False Colours

“Oh, what flummery!” she interjected. “You must be well aware of it! But it’s all nonsense, of course: when you had left me that day, and I had leisure to reflect, I knew it.” She scanned his face, her brow puckered. “I don’t know how it is, but when you came here last night I—I had almost decided to tell you it would not do. Thinking about it, not seeing you again after that interrupted talk—which was attended by a good deal of awkwardness, was it not?—and having had leisure to reflect more calmly—I had misgivings—began to think that we should not suit—that I had accepted your offer in a distempered freak! Then, last night, I met you again, and—” She stopped, her frown deepening. He waited, speechless, and she said, with one of her open looks: “I liked you much better than ever before!”

He still said nothing, for there was nothing he could think of to say. Various thoughts chased one another through his head: that Evelyn was more fortunate than he knew; that the part he himself was playing was even more odious than he had foreseen; that he must remove himself from her vicinity immediately; that when she saw Evelyn again she must surely be conscious of his superior qualities.

“And now I don’t know!” she confessed. “I was never in such a—such a bumble-broth in my life, and how I come to be so stupid as not to know my own mind I can’t imagine! Such a thing has never happened to me before, for, in general, I should warn you, I do know it!”

“I can believe that,” he said. “You have a great look of decision! I conjecture that once your mind is made up there can be no turning you from it!”

“Yes, I fear that’s true,” she replied seriously. “I hope I may not be arrogant: one of those overmighty women, who grow to be like poor Grandmama!”

“I don’t think there can be any fear of that!” he said, amused.

“I trust you may be right! I have certainly given you no cause to think me anything but a woolly-crown! But I must hold you accountable for that,” she said, in a rallying tone. “I fancy you must have odd humours, perhaps! You make me feel one day that I have a pretty just notion of your character, and the next that I know nothing about you, which is very disconcerting, let me tell you!”

“I beg your pardon! And so?”

“And so I feel that Grandmama is right, when she says I ought to know you better before I make up this skimble-skamble mind of mine.” Her eyes were hidden from him; she was engaged in the occupation of twisting a ring round and round upon her finger; but she raised them suddenly, squarely meeting his. “Will you grant me a little more time for consideration? To become better acquainted—each of us with the other? I dare say you mean to go to Brighton now that London is getting to be so thin of company: that’s your custom, isn’t it?”

“Why, “yes! I have been very much in the habit of escorting my mother there! This year, I find myself obliged to go to Ravenhurst—I don’t know for how long, or whether Mama means to accompany me,” he replied.

“Oh! Well, Ravenhurst is not so far from Worthing, is it? The thing is, Denville, that I am going to Worthing with Grandmama next week, to spend the summer there, and I thought that perhaps you would drive over to visit us now and then.”

“So that we may learn to know one another? You may be sure I shall do so. I must hope that you will find it such a dead bore at Worthing, amongst all the dowagers, that it will weigh the scales down in my favour.”

“It might well do so,” she acknowledged, with a grimace. “But I must warn you that I am inured to that particular boredom: I go there every year!”

“I can safely promise that if you marry me you will never set foot in the place again!” he said, laughter springing to his eyes as he tried to picture his twin in that respectable resort.

6

Mr Fancot arrived on his own doorstep just as his mother’s youthful adorer was being ushered out of the house by Brigg. Mr Horning, who was dressed with a studied negligence which included a handkerchief carelessly knotted round his neck, and unstarched shirt-points, checked, and uttered dramatically: “My lord!”

“How do you do?” said Kit politely. His appreciative gaze took in every detail of the poet’s attire. He saw too, with unholy amusement, that Mr Horning was looking slightly belligerent, and concluded that Evelyn had not encouraged the dazzled youth’s infatuation. So he said, with immense affability: “Did you come to visit me? Do tell me how I may serve you!”

Somewhat taken-aback, Mr Horning said, with a challenging look: “I have been visiting Lady Denville, my lord!”

“No, have you’?” said Kit. “But how kind of you!”

“Kind?” repeated Mr Horning blankly.

“As long as she didn’t find your visit rather too much for her. At her age, you know, and troubled as she is with the gout—”

“I collect, my lord, that you have some objection to my visits!” interrupted Mr Horning, glaring at him.

“Not the least in the world!” said Kit cordially. “You have been reading to her, I dare say, and keeping her quietly entertained, which is an excellent thing! It is a hard matter to induce her to rest, but at her age, you know—”

“Lord Denville, I regard her ladyship as an angel!” said Mr Horning reverently.

“Oh, no, no, you take too melancholy a view of her case!” Kit assured him. “We trust she may—with care— enjoy several more years of life, and tolerably good health!”

With these optimistic words he smiled sweetly at the stunned poet, and passed into the house.

Bent on regaling his mama with this passage, he looked into the drawing-room on his way upstairs, and was gratified to find her there, charmingly attired in a half dress of fawn figured silk, a treble pleating of lace falling off round the neck, and a cap of French lace, adorned with a cluster of flowers, set on her shining gold hair. She looked elegant, graceful, and absurdly youthful: circumstances which made Kit chuckle, as he said: “I’ve just encountered your mooncalf, Mama! Next time he comes to visit you he won’t bring a poem, but a gum- plaster!”

“Bring me a gum-plaster?” she said, astonished.

“Yes, love: for your gout!” he said mischievously. “I told him that we hoped you would survive for a few years yet, however. That was when he called you an angel—and a more inappropriate description I never heard!”

She burst out laughing. “Oh, what an abominable creature you are! But come in, Evelyn! Bonamy and I were this instant talking about you!”

Having advanced a step into the room, and closed the door behind him, he had already seen that his mama was not alone: the enormous bulk of Sir Bonamy Ripple occupied almost the whole of a sofa placed opposite her chair. Kit shot a startled, questioning look at his mother, for although he did not rate Sir Bonamy’s intelligence high, he could hardly believe that one who had known him and Evelyn from their cradles would detect no difference between them. But Lady Denville appeared to feel no misgiving. She smiled seraphically at Kit. “Dearest, Bonamy tells me that proposed connexion with Cressida Stavely is one of the on-dits of London!”

“What, are the quizzes busy already?” Kit said, shaking hands with the visitor.

“Bound to be,” said Sir Bonamy, in a rich voice that accorded well with his massive person. “How-de-do? Been out of town, I hear. Didn’t see you at Ascot Races.” He scanned Kit’s face, and added: “You’re looking better than when I saw you last. Told you it was time you went on a repairing lease. And now you’re in a way to become riveted, are you? I wish you happy, my boy.”

“Thank you, sir, but you are a trifle previous! The matter is not yet decided, you know. Who set the rumour afoot, I wonder?”

“Lady Stavely, of course!” said his mother. “Trying to force you both into it, meddlesome ninnyhammer that she is!”

Owing to the height and rigidity of his collar-points, and the depth of his Oriental Tie, Sir Bonamy could neither shake his head, nor nod it. When he wished to signify assent he was obliged to incline the upper part of his