Spotting the Lady

ORD PELBOROUGH (C.U.) said that he could not agree with the noble lord (Lord Kinsoll) when he said that children were better occupied in a factory than in school. He spoke as a father. It was nonsense. (Order, order.)

"The Lord Chancellor: The noble lord is not in order. The term he employed is not a parliamentary expression.

"Lord Pelborough apologized to Their Lordships' House. He would not like to see his son in a factory.

"If Their Lordships' House agreed to this amendment, they would have reason to be ashamed. (Order, order.)"

Chick glared, fascinated, at the paragraph. It occurred in the Parliamentary Report of The Times newspaper.

"Did I say all that?" he asked hollowly.

Gwenda nodded.

"All that and more," she quoted. "Chick, you were delicious! I was so excited up there in the gallery, that I thought I should faint!"

"I felt like fainting too," admitted Chick ruefully.

"Fancy their reporting me! Why—why it almost makes me real! Gosh!"

In another part of the newspaper he might have read in the summary of proceedings a more extensive reference to himself. The writer re-told the romantic story of the young insurance clerk who had inherited a great title, and who had neither estate nor private income, who, in fact, remained a working man.

There were other diligent students of politics that morning.

Chick, getting to the office on time, was greeted by the socialistic head clerk with something like enthusiasm.

"Splendid, my lord, splendid!" he whispered, and made grimaces in the direction of Mr. Leither's room, thereby indicating that another body blow had been delivered at the employing classes.

"Er—yes," said Chick. "Good morning."

Mr. Leither, so far from resenting this attack upon his kind, and apparently abandoning all his plans for engaging the "ragged little boy" of whom Chick had heard so much, to do his work, and to do it better, was both tolerant and approving.

"A very excellent speech, Pelborough," he beamed. "I didn't realize my prospective partner was an orator. You tickled 'em, my boy, you tickled em!"

"I didn't see any of them laughing, sir," said Chick. That morning, at his earnest request, he was given some work to do. It suited Mr. Leither well enough that he whom he termed his prospective partner, should go back to his outer office. He had found on his arrival that a long-distance call had been put through and urgent instructions left that he should call on Babbacome Jarviss, M.B.E., a man for whom Mr. Leither had every respect. For Mr. Leither had made much money from him.

The "M.B.E." which followed the name of Mr. Babbacome Jarviss had a certain significance. Mr. Jarviss had made hundreds of thousands, nay, millions, of fuses, shell-cases, bombs and divers other articles employed in war. He had sold the British Government blankets and sheets, boots, butter and bacon. He had rushed to the aid of the American Government with beds, belts, packing-cases and barrels. He had succoured France with leggings and horseshoes, and comforted Italy with coal tar, potatoes and mosquito netting.

Mr. Jarviss often admitted that he had practically won the war. And his reward had been the very last class of the most-generally-bestowed order.

It is true that Mr. Babbacome Jarviss had acquired in the course of the war a large and noble edifice in the Georgian style, standing in its own park-like grounds. That he who began the war as a contractor in a small way, celebrated the armistice driving round his estate in a splendid motor-car. It is beyond dispute that he made large, some say excessive profits, and had a cash balance of something over a million after he had bought his Georgian home, standing amidst delightful scenery.

As a matter of fact, he found some difficulty in getting his name put forward for an M.B.E., for he was without friends. Mr. Jarviss had a wife who drove about the country-side in motor-saloon lined with pink crêpe-de-Chine, which was Mrs. Jarviss' idea of extreme gentility. The third member of his household was Minnie Jarviss, his daughter and heiress. Minnie was a highly-coloured young woman with a weakness for purple raiment. She was not pretty. When she smiled she looked like a Beauty of Labrador; when she did not smile she looked like nothing on earth. She had high cheek-bones and a broad face, her hair was lank and mouse-coloured, but since it is ordained that no woman should regard herself as being entirely without attraction, Minnie prided herself upon a mysterious quality called "charm." It had nothing to do with the golden lucky pig with ruby eyes, or the four-leafed clover in emeralds or even the diamond "13" that dangled from her bracelet. She wasn't quite sure what it was. She had heard people say of girls who were without good looks: "Oh yes. … but she has charm!" and had arrived at the conclusion that "charm" was Nature's invariable compensation for plainness.

