The Rustle of Silk
where the fat man sat with the microscope in his eye.
Lola laughed. "I went there," she said, "but something happened. I'll
tell you about that later. And then Lady Feo altered her plans, drove
over to Aylesbury and told me I might do anything I liked until Monday
night, as there was no room for me in Mrs. Winchfield's house. And so,
of course, I came home. How are you, Mummy darling? Oh, I'm so glad to
see you." And she kissed the little woman again with a touch of
exuberance and ran into the shop to pounce upon her father, all among
his watches. It was good to see the way in which that man caught his
little girl in his arms and held her tight.--A good girl, Lola, a good
affectionate girl, working hard when there was no need for her to do so
and improving herself. Good Lord, she had begun to talk like a lady and
think like a lady, but she would never be too grand to come into the
little old shop in Queen's Road, Bayswater,--not Lola.
He said all that rather emotionally and this too. "It isn't as if we
hadn't seen yer for such a long time. You've never missed droppin' in
upon us whenever you could get away, but this's like a sunny day when
the papers said it was goin' to be wet,--like finding a real good tot of
cognac in a bottle yer thought was empty." And he kissed her again on
both cheeks and held her away from him, the Frenchman in him coming out
in his utter lack of self-consciousness. He looked her all over with a
great smile on his fat face and stroked the sleeve of her blue serge
coat, touched the white thing at her throat and finally pinched the lobe
of one of her tiny ears.
"It isn't that yer clothes are smarter, or that yer've grown older or
anything like that. It's that you seem to have pulled yer feet out of
this place, me girl. It doesn't seem to be your place now.--It's manner.
It's the way yer hold yer head, tilt yer chin up.--It's accent. It's the
way you end yer sentences. When a woman comes into the shop and speaks
to me as you do, I know that she won't pay her bills but that her name's
in the Red Book.--You little monkey, yer've picked up all the tricks and
manners of her ladyship. You'll be saying 'My God' soon, as yer aunt
tells us Lady Feo does! Well, well, well." And he hugged her again,
laughed, and then, finding that he showed certain points of his French
antecedents, began to exaggerate them as he had seen Robert Nainby do at
the Gaiety. He was a consummate actor and a very honest person. The two
don't always go together.
And then Mrs. Breezy, who in the meantime had been practical and shut
the shop, followed them into the parlor, which seemed to Lola to be
shrinking every time she saw it and more crowded with cardboard boxes,
account books, alarm clocks and the surplus from the shop, and sprang a
little surprise. "Who do you think's coming to dinner to-night?" she
asked.
"Is anybody coming to dinner? What a nuisance," said Lola, who had
looked forward to enjoying the company of her father and mother
uninterrupted.
John Breezy gave a roguish glance at his wife and winked. "Give yer ten
guesses," he said.
"Ernest Treadwell."
"No," said Mrs. Breezy, "Albert Simpkins."
"Simpky? How funny. Did you ask him or did he ask himself?"
"He asked himself," said John Breezy.
"I asked him," said Mrs. Breezy.
"I see. The true Simpky way. He suggested that he would like to have
dinner with you and you caught the suggestion. He comes of such a long
line of men who have worn their masters' clothes that he is now a sort
of second-hand edition of them all, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised
if, when he falls in love, he goes to the parents first and asks their
permission to propose to the daughter; and he'll probably ask not for
the daughter herself but for her hand,--which never seems to me to be
much of a compliment to the daughter."
Mrs. Breezy and her husband exchanged a quick glance. Either there was
something uncanny about Lola or she knew that this very respectable man
was madly in love with her. During his numerous visits to the jeweler's
shop Simpkins had invariably led the conversation round to Lola, finding
a thousand phases of her character which he adored. But the last time he
had been with them there was something in his manner and voice which
made it easy to guess that his visit that evening was for the purpose of
asking them whether they considered him worthy of becoming their
son-in-law. It may be said that they considered that he was, especially
after he had told them about the money inherited from his father and his
own savings and confided in them his scheme of buying that very
desirable inn at Wargrave, in which they could, of course, frequently
spend very pleasant week-ends during the summer months. They had before
this recognized in him a man of great depth of feeling, of excellent
principles and a certain strange ecstasy,--somewhat paradoxical in one
who nearly always appeared in a swallow-tail coat, dark trousers and a
black tie.
Seeing that this was an occasion of considerable importance, Mrs. Breezy
had arranged to dine in the drawing-room. It now behooved her to hurry
up to her room and change her clothes and lay an extra place for Lola.
The dinner itself was being cooked at that moment by the baker next
door,--duck, new peas and potatoes and apple pie with a nice piece of
Gruyere cheese, which, with two bottles of Beaujolais from the Breezy
cellar, would be worthy of Mr. Simpkins's attention even though he did
come from Dover Street, Mayfair.
As a matter of fact, Lola's remark about the daughter's hand was merely
an arrow fired into the air. She had been encouraging Simpkins to look
with favor upon the lovesick girl who sat so frequently upon her bed and
poured out her heart. She never conceived the possibility of being
herself asked for by good old Simpky, who had been so kind to her and
was such a knowledgable companion at the theater. The idea of becoming
his wife was grotesque, ridiculous, pathetic, hugely remote from her
definite plan of life. She considered that the girl Ellen was exactly
suited to him. Had she not inherited all the attributes of an
innkeeper's wife from her worthy parents who had kept the Golden Sheaf
at Shepperton since away back before the great wind? So she ran up to
her room to tidy herself, with her soul full of Chilton Park and
Fallaray.
