An Opera and Lady Grasmere/Book 2/Chapter 2

HE Countess and Lady Horace were at the station when Harvey arrived from Charing Cross, and the three walked over to the house together, leaving Hancock to look after the baggage.

"There's not much peace now; and we used to be that quiet!" said Hancock to the man who had driven over to assist him, after sundry courteous inquiries anent the health and well-being of various members of the Grasmere household.

"A little society does one good; and changes is always welcome," returned the other, cheerfully. "You 're not a rover, Mr. Hancock?"

"'There's no place like home' is my motto; and I stick to it," was Hancock's emphatic answer.

"Well, you 'll be treated first-class down here; and though I says it as shouldn't, we 're a most sociable lot," modestly observed the other.

"Never met a more sociable," Hancock politely responded. "When I was here last summer, I said to the cook, I said, 'I 've a good mind to stay here, a very good mind'; and she says, 'Go along, Mr. Hancock, I'm a married woman!'" Here Harvey's retainer indulged in a little dignified laughter.

"Cooks is independent," said the other, meditatively; "they earns good wages."

"'But you may stay here all the same,' was what she said as well," resumed Hancock.

"Think it likely?" asked the other.

"You 're on the spot," returned Hancock, evasively.

"Well, they do say it 'll either be him or Captin Mills."

Here the conversation assumed a character so confidential as to merit a privacy which we hasten to respect.

The party that Lady Grasmere was entertaining over Easter was, relatively speaking, a very quiet one; just a few friends whom she had gathered together until the London season should rejoin them all in town. The Warings were there of course; for, as Merceron had long since discovered, Lady Horace and his hostess were friends of more than common devotion.

"Di Waring's one of the few women I'd sooner talk to than a man," the latter had once confided to Harvey; "her notions are masculine, her conclusions feminine, and her prejudices neuter."

"The ideal woman?" enquired Harvey.

"The ideal woman's woman," replied Lady Grasmere.

Now the trio was strolling down the white road that led to the lodge gates.

"The Marquis and Lady May are here, but you mustn't ask after the Marchioness," Lady Grasmere was explaining; "she's staying with her sister, and the sister and the old gentleman don't speak. One of them jilted the other forty years ago—I don't know which one."

"The Marquis, of course," interrupted Lady Horace; "do you think a woman would sulk for half a century! Just imagine, years and years before we were born these two people,"—she continued, romancing; "they ought to be put in the British Museum—under glass!"

"Lady May says that you were awfully nice in Italy, but that you scorned Guido and Carlo Dolci," said the Countess; "you shouldn't have done that."

"Her pets, and 'so sweet!'" mimicked Lady Horace.

"Couldn't help it after Bayreuth and this person," said Merceron. "I left Lady Horace without an illusion," he declared, laughing.

"Rude man, isn't he?" demanded the baronet's wife.

Captain Mills was on the lawn, amusing himself with a golf club and an imaginary ball. Sir Horace and Lady May were examining a book of artificial flies; and, indoors, the Marquis was deep in the Times.

"Your friend Sopwith's opera, Francesca of Rimini, is going to be put on this season—a British composer at last!" said the Marquis as he shook Harvey's hand.

"Is it? I must write and congratulate him—haven't seen Sopwith for months; he's been pretty quick though, he had only just begun it when I last saw him."

"We 'll all have to go and cheer," proposed Lady Grasmere.

"Rather!" from Merceron; and he went to the library and wrote Sopwith a congratulatory note forthwith, promising him an early visit, and apologising for having done so little to maintain their friendship. "But I 've cut music, as you know," he concluded; and continuing, "I shall see you on the first night, if not before. I suppose you must be terribly busy."

Later on, at dinner, the conversation again drifted towards Sopwith's opera. Captain Mills had met the composer.

"A long-haired chap with glasses, isn't he?" the soldier asked of Merceron.

"He wasn't when I last saw him, but Sopwith's capable of much," replied Harvey, smiling as he pictured this new composer's evident concessions to the situation.

"Do you think he let it grow on purpose?" asked Lady Horace.

"Imagine a musician without long hair!" exclaimed Lady Grasmere, "nobody would believe in him—an English name is bad enough!"