Her father had dreams for her and bought Hatterway Hall from the last of the Hatterway family with the idea of giving her opportunities which Wimbledon had denied. He gave a great ball in her honour and invited the local gentry. By the oddest coincidence, the local gentry were engaged, or ill, or travelling abroad, and "whilst thanking Mr. Babbacome Jarviss for his kind invitation," regretted their inability to accept the same.

Mr. Jarviss was regretting his expensive purchase when chance and a powerful motor vehicle carried him to the village of Pelborough, some fifty miles distant. The name had a familiar ring and he knew why when the landlord of the "Pelborough Arms" told him the story of Dr. Beane's amazing accession to the peerage.

"Marquis of Pelborough," said Mr. Jarviss thoughtfully, "and hasn't a cent! H'm!"

He drove home by the shortest route, went to the room which the furnishers had stocked with brand-new books and had christened the library, and sought information from back numbers of newspapers.

"'In the employ of Mr. Leither, the well-known insurance agent,'" he read, and whistled.

There had been times during the war when it had not been expedient to tender for contracts in his own name. Mr. Leither, in consideration of one-half per cent commission, had been his agent in these transactions, and in consequence was under some obligation to him. He put a telephone call through to London, but by this time Mr. Leither had already left his office. The call next morning was a trifle too early, but he had not long to wait before his sometime agent came through.

"Yes, he's here," said Mr. Leither, lowering his voice; "in fact, he's in the next room, Mr. Jarviss."

"What's he like?" asked Jarviss.

"Oh, he's—well, he's like anybody else," was the unsatisfactory reply.

"Young?"

"Oh yes."

"Married?"

"No, good heavens, no!"

Mr. Jarviss considered deeply. "Could you get him up here for a couple of days, Leither?"

"Yes, I could," replied the other after cogitation. "I could send him up on insurance business."

"Well, send him to-day," instructed the plutocrat, "and listen, Leither, you might tell him the tale about me, my money and what I'm worth, see!"

"Certainly," said Leither, not quite sure yet what was behind all this.

"There's a couple of hundred thousand pounds for my son-in-law."

"Oh!" said Leither, understanding, "I get you."

"And five per cent commission for anybody who introduces the business, eh?" said the magnate jocularly.

"I get you, Mr. Jarviss … yes … yes … I understand. I'll pack him off, if not to-day, to-morrow."

Mr. Jarviss hung up his receiver. He had paved the way, a million and charm must do the rest. Especially heavy was the obligation laid upon charm. He re-read the morning newspaper.

"Bit of a speech-maker, too," he said with satisfaction.

Chick had other matters than legislation to occupy his mind. Samuel, that amazing infant, had shown an embarrassing affection for him that morning. He had nursed the baby for a quarter of an hour before he went to work, and Samuel strenuously resisted the attempts, first of Gwenda, and then of the enticing Mrs. Phibbs, to take him away from his custody. Possibly Sam had developed a sense of social value. Mrs. Phibbs suggested, as much.

"He warns a Marquis to nurse him, does he?" she demanded of the squalling child, but Sam was not in the mood for humour. His wail pursued Chick down the stairs, and on returning to lunch, he was alarmed to discover that the baby had hardly stopped whimpering since.

At the sight of Chick, the child's head parted in a smile.

The Marquis of Pelborough sat at the window with his charge, and all that time Samuel behaved like a Christian.

But on the first attempt of Mrs. Phibbs to relieve the lordly nursemaid, Sam emitted a yell which attracted the attention of everything living and hearing in Doughty Street. All these exhibitions of friendship and peevishness might be excused on the score of inaccurate dietary, but in the evening Sam was more fretful and even Chick could not wholly pacify him.

