Set in Silver
suggested. And if he were cross at being teased, he didn't show it. He
said he'd trusted all such arrangements to his sister. He hadn't seen
her for many years, but she was good-natured, and he hoped that we would
get on. What I principally hoped was that she wouldn't prove to be of a
_suspicious_ nature; for a detective on the hearth would be
inconvenient, and women can be so sharp about each other! I've found
that out at Madame de Maluet's; I never would from you, dear. You
weren't a cat in any of your previous incarnations. I think you must
have "evoluted" from that neat blending of serpent and dove which
eventually produces a perfect Parisienne.
We went into the big hall of the Grand Hotel, where Sir Lionel said in
"his day" carriages used to drive in; and suddenly, to my own surprise,
I felt gay and excited, as if this were life, and I had begun to live. I
didn't regret having to play Ellaline one bit. Everything seemed great
fun. You know, darling, I haven't had much "life," except in you and
books, since I was sixteen, and our pennies and jauntings finished up at
the same time; though I had plenty before that--all sorts of "samples,"
anyhow. I suppose it must have been the bright, worldly look of the
hotel which gave me that tingling sensation, as if a little wild bird
had burst into song in my heart.
Although it's out of season for Parisians, the hall was full of
fashionable-seeming people, mostly Americans and other foreigners. As we
came in, a lady rose from a seat near the door. She was small, and the
least fashionable or well-dressed person in the room, yet with the air
of being satisfied with herself morally. I saw at once she was of the
type who considers her church a "home from home"; who dresses her house
as if it were a person, and upholsters herself as if she were a sofa. Of
course, I knew it was Mrs. Norton, and I _was_ disappointed. I would
almost have preferred her to be catty.
She and her brother hadn't seen each other for fifteen years, but they
met as calmly as if they had lunched together yesterday. I think,
though, that was more her fault than his, for when he held out his hand
she lifted it up on a level with her chin to shake; and of course that
would have taken the "go" out of a grasshopper. I suppose it wouldn't
have been "good form" to kiss in a hotel hall, but if _I_ retrieved a
long-lost brother in any sort of hall, I don't believe I could resist.
Her hair was so plainly drawn back, it was like a moral influence, and
her toque sat up high on her head like a bun or a travelling pincushion.
The only trimming on her dress was buttons, but there were a large
family of them.
Sir Lionel introduced us, and she said she was pleased to meet me. Also,
that I was not at all like my mother or father. Then she asked if I had
ever been to England; but luckily, before I'd had a chance to compromise
myself by saying that I'd lived a few months in London, but had been
nowhere else (there's where our money began to give out), her brother
reminded her that I was only four when I left England.
"Of course, I had forgotten," said Mrs. Norton. "But don't they ever
take them over to see the British Museum or the National Gallery? I
should have thought it would be an education--with cheap returns."
"Probably French schoolmistresses believe that their pupils get their
money's worth on the French side of the Channel," replied Sir Lionel.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Norton; and looked at me as if to see how the system had
answered. I'm sure she approved of the gray serge and the sailor hat
more than she approved of the girl in them. You see, I don't think she
sanctions hair that isn't dark brown.
We didn't sit down, but talked standing up. Sir Lionel and his sister
throwing me words out of politeness now and then. She has a nice voice,
though cold as iced water that has been filtered. Her name is Emily. It
_would_ be!
He said he was surprised as well as pleased to get her telegram on
arriving at Marseilles, and it was very good of her to come to Paris and
meet him. She said not at all, it was no trouble, but a pleasure, or
rather it would be, if it weren't for the sad reason that brought her.
"Why, is anybody dead?" asked Sir Lionel, looking as if he were running
over a list in his head, but couldn't call up a name which concerned him
personally.
"There's been a thinning off among old friends lately, I'm sorry to say;
I've told you about most of them, I think, in postscripts," replied Mrs.
Norton. "But it wasn't their loss, poor dears, which brought me over. It
was the fire."
"What fire?" her brother wanted to know.
"Why, _your_ fire. Surely you must have seen about it in to-day's London
papers?"
"To-day's London papers won't get to Marseilles till to-morrow, and I
haven't been long enough in Paris to see one yet," explained Sir Lionel.
"Have I had a serious fire, and what has been burnt?" He spoke as coolly
as if it were the question of a mutton chop.
"Part of the house," returned Mrs. Norton, not even trying to break it
to him.
"I hope not the old part," said he.
"No, it is the new wing. But _that_ seemed to me such a pity. Such a
beautiful bathroom, hot and cold, spray and shower, quite destroyed; and
a noble linen closet, heated throughout with pipes, and fully stocked."
"The bathroom may have been early Pullman, and the linen closet late
German Lloyd, my dear Emily; but the rest of the house is Tudor, and
can't be replaced," said Sir Lionel; and I was sure, as he looked down
at his sister, of a thing I'd already suspected: that he has a sense of
humour. That's a modern improvement with which you wouldn't expect a
dragon to be fitted; but I begin to see that this is an elaborate and
complicated Dragon. Some people are Pharisees about their sense of
humour, and keep harping on it till you wish it were a live wire and
would electrocute them. _He_ would rather be ashamed of his, I fancy,
and yet it must have amused him, and made him feel good chums with
himself, away out in Bengal.