"Supposing Mr. Merceron were to write an opera, do you think he'd let his hair grow?" demanded Lady Horace, with more mischief, perhaps, than she had intended, "or Captain Mills?"

"I should think letting one's hair grow is quite sufficient occupation, without throwing in an opera," returned Harvey unruffled.

"I think the hair's about as far as I'd get," drawled Captain Mills.

"Your friend Mr. Sopwith would probably enjoy this discussion. He'd doubtless feel amply repaid for I don't know how many months' hard labour!" commented Lady Grasmere, severely sarcastic.

"You young people have not the respect for Art that was common in my time—it's these Americans!" observed the Marquis. He had a comfortable practice of holding "these Americans" responsible for every current irreverence.

Merceron's flippancies on this occasion did not, however, affect the old gentleman's estimate of his abilities, for, only the next morning, the Marquis reiterated an interest in their proper employment.

"You should go into Parliament," he said to Harvey, as they chatted after breakfast; "a young man of your gifts is wasted, sir, positively wasted, unless he settles down to responsible duties."

Instead of Parliament, however, Merceron went off to a neighbouring trout-stream with the Warings, and spent the greater part of an afternoon with Lady May, looking out quotations for some competition formulated by that damsel's favourite organ, The British Matron.

Very peaceful were these few days, their restfulness doubly enhanced by the intimacy of the little band. Of Lady Grasmere's society, Harvey had more than his fair share. She was an even more attractive woman in this quiet country home of hers than in the more fashionable localities they had frequented. In the white blouses and skirts, faultlessly cut, that she wore in the daytime, she would walk lightly at his side, humanising the landscape. The easy grace which marked her out-door movements reminded him frequently of Diana. More regal, yet equally simple, were her evening gowns. Lady Horace's admiration of her was outspoken, even audacious.

"I know you 're as much in love with her as I am," she said one evening to Harvey.

"More," he replied.

"And you are content?"

"Quite."

"I envy you your wisdom—even though it's unwise."

"She might marry?" he asked, half-interested.

"She will marry," asserted Lady Horace.

"I hope so," he soothingly returned.

"Wretch!" said Lady Horace, laughing at him. "You 've never told me where you went to school," she added, rallying; "I want to send my boy there. Woman must have been part of the curriculum—a subject so necessary, yet they never teach it!"

"It is a gift," Harvey gravely explained; "the connoisseur is born and not made—nascitur non fit!

as Bret Harte used to say," he somewhat irrelevantly added.

Lady Horace shook her head.

"You 're in the depths," she said, "and I am getting out of mine."

"You should learn to swim, now there's that trout-stream," he smilingly suggested.

"Girls, nowadays, must have a hard time talking to you men?" she questioned'

"I have never met any."

She left him unregenerate, and rejoined Sir Horace.

Harvey contemplated the couple from his chair.

"That woman will make me think, if I only let her," he reflected. "I shall have to drag Mills in and make him bring his concertina"—alluding to one of the Captain's most popular accomplishments.

Lady May was seated amid a group of poets, seeking more quotations.

"I wish you'd find some for me?" she said as Harvey went by; " I 've gone through five things of Byron to-day and only found eight."

"Poor Byron!" exclaimed Harvey.

"Poor me," corrected Lady May.

Captain Mills and the Marquis were playing billiards, and Lady Grasmere was marking the game.

"Come to relieve me?" she asked as Harvey entered.

He took her place and later on a cue, and then he and Captain Mills talked India till bedtime.

Lady Grasmere was scribbling notes when they returned to the drawing-room. The others had all retired. The soldier said "Good-night," and Harvey sat down in a chair and watched the Countess as she wrote.

The thoughtful face and ruddy hair, illumined by the candles at her side, made a delicious picture.

At last she had finished.

"I rather wanted these to go to-night," she said, biting her quill, "and the servants have all gone to bed."

"Shall I do postman and run down to the village with them? " asked Harvey.

Outside, the sky was clear, the air fresh with the health of springtime. She had opened the French windows.

"I 'll come too," she said. "You 're not afraid of the churchyard? "

She found a hat and a cape in the hall, and they started off together across the lawn.