Gwenda and Mrs. Phibbs held a consultation, after the discovery of small red spots on Sam's fat chest, and a doctor, hastily summoned, but somewhat tardily obeying that summons, took one glance at the little spots which had multiplied into a hundred, said "Measles" simply and cold-bloodedly, adding that it might be German measles, but there was no reason for worrying.

Gwenda received the tragic news on her return from the theatre.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" said Chick in an awe-stricken voice.

"I don't know that it's very terrible," smiled Gwenda cheerfully. "All children have measles."

"Ought we to get a nurse?" asked Chick.

"Rubbish!" It was the practical Mrs. Phibbs, entering at that moment, who supplied the answer. "What do you want a nurse for?"

Nevertheless, Chick did not sleep soundly that night. He experienced all the responsibilities and fears of parenthood, and saw the hair-raising possibilities of his guardianship, as he had never done before.

On the second day of Samuel's attack, when the most encouraging reports came from the doctor, without any visible or substantial reason, Chick arranged to lunch with Gwenda in the Strand. She had to attend a rehearsal of a touring company which was taking Tangled Lives on the road.

"I'm going into Gloucestershire," said Chick without any preliminary, "and I shall be away for two or three days, Gwenda."

She nodded.

"That's very good news, Chick. I think you ought to take a little holiday. What is the occasion?"

"One of our clients," said Chick, with comical importance, "wishes to be supplied with particulars of a new insurance policy which has lately been issued by the 'London, New York and Paris' Company, and Mr. Leither wants me to go up and tell this gentleman all about it."

"But will it take you two or three days. Chick?" said the girl, looking at him quickly, but thinking rather of Mr. Leither. "Who is the man?"

"He's a gentleman who made a lot of money in the war, a very generous man," recited Chick.

"Who told you all this?"

"Mr. Leither," nodded Chick. "Why, I'm told that this Mr. Jarviss is going to settle two hundred thousand pounds upon his son-in-law!"

"Oh yes," said Gwenda softly, "and who is his son-in-law?"

"I don't know," said the innocent Chick, shaking his head. "I expect he's some lucky fellow—that is," he added, "if the girl is nice."

Gwenda looked at him curiously.

"Suppose the girl wasn't nice, Chick?"

"She must be nice, or he wouldn't want to marry her," said Chick gravely.

Gwenda looked down on the tablecloth, and twiddled with the wedding-ring on her finger.

"I wonder what qualities you regard as being nice in a girl?" she asked—a fatal question, as she ought to have known.

"Well—" hesitated Chick, "if she's like you, Gwenda; if she's pretty and has a lovely mind"

"Yes, yes," said Gwenda hastily. "I know what you mean. Not like me, Chick, but like you think I am. Well, when are you going?"

"I was going this afternoon," said Chick.

She nodded.

"Perhaps, Chick," she said after a long silence, "this son-in-law of Mr. Jarviss is marrying her because Mr. Jarviss is giving him two hundred thousand pounds."

Chick stared. "You don't really mean that? Do you know them?"

"I don't know them," said the girl, "but I know people."

Chick shook his head.

"I shouldn't think so, Gwenda I suppose there must have been cases like that; but, after all, any man would be willing to marry any nice girl, whether she was rich or poor. The big thing is to get the right girl, isn't it?"

Gwenda bit her lips.

"I suppose so," she said.

Chick had an interview with his employer before he left.

"Now, my dear Pelborough," said Mr. Leither, with the inevitable slap on the back—Chick was prepared for it now, and braced himself to meet the assault—"you're going to have a very good time in my dear friend Jarviss's house. What a man he is, Pelborough!" he went on ecstatically. "What a host! What a generous friend! Two hundred thousand pounds for his son-in-law!"

"I hope he deserves it, sir," said the Marquis of Pelborough. "I'm sure he does," said Leither. "What a lot one could do with two hundred thousand—a million dollars, ten million francs at the present rate—£10,000 a year invested at five per cent. All for the son-in-law!"