Mrs. Norton said that Warings had very handsome Tudor dining-rooms in
one or two of their model houses, so nothing was irrevocable nowadays;
but she was pleased, if he was, that only the modern wing was injured.
It had happened yesterday morning, just too late for the newspapers,
which must have annoyed the editors; and she had felt that it would be
best to undertake the journey to Paris, and consult about plans, as it
might make a difference (here she glanced at me); but she hadn't
mentioned the fire when wiring, because things seemed worse in
telegrams, and besides, it would have been a useless expense. No doubt
it had been stupid of her, but she had fancied he would certainly see it
in the paper, with all details, and therefore guess why she was meeting
him.
"We have nowhere to take Miss Lethbridge," said she, "since Graylees
Castle will be overrun with workmen for some time to come. I didn't know
but you might feel it would be best, after all, for us to put her again
in charge of her old schoolmistress for a few weeks."
If hair could really rise, mine would have instantly cast out every
hairpin, as if they were so many evil spirits, and have stood out all
around my head like Strumpelpeter's. Yet there was nothing I could say.
If I were mistress of a dozen languages, I should have had to be
speechless in every one. But I saw Sir Lionel looking at me, and I
hastily gave him a silent treatment with my eyes. It had the most
satisfactory effect.
"No, I don't think we will take her back to Madame de Maluet's," said
he. "Madame may have made other plans for the holiday season. Perhaps
she is going away."
"I'm sure she is," said I. "She is going to visit her mother-in-law's
aunt."
Sir Lionel was still looking at me, lost in thought. (I forget if I
mentioned that he has nice eyes? I haven't time to look back and see if
I did, now. I'm scribbling as fast as I can. We shall soon land, and I
want to post this at Dover, if I can get an English stamp "off" someone,
as "Sissy" Williams, our only British neighbour, says.)
"How would you like a motor-car trip?" Sir Lionel asked abruptly.
The relief from suspense was almost too great, and I nearly jumped down
his throat, so, after all, it would have been my own fault if the Dragon
had eaten me. "I should _adore_ it!" I said.
"My dear!" protested Mrs. Norton, indulgently. "One adores Heavenly
Beings."
"I'm not sure a motor-car isn't a heavenly being," said I, "though
perhaps without capitals."
The Dragon smiled, but she looked awfully shocked, and no doubt blamed
Madame de Maluet.
"I've a forty-horse Mercedes promised to be ready on my arrival," said
Sir Lionel, still reflective. "You know, Emily, the little
twelve-horse-power car I had sent out to East Bengal was a Mercedes. If
I could drive her, I can drive a bigger car. Everybody says it's easier.
And young Nick has learned to be a first-rate mechanic."
I suppose young Nick must be the Dragon's pet name for the bronze image.
What fun that he should be a chauffeur! Fancy an Indian Idol squatted on
the front seat of an up-to-date automobile. But when you come to think
of it, there have been other gods in cars. I only hope, if I'm to be
behind him, this one won't behave like Juggernaut. He wears almost too
many clothes, for he is the type that would look over-dressed in a
bangle.
"We might have an eight or ten weeks' run about England," the Dragon
went on, "while things are being made straight at Graylees. It would be
good to see something of the blessed old island again before settling
down."
"One would think you were quite pleased at the fire, Lionel," remarked
his sister, who evidently believes it wrong to look on the bright side
of things, and right to expect the worst--like an undertaker calling for
a client before he's dead.
"What is, is," returned he. "We may as well make the best of it. You
wouldn't mind a motor tour, would you, Emily?"
"I would go if it were my duty, and you desired it," she said, looking
as if she ought to be on stained glass, with half a halo, "only I am
hardly young enough to consider motoring as a pleasure."
"There aren't many years between us," replied her brother, too polite to
say whether he were in front or behind, "but I confess I do regard it as
a pleasure."
"A man is different," she admitted.
Thank goodness, he is!
Then they talked more about the fire, which, it seems, happened through
something being wrong with a flue, in a room where Mrs. N. had told a
servant to build a fire on account of dampness. It must be a wonderful
old place from what they both let drop. (I told you in another letter
how Sir Lionel had inherited it, about the same time as his title, or a
little later. The estate, though, comes from the mother's side, and her
people were from Warwickshire.) His cool British way of saying and
taking things is a good deal on the surface, I think. He would have
hated us to see it, but I'm sure he worked himself up to quite a pitch
of joyful excitement over the idea of the motor trip, as it developed in
his mind. And it is splendid, isn't it, darling?
You know how sorry you were we hadn't been more economical, and made our
money last long enough to travel in England, instead of having to stop
short after a splash in London. Now I'm going to see bits in spite of
all, until I'm "called away," and I'll try my best, in letters, to make
you see what I do. Ellaline wouldn't have enjoyed such a tour, for she
hates the country, or any place where it isn't suitable to wear high
heels and picture hats. But I--oh, I! Twenty dragons on the same seat of
the car with me couldn't prevent my revelling in it--though it may be
cut short for me at any minute. As for Mrs. Norton----