Elinor Glyn - The Vicissitudes of Evangeline

He came after me.

“Send your maid away, and let us have it up here,” he said. “I like this room.”

But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called Véronique and gave her fresh directions.

“Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely,” I said, as I went out into the passage. “I am going to see that he has a nice tea,” and I looked back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course he followed me and we went together down the stairs.

In the hall a footman with a telegram met us. Mr. Carruthers tore it open impatiently. Then he looked quite annoyed.

“I hope you won’t mind,” he said, “but a friend of mine, Lord Robert Vavasour is arriving this afternoon – he is a – er – great judge of pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them, it clean went out of my head.”

I told him he was host; and why should I object to what guests he had.

“Besides, I am going myself to-morrow,” I said, “if Véronique can get the packing done.”

“Nonsense – how can I make you understand that I do not mean to let you go at all.”

I did not answer – only looked at him defiantly.

Mr. Barton was waiting patiently for us in the white drawing-room, and we had not been munching muffins for five minutes when the sound of wheels crunching the gravel of the great sweep – the windows of this room look out that way – interrupted our manufactured conversation.

“This must be Bob arriving,” Mr. Carruthers said, and went reluctantly into the hall to meet his guest.

They came back together presently, and he introduced Lord Robert to me.

I felt at once he was rather a pet! Such a shape! Just like the Apollo of Belvidere! I do love that look, with a tiny waist and nice shoulders, and looking as if he were as lithe as a snake, and yet could break pokers in half like Mr. Rochester in “Jane Eyre”!

He has great, big, sleepy eyes of blue, and rather a plaintive expression, and a little fairish moustache turned up at the corners, and the nicest mouth one ever saw, and when you see him moving, and the back of his head, it makes you think all the time of a beautifully groomed thoroughbred horse. I don’t know why. At once – in a minute – when we looked at one another, I felt I should like “Bob”! He has none of Mr. Carruthers’ cynical, hard, expression, and I am sure he can’t be nearly as old, not more than twenty-seven, or so.

He seemed perfectly at home, sat down and had tea, and talked in the most casual, friendly way. Mr. Carruthers appeared to freeze up, Mr. Barton got more banal – and the whole thing entertained me immensely.

I often used to long for adventures in the old days with Mrs. Carruthers, and here I am really having them!

Such a situation! I am sure people would think it most improper! I alone in the house with these three men! I felt I really would have to go – but where!

Meanwhile I have every intention of amusing myself!

Lord Robert and I seemed to have a hundred things to say to one another. I do like his voice – and he is so perfectly sans gêne , it makes no difficulties. By the end of tea we were as old friends. Mr. Carruthers got more and more polite, and stiff, and finally jumped up and hurried his guest off to the smoking-room.

I put on such a duck of a frock for dinner, one of the sweetest chastened simplicity, in black, showing peeps of skin through the thin part at the top. Nothing could be more demure or becoming, and my hair would not behave, and stuck out in rebellious waves and curls everywhere.

I thought it would be advisable not to be in too good time, so sauntered down after I knew dinner was announced.

They were both standing on the hearth rug. I always forget to count Mr. Barton, he was in some chair, I suppose, but I did not notice him.

Mr. Carruthers is the taller – about one inch; he must be a good deal over six feet, because the other one is very tall too, but now that one saw them together Mr. Carruthers’ figure appeared stiff and set beside Lord Robert’s, and he hasn’t got nearly such a little waist. I wonder if any other nation can have that exquisitely soigné look of Englishmen in evening dress, I don’t believe so. They really are lovely creatures, both of them, and I don’t yet know which I like best.

We had such an engaging time at dinner! I was as provoking as I could be in the time – sympathetically absorbingly interested in Mr. Barton’s long stories, and only looking at the other two now and then from under my eyelashes – while I talked in the best demure fashion that I am sure even Lady Katherine Montgomerie – a neighbour of ours – would have approved of.

They should not be able to say I could not chaperone myself in any situation.

“Dam – good port this, Christopher,” Lord Robert said, when the ’47 was handed round. “Is this what you asked me down to sample?”

“I thought it was to give your opinion about the pictures,” I exclaimed, surprised. “Mr. Carruthers said you were a great judge.”

They looked at one another.

“Oh – ah – yes,” said Lord Robert, lying transparently. “Pictures are awfully interesting. Will you show me them after dinner?”

“The light is too dim for a connoisseur to investigate them properly,” I said.

“I shall have it all lit by electricity as soon as possible; I wrote about it to-day,” Mr. Carruthers announced, sententiously. “But I will show you the pictures myself, to-morrow, Bob.”

This at once decided me to take Lord Robert round to-night, and I told him so in a velvet voice while Mr. Barton was engaging Christopher’s attention.

They stayed such a long time in the dining-room after I left that I was on my way to bed when they came out into the hall, and could with difficulty be persuaded to remain for a few moments.

“I am too awfully sorry!” Lord Robert said. “I could not get away, I do not know what possessed Christopher, he would sample ports, and talked the hind leg off a donkey, till at last I said to him straight out I wanted to come to you. So here I am – now you won’t go to bed, will you – please, please.”

He has such pleading blue eyes – imploring pathetically like a baby in distress – it is quite impossible to resist him! and we started down the gallery.

Of course he did not know the difference between a Canaletto and a Turner, and hardly made a pretence of being interested, in fact when we got to the end where the early Italians hang, and I was explaining the wonderful texture of a Madonna, he said:

“They all look sea-sick, and out of shape! don’t you think we might sit in that comfy window seat and talk of something else!” Then he told me he loved pictures, but not this sort.

“I like people to look human you know, even on canvas,” he said. “All these ladies appear as if they were getting enteric like people used in Africa, and I don’t like their halos, and things, and all the men are old and bald. But you must not think me a Goth – you will teach me their points, won’t you, and then I shall love them.”

I said I did not care a great deal for them myself, except the colour.

“Oh! I am so glad,” he said. “I should like to find we admired the same things; but no picture could interest me as much as your hair. It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen, and you do it so beautifully.”

That did please me! He has the most engaging ways, Lord Robert, and he is very well informed, not stupid a bit, or thick, only absolutely simple and direct. We talked softly together, quite happy for a while.

Then Mr. Carruthers got rid of Mr. Barton, and came towards us. I settled myself more comfortably on the velvet cushions. Purple velvet cushions and curtains in this gallery, good old relics of early Victorian taste. Lots of the house is awful, but these curtains always please me.