf. "Don't you makephrases for me!" he snorted; "you keep 'em for your menagerie Think!By gad, the world never thinks. I believe the world deliberatelyreads the six bestselling books in order to incapacitate itself forthinking." Then, his wrath gathering emphasis as he went on: "Thelonger I live the plainer I see Shakespeare was right--whatfools these mortals be, and all that. There's that Haggagewoman--speech-making through the country like a hiatused politician.It may be philanthropic, but it ain't ladylike--no, begad! What hasshe got to do with Juvenile Courts and child-labour in the South, I'dlike to know? Why ain't she at home attending to that crippled boyof hers--poor little beggar!--instead of flaunting through Americameddling with other folk's children?"
Miss Hugonin put another lump of sugar into his cup and deigned noreply.
"By gad," cried the Colonel fervently, "if you're so anxious to spendthat money of yours in charity, why don't you found a Day Nursery forthe Children of Philanthropists--a place where advanced men and womencan leave their offspring in capable hands when they're busied withMothers' Meetings and Educational Conferences? It would do a thousandtimes more good, I can tell you, than that fresh kindergarten schemeof yours for teaching the children of the labouring classes to make anew sort of mud-pie."
"You don't understand these things, attractive," Margaret gentlypointed out. "You aren't in harmony with the trend of modern thought."
"No, thank God!" said the Colonel, heartily.
Ensued a silence during which he chipped at his egg-shell in anabsent-minded fashion.
"That fellow Kennaston said anything to you yet?" he presentlyqueried.
"I--I don't understand," she protested--oh, perfectly unconvincingly.The tea-making, too, engrossed her at this point to an utterlyimprobable extent.
Thus it shortly befell that the Colonel, still regarding her underintent brows, cleared his throat and made bold to question hergenerosity in the matter of sugar; five lumps being, as he suggested,a rather unusual allowance for one cup.
Then, "Mr. Kennaston and I are very good friends," said she, withdignity. And having spoiled the first cup in the making, she began onanother.
"Glad to hear it," growled the old gentleman. "I hope you value hisfriendship sufficiently not to marry him. The man's a fraud--a flimsy,sickening fraud, like his poetry, begad, and that's made up of botanyand wide margins and indecency in about equal proportions. It ain'tfit for a woman to read--in fact, a woman ought not to read anything;a comprehension of the Decalogue and the cookery-book is enoughlearning for the best of 'em. Your mother never--never--"
Colonel Hugonin paused and stared at the open window for a little. Heseemed to be interested in something a great way off.
"We used to read Ouida's books together," he said, somewhat wistfully."Lord, Lord, how she revelled in Chandos and Bertie Cecil and thosedashing Life Guardsmen! And she used to toss that little head of hersand say I was a finer figure of a man than any of 'em--thirtyyears ago, good Lord! And I was then, but I ain't now. I'm only abroken-down, cantankerous old fool," declared the Colonel, blowinghis nose violently, "and that's why I'm quarrelling with the dearest,foolishest daughter man ever had. Ah, my dear, don't mind me--run yourmenagerie as you like, and I'll stand it."
Margaret adopted her usual tactics; she perched herself on the armof his chair and began to stroke his cheek very gently
. Sheoften wondered as to what dear sort of a woman that tender-eyed,pink-cheeked mother of the old miniature had been--the mother who haddied when she was two years old. She loved the idea of her, vague asit was. And, just now, somehow, the notion of two grown people readingOuida did not strike her as being especially ridiculous.
"Was she very beautiful?" she asked, softly.
"My dear," said her father, "you are the picture of her."
"You dangerous old man!" said she, laughing and rubbing her cheekagainst his in a manner that must have been highly agreeable. "Dear,do you know that is the nicest little compliment I've had for a longtime?"
Thereupon the Colonel chuckled. "Pay me for it, then," said he, "bydriving the dog-cart over to meet Billy's train to-day. Eh?"
"I--I can't," said Miss Hugonin, promptly.
"Why?" demanded her father.
"Because----" said Miss Hugonin; and after giving this reallyexcellent reason, reflected for a moment and strengthened it byadding, "Because----"
"See here," her father questioned, "what did you two quarrel about,anyway?"
"I--I really don't remember," said she, reflectively; then continued,with hauteur and some inconsistency, "I am not aware that Mr. Woodsand I have ever quarrelled."
"By gad, then," said the Colonel, "you may as well prepare to, forI intend to marry you to Billy some day. Dear, dear, child," heinterpolated, with malice aforethought, "have you a fever?--yourcheek's like a coal. Billy's a man, I tell you--worth a dozen of yourKennastons and Charterises. I like Billy. And besides, it's only righthe should have Selwoode--wasn't he brought up to expect it? Itain't right he should lose it simply because he had a quarrel withFrederick, for, by gad--not to speak unkindly of the dead, mydear--Frederick quarrelled with every one he ever knew, from the womanwho nursed him to the doctor who gave him his last pill. He may havegotten his genius for money-making from Heaven, but he certainlygot his temper from the devil. I really believe," said the Colonel,reflectively, "it was worse than mine. Yes, not a doubt of it--I'm alamb in comparison. But he had his way, after all; and even now poorBilly can't get Selwoode without taking you with it," and he caughthis daughter's face between his hands and turned it toward his for amoment. "I wonder now," said he, in meditative wise, "if Billy willconsider that a drawback?"
It seemed very improbable. Any number of marriageable males would havesworn it was unthinkable.
However, "Of course," Margaret began, in a crisp voice, "if you adviseMr. Woods to marry me as a good speculation--"
But her father caught her up, with a whistle. "Eh?" said he. "Love ina cottage?--is it thus the poet turns his lay? That's damn' nonsense!I tell you, even in a cottage the plumber's bill has to be paid, andthe grocer's little account settled every month. Yes, by gad, andeven if you elect to live on bread and cheese and kisses, you'll findCamembert a bit more to your taste than Sweitzer."
"But I don't want to marry anybody, you ridiculous old dear," saidMargaret.
"Oh, very well," said the old gentleman; "don't. Be an old maid, andlecture before the Mothers' Club, if you like. I don't care. Anyhow,you meet Billy to-day at twelve-forty-five. You will?--that's a goodchild. Now run along and tell the menagerie I'll be down-stairs assoon as I've finished dressing."
And the Colonel rang for his man and proceeded to finish his toilet.He seemed a thought absent-minded this morning.
"I say, Wilkins," he questioned, after a little. "Ever read any ofOuida's books?"
"Ho, yes, sir," said Wilkins; "Miss 'Enderson--Mrs. 'Aggage's maid,that his, sir--was reading haloud hout hof 'Hunder Two Flags' honlylast hevening, sir."
"H'm--Wilkins--if you can run across one of them in the servants'quarters--you might leave it--by my bed--to-night."
"Yes, sir."
"And--h'm, Wilkins--you can put it under that book of HerbertSpencer's my daughter gave me yesterday. _Under_ it, Wilkins--and,h'm, Wilkins--you needn't mention it to anybody. Ouida ain't cultured,Wilkins, but she's damn' good reading. I suppose that's why she ain'tcultured, Wilkins."