GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“I cannot deny it! Adrian: you speak as though I were in the habit of disparaging her. You are quite wrong. No one can admire her more than I. My only fear is that she is too sweet, and may spoil you. How could I resist her? Even your mother, prejudiced as she certainly was against her, has yielded. You can see by her face that she has given up the battle. I think we had better join them. We have a very rude habit of getting into a corner by ourselves. I am sure, in spite of all you say, that Mrs Herbert is too fond of you to like it.”

“Mrs Herbert is a strange being,” said Adrian, rising. “I no longer pretend to understand her likes and dislikes.”

Mary made a mental note that Aurélie had probably had more to say on the subject of what she saw in the studio than Adrian had expected. The general conversation which ensued did not run on personal matters. Aurélie was allowed to lead it, as it was tacitly understood that the interest of the occasion in some manner centred in her. Mrs Herbert laughingly asked her for the secret of managing Adrian; but she adroitly passed on to some other question, and would not discuss him or in any way treat him more familiarly than she did Hoskyn or Charlie.

Later on, Hoskyn proposed that they should go downstairs to a room which communicated with the garden by a large window and a small grassy terrace. As the night was sultry, they readily agreed, and were soon seated below at a light supper, after which Hoskyn strolled out into the garden with Adrian to smoke another cigar and to shew a recently purchased hose and lawn mower, it being his habit to require his visitors to interest themselves in his latest acquisitions, whether of children, furniture or gardening implements. Mrs Herbert, who, despite the glory of the moon, could not overcome her belief that fresh air, to be safely sat in, should tempered by a roof, did not venture beyond the carpet; and and Mary felt bound to remain in the room with her. Aurélie walked out to the edge of the terrace, clasped her hands behind her, and became rapt in contemplation of the cloudless sky, which was like a vast moonlit plain. Her attention was recalled by the voice of Charlie beside her.

“Awfully jolly night, isn’t it, Mrs Herbert?”

“Yes, it is very fine.”

“I suppose you find no end of poetry in all those stars.”

“Poetry! I am not at all poetic, Monsieur Charles.”

“I don’t altogether believe that, you know. You look poetic.”

“It is therefore that people mistake me. They are very arbitrary. They say ‘Madamoiselle Sczympliça has such and such a face and figure. In our minds such a face and figure associate with poetry. Therefore must she be poetic. We will have it so; and if she disappoints us, we will be very angry with her.’ And I do disappoint them. When they talk poetically of music and things I am impatient myself to be at home with mamman, who never talks of such things, and the bambino, who never talks at all. What, think you, do I find in those stars? I am looking for Aurélie and Thekla in what you call Charles’s wain. Aha! I did not think of that before. You are Monsieur Charles, to whom belongs the wain.”

“Yes, I have put my hand to the plough and turned back often enough. What may Aurélie and Thekla be?”

“Aurélie is myself; and Thekla is my doll. In my infancy I named a star after every one whom I liked. Only very particular persons were given a place in Charles’s wain. It was the great chariot of honor; and in the end I found no one worthy of it but my doll and myself. Behold how I am poetic! I was a silly child; for I forgot to give my mother a star — I forgot all my family. When my mother found that out one day, she said I had no heart. And, indeed, I fear I have none.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“Look you, Monsieur Charles,” she said, with a sudden air of shrewdness, unclasping her hands to shake her finger at him: “I am not what you think me to be. I am the very other things of it. I have the soul commercial within me.”

“I am glad of that,” he said eagerly; “for I want to make a business proposal to you. Will you give me lessons?”

‘Give you lesson! Lesson of what?”

“Lessons in playing. I want awfully to become a good pianist, and I have never had any really good teaching since I was a boy.”

“Vraiment? Ah! You think that as you persevered so well in the different professions, you will find it easy to become a player. Is it not so?”

“Not at all. I know that playing requires years of perseverance. But I think I can persevere if you will teach me.”

“Monsieur Charles — what shall I call you? You are an ingenious infant, I think.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Mrs. Herbert. I’m perfectly in earnest.” Here, to his confusion, his voice broke with emotion.

“You think I am mocking you!” she said, not seeming to notice the accident.

“I am not fool enough to suppose that you care what I think.” he said lamely, losing his self-possession. “I know you won’t give me the lessons. I knew it before.”

“And wherefore then, did you ask me?”

“Because I love you,” he replied, with symptoms of hysterical distress. “I love you.”

“Ah,” said Aurélie severely, “Do you see my husband there looking at you? And do you not know that it is very wicked to say such a thing to me? Remember, Monsieur Charles, you are quite sober now. I shall not excuse you as I did before.”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Charlie, half crestfallen, half desperate, “I know it’s hopeless: I felt it the moment I had said it. But I can’t always act like a man of the world. I wish I had never met you.”

“And why?”’ I Like you very well when you are good. But this is already twice that you forget to be an honest gentleman. Is it not dishonorable thus to envy your friend? If Monsieur Herbert had a fine watch, would you wish to possess it? No, the thought that it was his would impeach — would hinder you to form such a wish. Well, you must look upon me as a watch of his. You must not even think such things as you have just said. I will not be angry with you, Monsieur Sutherland, because you are very young, and you have admirable qualities. But you have done wrong.”

Before he could reply, she moved away and joined her husband at the end of the garden. Charlie, with his mouth hanging open, stared at her for some seconds, and then went into the supper room, where he incommoded Mary and Mrs. Herbert by lounging about, occasionally taking a grape [from the table or pouring out a glass of wine. At last he strolled to the drawingroom, where he was found with a book in his hand, pretending to read, by the others when they came upstairs some time after. He did not speak again until he bade farewell to the elder Mrs. Herbert, who departed under Hoskyn’s escort. Aurélie, before following her example, went to the nursery with Mary, to have a peep at Master Richard Hoskyn, as he lay in his cot.

“He smiles,” said Aurélie. “What a charming infant! The bambino never smiles. He is so triste, like Adrian!” As they turned to leave the room, she added, “Poor Adrian! I think of going to America this year; but he does not know. You will take care of him whilst I am away, will you not?”

Mary, seeing that she was serious, was puzzled how to reply. “As far as I can, I will, certainly,” she said after some hesitation. Then, laughing, she continued, “It is rather an odd commission.”

“Not at all, not at all,” said Aurélie, still serious. “He has great esteem for you, madame — greater than for no matter what person in the world.”

Mary opened her lips to say, “Except you”; but somehow she did not dare, Instead, she remarked that perhaps Adrian would accompany his wife to America. The trip, she suggested, would do him good.