“What presumption! It does not become you to speak of a great man in that fashion, Monsieur Charles.”
“True, Mrs Herbert. But then nobody minds what I say.”
“Tiens!” said Aurélie, with a light laugh. “You are right. You know how to make everything gay. And so you gave up the music, and are now to be a poet. Can you think of no more suitable profession than that?”
“It’s the only one left to me, except the army; and that is considered closed to me because my brother — Phipson’s daughter’s husband, you know — is there already. First I was to be a college don — a professor. Then I took to music. Then I tried the bar, the medical, engineering, the Indian civil service, and got tired of them all. In fact I only drew the line at the church.”
“What is that? You drew a line at the church!”
“It is what you very properly call an idiotisme. I mean that I would not condescend to be a parson.”
“What a philosopher! Proceed.”
“I am now — if the poetry fails, which it most likely will — going into business. I shall try for a post in the Conolly Electro-Motor Company.”
“I think that will suit you best. I will play you something to encourage you.”
She began to play a polonaise by Chopin. Herbert and Mary ceased speaking, but presently resumed their conversation in subdued tones. Charlie listened eagerly. When the polonaise was finished, she did not stop, but played on, looking at the ceiling, and occasionally glancing at Charlie’s face.
“Aurélie,” said Herbert, raising his voice suddenly: “where are those sketches that Mrs. Scott left here last Tuesday?”
“Oh, I say!” said Charlie, in a tone of strong remonstrance, as the music ceased. Herbert, not understanding, looked inquiringly at him. Aurélie rose, took the sketches from her music stand; and handed them silently to Mary.
“I am afraid we have interrupted you,” said Mary, coloring. Aurélie deprecated the apology by a gesture and sat down in a loww chair near the window.
“I wish you’d play again, if you’re not tired, Mrs Herbert,” said Charlie timidly.
She shook her head.
“It is hard that I should have to suffer because my sister has a wooden head with no ears on it,” he whispered, glancing angrily not at Mary, but at Adrian. I was comfortably settled in in heaven when they interrupted you. I wish Jack was here. He would have given them a piece of his mind.”
“Mr Herbert does not like Monsieur Jacques.”
“Monsieur Jacques doesn’t like Mr Herbert either. There is no love lost between them. Adrian hates Jack’s music; and Jack laughs at Adrian’s pictures.
“Maman: ring the bell. Tell them to bring some tea.”
“Yes, my angel.”
“The conversation now became general and desultory. Mary, fearing that she had already been rudely inattentive to her hostess, thought it better not to continue her chat with Adrian. “I see our telegram is of no avail, “ she said. “Mr. Hoskyn has probably dined at his club.”
“The more fool he,” said Charlie, morosely.
“What is that for?” said Mary, surprised by his tone. He looked sulkily at the piano, and did not reply. Then he stole a glance at Aurélie, and was much put out to find that she was tendering him her empty teacup. He took it, and replaced it on the table in confusion.
“And so,” she said, when he was again seated near her, “you have succeeded in none of your professions.”
This sudden return to a dropped subject put him out still more. “I — you mean my — ?”
“Your metiers — whatever you call them. I am not surprised, Monsieur Charles. You have no patience.”
“I can be patient enough when I like.”
“Do you ever like?”
“Sometimes. When you play, for instance, I could listen for a year without getting tired.”
“You would get very hungry. And I should get very tired of playing. Besides—”
“A thud, followed by babyish screams, interrupted her. She listened for a moment, and left the room, followed by her mother. Mary and Adrian, accustomed to such incidents, did not stir. Charlie, reassured by their composure, took up the book of sketches.
Adrian,” said Mary in a low voice: “do you think Mrs Herbert is annoyed with me?”
“No.Why”
“I mean, was she annoyed — to-day — in the studio?”
“I should not think so. N — no. Why should she annoyed with you?”
“Not perhaps with me particularly. But with both of us. You must know what I mean, Adrian. I felt in an excessively false position when she came in. I do not mean exactly that she might be jealous: but —
“Reassure yourself, Mary,” he replied, with a sad smile. She is not jealous. I wish she were.”
“You wish it!”
“Yes. It would be proof of love. I doubt if she is capable of jealousy.
“I hope not. She must have thought it very odd; and, of course, we looked as guilty as possible. Innocent people always do. Hush! here she is. Have you restored peace to the nursery, Mrs Herbert?
“My mother is doing so.” said Aurélie. “It is a very unlucky child. It is impossible to find a cot that it cannot fall out of. But do not rise. Is it it possible that you are going?”
Mary, who in spite of Herbert’s assurance was not comfortable, invented unanswerable reasons for returning home at once. Charlie had to go with her. He tried to bid Aurélie good night unconcernedly, but failed. Mary remarked to Herbert, who accompanied them to the door, that Charlie had behaved himself much 1ess akwardly a boy than he did now as a man. Adrian assented; let them out; stood for a moment to admire the beauty of the evening; and returned to the drawingroom, where Aurélie was sitting on an ottoman, apparently deep in thought.
“Come!” he said spiritedly: “does not Mrs Hoskyn improve on acquaintance? Is she not a nice woman?”
Aurélie looked at him dreamily for a moment, and then said, “Charming.”
“I knew you would like her. That was a happy thought of yours to ask her to dinner. I am very glad you did.”
“I owed you some reparation, Adrian.”
“What for?” he said, instinctively feeling damped.”
“For interrupting your tete-a-tete.”
He laughed. “Yes,” he said. “But you owe me no reparation for that. You came most opportunely.”
“That is quite what I thought. Ah, my friend, how much more I admire you when you are in love with Mrs. Hoskyn than when you are in love with me! You are so much more manly and thoughtful. And you abandoned her to marry me! What folly!”
Adrian stood openmouthed, not only astonished, but anxious that she should perceive his astonishment. “Aurélie,” he exclaimed: “is it possible — it is hardly conceivable — that you are jealous?”
“N — no,” replied she, after some consideration. “I do not think I am jealous. Perhaps Mr. Hoskyn will be, if he happens upon another tete-a-tete. But you do not fight in England, so it does not matter.”
“Aurélie: are you serious?”
“Wherefore should I not be serious?”