"What is his name?" asked Chick interested.

Mr. Leither coughed.

"Well, I don't know that there is a son-in-law, yet—in fact, I don't know whether Miss Jarviss is engaged. What a wonderful girl she is!"

Now Mr. Leither had never seen Minnie or he would have turned the conversation then and there.

"What eyes!" he apostrophized. "What a dainty little figure of a girl. …"

"She must be very pretty," said Chick, when his superior had exhausted his superlatives. "Shall we insure her too?"

Chick arrived at his destination to find that Mr. Jarviss himself had done him the honour of meeting him. The honour went no further.

Mr. Jarviss was the kind of man who felt that he was losing three points if he admitted that any other individual in the world was his superior. Therefore his manner to Chick was brusque, and he ventured upon no courtesy of title. His conscious rôle was that of "rough diamond," a rôle which goes with "pot luck," and "taking people as you find them!"

"We haven't made any preparations for you, old man," he said; "you'll have to pig in somehow."

"Certainly," said Chick, having visions of sleeping over a stable. "I thought Mr. Leither had wired you I was coming." "Oh yes, he said you were coming. What do you think of the car, eh?"

They stood at the top of the slope running down to the station road, by the side of which three or four cars were parked.

"I like it very much," said Chick. "There are a lot of people who don't like Fords, but I'm told they are"

"Not that one," said Mr. Jarviss annoyed, "the other one, that big one! The chassis alone cost me three thousand!"

Chick made appropriate but genuine sounds of wonder and amazement.

"I want you to meet my daughter," said Mr. Jarviss as they drove up the hill which Hatterway Hall crowned. "She is a very nice girl."

"So I'm told," said Chick politely. "And engaged to be married, too, I congratulate you, Mr. Jarviss."

Mr. Jarviss turned to look at him. "It may seem an indelicate moment to approach that subject, when a young lady is standing on the threshold of her life," Chick went on, blissfully unconscious of anything save that he was doing his duty, "but don't you think it would be a wise provision for her to take out an insurance policy? There is one in particular which I can recommend." He fumbled in his pockets. "It insures against illness, accidents and death. It has also the advantage," he prattled on, "of insuring the life of the first child for the period of nine years."

"Oh, it does, does it?" breathed Mr. Jarviss, recovering himself. "What makes you think that Minnie is engaged?"

"I understood so," stammered Chick, realizing that he had made an error. "I'm awfully sorry if I've let out Mr. Leither's secret."

"If it was anybody's secret it would be mine." growled Mr. Jarviss.

"I am sure it would," murmured Chick.

"She's a very nice girl, is that girl of mine," repeated the proud father, shaking his head, as though he were a little overcome by the thought of her virtues.

"Yes, I am told so." Chick was in a hurry to remove the memory of his solecism. "Very pretty, if I may be allowed to say so. It must be rather jolly, Mr. Jarviss, to be the father of a very pretty girl"

"Well—you wouldn't call her pretty at first sight," said Mr. Jarviss hurriedly. He also was anxious to remove any wrong impression. "She's got what I should call 'charm.'"

"Ah!" said Chick wisely.

"And charm is better than looks."

"I'm sure it is," said Chick, nodding. "And most good-looking people are charming, aren't they?"

He smiled benevolently upon his impatient host.

"I suppose when I've a family I shall be modest about my children; it's the Chinese custom, isn't it? I read something in the paper about it the other day."

"What this country wants"—Mr. Jarviss was not interested in China—"are unions, if I may employ the term, between the strong healthy daughters of the people and the proud and effete aristocracy."

"I'm sure you're right," said Chick earnestly. "I'm rather a democrat, Mr. Jarviss, and in my heart of hearts I've never recognized aristocracy, except the aristocracy of genius. I've often thought, as I've gone into the country, what a pity it is that all these beautiful girls are condemned to live their lives in little villages, away from the opportunities"

"I'm not talking about beautiful girls who live in villages," almost snarled Mr. Jarviss. "I'm talking about my daughter."