Simpkins arrived precisely on time, smelling of Windsor soap and
brilliantine. He had indulged in a tie which had white spots upon it,
discreet white spots, and into this he had stuck a golden pin,--a
horse-shoe for luck. He was welcomed by Mr. Breezy in the drawing-room
and immediately twigged the fact that there were four places laid.
Mr. Breezy was waggish. It is the way of a parent in all such
circumstances. "My boy, who do you think?"
"I dunno. Who?" His tone was anxious and his brows were flustered.
"Lola," said Mr. Breezy.
"Lola!--I thought she was at Chilton Park with 'er ladyship. I chose
this evening because of that. This'll make me very--well----"
"Not you," said John Breezy. "You're all right, me boy. We like you.
That inn down at Wargrave sounds good. I can see a nice kitchen garden.
I shall love to wander in it in the early morning and pull up spring
onions. I'm French enough for them still. You can take it that the
missus and I are all in your favor,--formalities waived. We'll slip away
after dinner, go for a little walk and you can plump the question. The
betting is you'll win." And he clapped the disconcerted valet heartily
on the back,--the rather narrow back.
"I'm very much obliged, Mr. Breezy," said Simpkins, who had gone white
to the lips, "and also to Mrs. Breezy. It's nice to be trusted like
this, and all that. But I must say, in all honesty, I wanted to take
this affair step by step, so to speak. If I'd 'ad the good fortune to be
encouraged by you in my desire to ask for Lola's 'and,"--there it
came,--"I should 'ave taken a week at least to 'ave thought out the
proper things to say to Lola 'erself. Sometimes there's a little laugh
in the back of 'er eyes which throws a man off his words. I don't know
whether you've noticed that. But this is very sudden and I shall 'ave to
do a lot of thinking during the meal."
"Oh, you English," said John Breezy and roared with laughter. "Mong
Doo!"
One of Simpkins's hands fidgeted with his tie while the other
straightened the feathers on the top of his head. Jumping Joseph, he was
fairly up against it! How he wished he was a daring man who had traveled
a little and read some of the modern novels. It was a frightful handicap
to be so old-fashioned.
And then the ladies arrived,--Mrs. Breezy in a white fichu which looked
like an antimacassar, a thing usually kept for Christmas day and wedding
anniversaries; Lola in a neat blue suit and the highest spirits,--a
charming costume.
"Hello, Simpky."
"Good evening, Mr. Simpkins."
Simpkins bowed. He certainly had the Grandison manner. And while Lola
brought him up to date with the state of affairs, so far as she knew
them, Mrs. Breezy disappeared, stood on a chair against the fence in the
back yard and received the hot dishes which were handed over to her by
the baker's wife. A couple of scrawny cats, with tails erect, attracted
by the aroma of hot duck, followed her to the back door,--but got no
farther. "You shall have the bones," said Mrs. Breezy, and they were
duly encouraged.
The dinner was a success, even although Simpkins sat through it in one
long trance. He ate well to fortify himself and it was obvious to John
Breezy, sympathetic soul that he was, that his guest was rehearsing a
flowery speech of proposal. The unconscious Lola kept up a merry rattle
of conversation and gave them a vivid description of the village through
which she had passed that afternoon and of her drive back to town alone
from Aylesbury. Of Chilton Park she said nothing. It was too sacred. And
when presently John Breezy's programme was carried out, the table
cleared, the two cats rewarded for their patience and Simpkins left
alone with Lola, there was a moment of shattering silence. But even then
Lola was unsuspecting, and it was not until the valet unbuttoned his
coat to free his swelling chest and placed himself in a supplicating
attitude on the sofa at her side, that she tumbled to the situation.
"Oh, Simpky," she said, "what _are_ you going to do?"
It was a wonderful cue. It helped him to take the first ditch without
touching either of the banks. The poor wretch slipped down upon his
knees, all his pre-arranged words scattered like a load of bricks. "Ask
you to marry me, Lola," he said. "Lola, darling, I love you. I loved you
the very minute you came down the area steps, which was all wrong
because I thought you'd come from heaven and therefore your place was
the front door. I love you and I want you to marry me, and I'll buy the
inn and work like a dog and we'll send the boy to Lansing or the City of
London School and make a gentleman of 'im."
Not resentment, not amusement, but a great pity swept over Lola. This
was a good, kind, generous man and his emotion was so simple and so
genuine. And she must hurt him because it was impossible, absurd.
And so for a moment she sat very still and erect, looking exactly like a
daffodil with the light on her yellow head, and her eyes shut, because
there might be in them that twinkle which Simpkins had noticed and which
he must not see. And presently she said, putting her hand on his
shoulder, "Oh, Simpky, dear old Simpky, why couldn't you have loved
Ellen? What a difficult world it is."
"Ellen," he said. "Oh."
"I can't, Simpky. I simply can't."
And he sat on his heels and looked like a pricked balloon. "Ain't I good
enough, Lola?"
"Yes, quite good enough. Perhaps too good. But, oh, Simpky, I'm so