If I were not very fond of Phyllida, I shouldn’t take so much trouble about her … And I always have to remember that Ruth is too busy painting and powdering ever to think of her own daughter. I suppose she feels that her looks are the only thing that keeps Brackenbury enslaved … What was I saying? Oh, about poor Phyllida. It is to my credit that I insisted on a proper settlement when Brackenbury was mooning about like a love-sick boy; she has four thousand when she’s of age and she’ll have another three when the parents die—enough, you will agree, to tempt some men. I happened to mention at dinner that this Colonel Butler had called, and Will became greatly concerned. It was quite disinterested, because I have always felt that, if he ever dropped the handkerchief, I could make a good guess who would pick it up. Will quite clearly thought, with me, that Colonel Butler was in earnest and that poor Phyllida was slipping into his toils …
An opportunity came to me two or three days before my operation. Phyllida—she was quite brazen about it—admitted that she had dined with her hero four times in one week. That was on a Saturday; I’m glad to say that she hasn’t become democratic enough to go to these picture-houses, and there was nothing to do on Sunday. I told her she might ask Colonel Butler to dine with us. And, when he came, I took occasion to speak rather freely to him.
“I can’t help seeing,” I said, “that you are very intimate with my niece.”
“Oh, I’m devoted to Phyllida,” he answered.
“Then,” I said, “you’d cut your hand off before you did anything to make people talk about her.”
And then I rehearsed these dinners and plays …
“It’s not my business,” I said. “Phyllida regards me as a lodging-house keeper, but, if your intentions are honourable, I think you should make them known to my brother. Lord Brackenbury.” . .
Well, then he became nervous and sentimental. He wouldn’t compromise Phyllida for the world; he’d every intention of speaking to Brackenbury when the time came, but as long as he was living on his pay and the war went on … You can imagine it. He was quite sincere. I told you I liked him; the only thing was that I didn’t think him quite suitable for Phyllida. Upbringing, milieu … He was no fool; I felt he’d see it for himself before he’d been at the Hall half an hour …
To cut a long story short, I made him promise to hold no more communication with the child until he’d seen Brackenbury; and I told my brother to invite him there for a week-end. I didn’t see very much of what happened, as I left the young people to themselves; but Will entirely bore out the vague, intangible feeling … Poor Colonel Butler wasn’t at home; he made my boy’s life a burden for days beforehand, asking what clothes he should take, and, when they were there, it was “I’ve been away so much that I don’t know what the tariff is since the war: if I give ten shillings to the man who looks after me, how much ought I to give the butler?” … Things I should have thought a man knew without asking. Will was really rather naughty about it …
Brackenbury didn’t see anything amiss. One’s standard changes when one has done that sort of thing oneself. As I always said, “If you don’t absorb her, she’ll absorb you.” And so it’s proved. Ruth, of course, saw only the romance of it all. Goodness me, unless we’re all twins, some one has to be the youngest colonel in the army … I don’t know what people mean nowadays, when they talk about “romance.” . . Brackenbury and the whole family made the absurdest fuss—well, I won’t say that, because I liked young Butler; they made a great fuss. Even my nephew Culroyd, who’s in the Coldstream, was quite affable; “eating out of his hand” was Will’s phrase. So descriptive, I thought; Will has an extraordinary knack of hitting people off …
None of them seemed to think of the money side at all. Brackenbury was always improvident as a boy; but, until you’ve felt the pinch as Will and I have done, you don’t learn anything about values. Four thousand a year sounds very pleasant, but if it’s now only equal to two … And Phyllida has always lived up to anything she’s had. “I want it, therefore I must have it” has been her rule. Clothes, trinkets, little treats … She has four horses, eating their heads off, while my poor Will says he stands hat in hand before any one who’ll mount him. And her own little car … I know a brick wall when I see one; it was no use asking Phyllida whether she thought she could afford a husband as well as everything else. And a family; one has to look ahead … Colonel Butler wouldn’t be earning anything for years.
He told me so. I liked him more and more, because he was so simple and straightforward. After luncheon on the Saturday, we had a long talk together. I think I said I’d shew him the house. As you know, I yield to no one in my love for the dear old Hall, but Colonel Butler was like a child. You’d have said he’d never been inside a big house before; I don’t believe he ever had … I took him everywhere, even Phyllida’s rooms; it was well for him to see, I felt …
I remember he thanked me for having him invited to the Hall; from his tone you’d have said I was playing fairy god-mother, and he credited me with the very friendly reception that every one had given him. If the truth must be known—I wasn’t taking sides; you must understand that!—I wanted them to see and I wanted him to see … As Will once said, “Half the world doesn’t know how the other half lives.” I felt that, when Colonel Butler stood there, everything sinking in. A man, I suppose, always is rather bewildered at the number of things a girl requires—frocks, gloves, hats, shoes, stockings … You mustn’t think that I shewed him Phyllida’s wardrobe! Goodness me, no! But her maid was in the room, getting things ready for the child’s return from hunting. It was almost pathetic; one could fancy the poor young man counting on his fingers and saying: “She must have as good a room as this, she’ll want to keep on her present maid, I don’t suppose she can even prepare a bath for herself or fasten her dress or brush her hair …” But it’s better for that kind of thing to sink in at the beginning … Wherever I took him, he seemed to be saying: “You can’t do this sort of thing without so many servants, so much a year.” . . Will told me that the first night at dinner … But I’m afraid Will’s naughty sometimes …
He thanked me—Colonel Butler did—in a way that suggested I hadn’t shewn him only the house.
“But I’ve enjoyed it,” I said. “I’m only sorry you weren’t able to go out with the rest.”
He told me he didn’t hunt, he’d never had any opportunity. There was quite a list of things he didn’t do, but he was very simple and straightforward about them. Don’t you dislike that aggressive spirit which compels people to tell you how many they slept in one room and the night-schools they attended and so forth and so on? It makes me quite hot. I believe that’s why they do it … There was nothing of that about Colonel Butler, though the army had made him a little borné. When I took him to see the stables, he shewed a certain sentimental interest in Phyllida’s horses; but his only comment was: “I wish we were given beasts like that