GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“Engaged to Adrian Herbert, the artist,” continued Mrs Phipson, “who can talk to her about high art until she fancies him the greatest genius in England: not like you, who think yourself very clever when you have spent an hour in shewing her that you know nothing about it.”

“My dear,” remonstrated Mr Phipson: “that business with Herbert is all broken off. You should be a little careful. He is going to be married to Sczympliça.”

“You may believe as much of that as you please,” said Mrs Phipson. “Even supposing that she really is done with Herbert, there is Jack. A nice chance you have Johnny, with the greatest lion in London for a rival.”

“Annie,” said Mr Phipson: “you are talking recklessly. There is no reason to suppose that there is anything between Mary and Jack. Jack is not — in that sense, at least — a ladies’ man.”

“As to that,” said Hoskyn, “I will take my chance beside any artist that ever walked on two legs. They can talk to her about things that I may not be exactly au fait at; but, for the matter of that, if I chose to talk shop, I could tell her a few things that she would be a long time finding out from them. No, Nanny: the question is, Is she engaged? If she is, then I’m off; and there’s an end of the business. If not, I guess I’ll try and see some more of her, in spite of all the painters and musicians in creation. So, which is it?”

“She is quite free,” said Mr. Phipson. “She was engaged to Herbert; but it was an old arrangement, made when they were children, I believe; and at all events it was given up some time ago. I think there will be a little money too, John. And I fancy from her manner that she was struck with you.” Mr Phipson winked at his wife, and laughed.

“I don’t know about that,” said Hoskyn; “but I am out-and-out struck with her. As to money, that needn’t stand in the way, though I shan’t object to take whatever is going.”

“You are so particularly well suited to a girl who cares for nothing but fine art crazes of which you don’t even know the names,” said Mrs Phipson sourly, “that she will jump at your offer, no doubt. It is no wonder for her to be shortsighted, she reads so much. And she knows half the languages of Europe.”

“I should think so,” said Hoskyn. “You can see intellect in her face. That’s the sort of woman I like. None of your empty headed wax dolls. I’m not surprised that you don’t approve of her, Nanny. You are sharp enough, but you never knew anything, and never will.”

“I don’t pretend to be clever. And I don’t disapprove of her; but I disapprove of you, at your age, thinking of a girl who is, in every way, unfit for you.”

“We shall see all about that. I am quite content to take my chance, if she is. She can’t live on high art, and I expect she is sensible enough in everyday matters. Besides, I shall not interfere with her. The more she paints and sings, the better pleased I shall be.”

“Hear, hear,” said Mr Phipson. “Let us about a license at once. The season will be over in three weeks and, of course, you Would prefer to be married before then.”

“ Chaff away,” said Hoskyn, rising. “I must be off now. You may expect to see me pretty soon again, and if you don’t hear people wondering ring next season how Johnny Hoskyn managed to get such a clever wife — why, I shall be worse disappointed than you. Good night.”

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During the remaining weeks of the season, Mary witnessed a series of entertainments of a kind quite new to her. Since her childhood she had never visited the Crystal Palace except for the Saturday afternoon classical concerts. Now she spent a whole day there with Mr Hoskyn, his sister, and the children, and waited for the display of fireworks. She saw acrobats, conjurers, Christy Minstrels, panoramas, and shows of cats, goats, and dairy implements; and she felt half ashamed of herself for enjoying them. She went for the first time in her life to a circus, to a music hall, and to athletic sports at Lillie Bridge. After the athletic sports, she went up the river in a cheap excursion steamer to Hampton Court, where she hardly looked at the pictures, and occupied herself solely with the other objects of interest, which she had neglected on previous visits. Finally she went to Madame Tussaud’s.

Hoskyn had proposed all these amusements on behalf of the children; and it was supposed that Mary and Mrs Phipson, on going to them, were goodnaturedly co-operating with Uncle Johnny to make the little Phipsons happy. In the character of Uncle Johnny, Hoskyn frequented the house in Cavendish Square at all hours, and was soon on familiar terms with Mary. He was goodhumored, and apparently quite satisfied with himself. In arranging excursions, procuring and paying for vehicles, spying out and pushing his way to seats left accidentally vacant in the midst of packed audiences, looking after the children, and getting as much value as possible for his money on every occasion, he was never embarrassed or inefficient. He was very inquisitive, and took every opportunity of entering into conversation with railway officials, steamboat captains, cab-men, and policemen, and learning from them all about their various occupations. When this habit of his caused him to neglect Mary for a while, he never pestered her with apologies, and always told her what he had learnt without any doubt that it would interest her. And it did interest her more than she would have believed beforehand, although sometimes its interest arose from the obvious mendacity of Hoskyn’s informants: he being as credulous of particulars extracted bu casual pumping as he was sceptical of any duly authorized and published statement. In his company Mary felt neither the anxiety to appear at her best with which Herbert’s delicate taste and nervous solicitude for her dignity had always inspired her, nor the circumspection which she had found necessary to avoid offending the exacting temper of Jack. In their different ways, both men had humbled her. Hoskyn admired her person, and held her acquirements to awe, without being himself in the least humbled, although he exalted her without stint. She began to feel too, that she, by her apprenticeship to the two artists, had earned the right to claim rank as an adept in modern culture before such men as Hoskyn. When they went to the Academy, he was quite delighted to find that she despised all the pictures he preferred. In about an hour, however, both had had enough of picture seeing and they finished the day by the trip to Hampton Court.

When the season was over, it was arranged that Mr Phipson should take his family to Trouville for the month of August. Hoskyn, who was to accompany them, never doubted that Mary would be one of the party until she announced the date of her departure for Sir John Porter’s country seat in Devonshire. She had accepted Lady Geraldine’s invitation a month before. Hoskyn listened in dismay, and instead of proposing some excursion to pass away the time, moped about the house during the remainder of the afternoon. Shortly after luncheon he was alone in the drawing room, staring disconsolately out of window, when Mary entered. She sat down without ceremony, and opened a book.

“Look here,” he said presently. “This is a regular sell about Trouville.”

“How so? Has anything happened?”

“I mean your not coming.”

“But nobody ever supposed that I was coming. It was arranged long ago that I should go to Devonshire.”

“I never heard a word about Devonshire until you mentioned it at lunch. Couldn’t you make some excuse — tell Lady Porter that you have been ordered abroad for your health, or that Nanny will be offended if you don’t go with her, or something of that sort?”