Chick smiled politely. "You will have your joke, Mr. Jarviss," he said, "which reminds me that I have brought all the schedules you wished to see, and Mr. Leither thinks that Schedule 'A' of the policy which the new London and Paris Company are issuing will just suit your case."

"I don't want to talk about insurance. I'm interested in discussing marriages between the aristocracy and what I might call the wealthy, the very wealthy," he said emphatically, "middle classes. I'm going to give two hundred thousand pounds to the young gentleman who marries my daughter. How's that for a nest-egg?"

"I think you're very generous," said Chick warmly. "It is one of the most generous gifts—marriage portions is the word, isn't it?—I've ever read about. But, of course, you know your son-in-law, and I'm sure you would not take the risk of putting all that money in the hands of a spendthrift, Mr. Jarviss. I'd rather like to meet him."

"I hope you will," said Mr. Jarviss grimly, as the car drew up before the door of Hatterway Hall.

He piloted his guest into a big oak-panelled hall, and a girl who was sitting in a picturesque attitude reading a book, rose with a start and tripped to meet him.

Chick regarded her with interest. Probably a friend of the family, he thought, and mentally noted that emerald green does not suit a too-blooming countenance.

She smiled, first at Chick and then at her father.

"A foreigner," thought Chick, blinking.

"This is my daughter, Lord Pelborough," said Mr. Jarviss, and Chick's hand, which was half-way out, stopped dead, his jaw dropped, and he peeked forward in his short-sighted way.

"Your—your daughter," he stammered.

"This is Minnie. Minnie, I hope you'll make Lord Pelborough's visit a comfortable one."

"Why, of course I will, papa," she said with that arch smile of hers.

Chick blinked again.

Whilst three footmen piloted, escorted or carried Chick's bag up to his room, she slipped her arm in his with girlish confidence and led him through a great big pillared room, which reminded him of the approach to the Lords' Lobby, into a drawing-room which had been furnished as a compromise between the conflicting tastes of Minnie and her mother. There must have been six hundred articles in the room, ranging from an oxidized-silver fire-set to a purple cushion on a pink settee, and they all said "Hullo" at once, and Chick was almost deafened. Dinner was a meal which he will remember all his life.

Mr. Jarviss belonged to that order of hosts who believe that the beginning and end of hospitality consists of filling your guest with food.

"Now, come on, Lord Pelborough, you must have another bit of this pheasant, I insist." Or: "Mother, Lord Pelborough is eating nothing!" "John, give Lord Pelborough some more lamb."

Chick made valiant efforts to present a clean plate, but every time he succeeded a new meal was placed in front of him. He rose somewhat unsteadily from the table, feeling like that grotesque figure which is employed to advertise somebody's pneumatic tyres.

"Now, my boy, go and smoke your cigarette on the terrace."

"Thank you, I'm not smoking," said Chick.

"Well, take your coffee out on to the terrace."

"Isn't it rather cold?" asked Chick in surprise, but apparently in preparation for his arrival (though this was not the case) that portion of the terrace to which he was invited had been enclosed by glass and was centrally heated. "Are you coming, sir?" asked Chick.

"I'll be along presently," said the diplomatic Jarviss. "You run away, my boy."

Chick was incapable of running anywhere. He waddled into the super-conservatory and sank with a sigh of relief into a large divan chair. The "terrace" was untenanted, but from nowhere in particular came Minnie Jarviss, and sat charmingly on the arm of his chair. Chick rose. "Oh, please don't get up, Lord Pelborough," she smiled. "I'm quite comfortable."

"Let me get you a chair," said Chick.

"You're a very naughty boy," said Minnie charmingly; "now sit down where you were."

Chick, out of sheer politeness, obliged her. When her arm fell carelessly upon his shoulders, he winced. When he felt the whole weight of her leaning towards him he shivered.

"You are a funny boy," she said less charmingly than before. "Why don't you keep still?"

