Bird of Paradise Part 4

"And what is that? Because you attract them?"

"No, that doesn't help much. It's because I have brothers, and they have always confided in me without reserve. Oh! there was one more thing I _may_ have to ask you. I don't want to, and I don't like it at all, on account of Mrs. Hillier; but still it might happen to be necessary. It's _just_ possible I may ask you to flirt a little with a girl called Moona Chivvey."

"Oh, _I_ know her." He smiled. "Of course I'd do anything for you, but _that_ would be about the hardest thing you could command."

"She's not uninteresting," said Bertha. "I shall find out how she stands with Rupert, and I don't think there's much danger. But if it should be required--well--you might go further and fare worse."

"I expect I should go further than Rupert," murmured Nigel.

"Nigel, _don't_ think I haven't scruples about things. I have, very much, but I know a good deal about Moona, and I really think that any harmless thing we can do to remove obstacles for poor Madeline should be done. I promised Madeline. I shall be grateful if you'll help, Nigel."

"There's no question about it," said Nigel. "Of course it must be rushed through. And now I suppose you want me to go?"

"Oh no! Please don't! Percy will be here directly."

He got up.

"Good-bye. I'll ring you up to-morrow. It's some little consolation for being an idle man to have leisure to fulfil your commands."

She answered that he was very good and she was very pleased with him, and he went away.

CHAPTER IV

RUPERT AT RUMPELMEYER'S

At a quarter to four precisely, in a heavy shower of rain, Madeline sprang out of a taxicab in St. James's Street, and tripped into Rumpelmeyer's. As it was pouring lavishly and she had no umbrella, she hastily and enthusiastically overpaid the cabman, with a feeling of superst.i.tion that it might bring her luck; besides, a few drops of rain, she reflected, would ruin her smart new hat if she waited for change. It was a very small hat, over her eyes, decorated with a very high feather, in the form of a lightning-conductor. She was charmingly dressed in a way that made her look very tall, slim and elegant. Her rather long, sweet face was paler than usual, her sincere brown eyes brighter. She had come to have tea with Rupert.

From the back room, waiting for her, rose the wors.h.i.+pped hero. He was, as she had described him, very much like a Vand.y.k.e picture. He had broad shoulders, and a thin waist, a pointed brown beard, regular features, very large deep blue eyes, and an absurdly small mouth with dazzling white teeth. If he was almost too well dressed--so well that one turned round to look at his clothes--his distinguished manners and _grand seigneur_ air carried it off. One saw it was not the over-dressing of the _nouveau riche_, but the rather old-world dandyism of a past generation. This was the odder as the year was 1913, and he was exactly thirty. He always wore a b.u.t.tonhole--to-day it was made of violets to match his violet socks--and invariably carried a black ebony stick, with an ivory handle.

With a quiet smile on his small mouth, he greeted and calmed the agitated Madeline.

She dropped her bag on the floor before she sat down, and when Rupert picked it up for her she dropped it again on a plate of cream cakes. He then took it and moved it to his side of the table.

"I thought," he said smoothly, in a rather low, soothing voice, "that you'd like these cakes better than toast."

She eagerly a.s.sured him that he was right, though it happened to be quite untrue.

"And China tea, of _course_?"

"Oh, of _course_!" She disliked it particularly.

"And now, tell me, how has life been treating you?" he asked, as he looked first at her, and then with more eager interest at his pointed polished finger-nails.

Before she could answer, he went on:

"And that book on architecture that I sent you--tell me, have you read it?"

"Every word."

This was perfectly true; she could have pa.s.sed an examination in it.

"That's delightful. Then, now that you know something about it, I should like very much to take you to Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's, or to see one of those really beautiful old cathedrals. ... We must plan it out."

"Oh, please do. I revel in old things," she said, thinking the remark would please him.

He arranged his b.u.t.tonhole of Parma violets, then looked up at her, smiling.

"Do you mean that at your age you really appreciate the past?"

"Indeed, I do."

"But you mustn't live for it, you know--not over-value it. You must never forget that, after all, the great charm of the past is that it is over. One must live for the hour, for the moment. ... You'll remember that, won't you?"

"Oh yes, I _do_," she said gratefully, taking a bite of cream cake.

"What they call Futurism (I hope you understand) is absolute rubbish and inconsistent nonsense. For this reason. It's impossible to enjoy the present or the future if you eliminate the past entirely, as the so-called Futurists wish to do. Destruction of old a.s.sociations and treasures would ruin one's sense of proportion; it's worse than living in the prehistoric. Besides, at least we know what _has_ happened, and what _is_ happening, but we can't possibly know what is _going_ to be, what the future holds for us; so what's the point of thinking only of that? Why should we live only for posterity, when, as the old joke says, posterity has done nothing for us!"

"Well, the truth is _I_ always feel nothing matters except now," said Madeline candidly.

He laughed. "And, in a way, you're right; it's all we're quite sure of."

"Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"By the way," he said, dropping his instructive manner, "can you tell me where you get your hats? Do you mind?"

"Oh yes, of course I can; at several places. This one came from----" She hesitated a moment.

"Paquin?" he asked, in a low, mysterious voice.

"Selfridge," she replied.

"Oh, I didn't know you were a Selfridgette! But, please forgive my asking, won't you? Someone who didn't seem to know ... I mean, a friend of mine. ... Oh, well, I know you don't mind telling me."

He looked hard at her hat, could find no fault with it. Evidently its value was not diminished in his eyes. He was rather gratified that it did not come from some impossibly costly place. This pleased her; it was a good sign. Satisfaction at a moderate indication of economy suggested serious intentions.

"It suits you very well," he went on, in his kind, approving way. "Now, will you give me another cup of tea?"

She poured it out rather shakily.

"No sugar, please."

"Oh!" She had already nervously dropped in about three lumps.