"Perhaps if I got you that chair you would prefer it?" said Chick, looking round desperately in the hope that the lady's mother or father would appear to relieve him from an embarrassing situation. But the lady's mother was playing patience in the large and vociferous drawing-room, and the lady's father was in his library, hoping for the best.

Chick tried his own best to turn the conversation into the ways of insurance. He was worried because he had not had an opportunity to discuss Schedule "A" with her father, and endeavoured to interest the girl in the fascinating possibilities of the policy he had outlined on the way from the station.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly!" she said, tweaking his ear, an operation which made Chick shrink back into the chair. "I'm not going to be married yet awhile, at least I don't think so."

"I thought you were engaged, Miss Jarviss?"

"Not yet," she said playfully. "Mr. Right hasn't come along yet, and if Lord Right has come along, he hasn't asked me." "Is he a lord?" asked Chick, interested.

But she wouldn't tell him. She asked him to guess. She gave him three guesses, in fact, and to be on the safe side, he started with the Lord Chancellor. Apparently that noble lord was unknown to the Jarvisses, for she asked him if he was the horrid man who put all those dreadful income taxes upon the profited classes.

"That's one guess," she said: "two more."

But Chick gave it up. "I think you're silly," said Miss Jarviss, "but perhaps you're so rich that you don't want two hundred thousand pounds."

"Me?" said Chick in amazement. "Nobody wants to give me two hundred thousand;" and then the horror of the situation dawned upon him, and he could have swooned. He got up, pale with consternation and amazement. "I—I wouldn't marry anybody," he almost squeaked, "not if they had millions and millions of pounds! I think it's a dreadful idea, marrying people for money. I wouldn't marry the most beautiful woman in the world—for money."

"I didn't ask you," said Miss Jarviss defiantly, "I didn't ask you, you conceited devil, so there! A man like you ought to be poisoned! Coming here giving yourself airs … without a penny in your pocket … upsetting a girl …" She wept her way to the comfort of her mamma.

The next hour contained sixty agonizing minutes. When he met Mr. Jarviss again that great man was even more brusque, was in fact rude.

Chick crept up to his room that night miserable, and meeting the girl in the corridor, she fixed him with such a basilisk glare that he bolted into his room and locked his door.

The next morning when they brought his tea, it had a funny taste; it was like tea and yet it was not like tea, and he remembered all the stories he had read of women's vengeance. Hell, he knew, had no terrors like a woman scorned. He left his cup half empty.

The interview after breakfast with Mr. Jarviss was conducted mainly by himself. That gentleman sat glumly behind his solid oak table and grumbled his replies in monosyllables.

When the train pulled out of the station, Chick was a very grateful young man. He knew he had failed his employer, but even that did not worry him so much as the increasing fear which the peculiarly tasting tea had aroused. He was feeling strange too; there was a singing in his ears, and his head buzzed with queer noises. His throat was parched, his lips were dry, and he went hot and cold alternately.

"She's poisoned me!" murmured Chick aghast, and added as he recalled his responsibilities, "I wish I'd taken an insurance myself!"

A week later a large angry man stalked into Mr. Leither's office, and, without knocking, flounced into the room where that amiable and untidy man was sitting.

"Why, Mr. Jarviss, this is an unexpected pleasure!" said Leither in surprise.

"Pleasure be—blowed!" growled Jarviss. "That infernal pup of yours, Lord What's-his-name, by gad, the young brute …!"

Mr. Leither's eyebrows rose.

"I haven't seen him since his return. Of course you know"

"Know! I know more about him than I want to know, Leither," said the infuriated man.

Mr. Leither's jaw dropped. The vision of a five per cent commission faded in the dim distance.

"Didn't he give her his pledge?" he asked romantically.

"His pledge!" roared the other. "No, my daughter is ill! Where is he now?"

Mr. Leither shook his head.

"He's in bed—with German measles," he said.

Mr. Jarviss staggered back. "So that's how she caught it!" he wailed.