The Limit Part 8

"Oh, hush, Daphne, here is Romer. I shan't tell him a word about it.

Well, I'll think it over." She called Daphne back and said in a half-hearted way--

"I suppose it wouldn't do just to sort of please Harry by marrying Van, and then seeing that silly boy now and then. You'd so soon get tired of him--but, no! that wouldn't be right. Forget that I said it--I don't mean it."

"I couldn't stand Van at all," said Daphne definitely, "whether I saw Cyril or not."

"Then you shan't be bothered with him. But can't you give up Cyril? I know I'm right about it. It isn't only the hard-upness and the impossibility--of course, I know he's got relations and all that--but, it's he himself. You'll get bored with him, too, in a different way."

"I like him so much _now_," pleaded Daphne.

Romer came in and Valentia merely told him at great length every word of the foregoing conversation with lavish comments by herself. Secretly Romer was bitterly disappointed when he realised that the possibility of his being left alone with his wife was more remote, but of course he agreed with Valentia, as she changed her mind a dozen times on the subject, and as usual the conversation ended in a telephone message to Harry to come round at once.

CHAPTER VIII

IN FANCY DRESS

Van Buren had had many pleasures, many gratifications since he had been in London; his dreams--the dreams inspired by Du Maurier's drawings when he was a little boy--had been very nearly realised. Perhaps the greatest triumph that he had had yet was the evening of the Artists' Fancy Ball.

He had succeeded in making up a party to go in costume. He was always making up parties, and he had for many years been obsessed by a longing to dress up.

Harry, in mockery of his pa.s.sion for everything English, had advised him to go as an Ancient Briton, with a coat of blue paint. Scorning such ribald chaff, he had ordered a magnificent costume of chain armour.

Greatly to his satisfaction he had persuaded Hereford Vaughan to go as Shakespeare, Valentia and Daphne respectively as Portia in scarlet and Rosalind in green.

A large party were to dine at Van Buren's rooms before the ball. Fancy dress has the effect of bringing out odd, unexpected little characteristics in people. For example, Harry, good-looking and a dandy, quite a romantic type, hated dressing up, and cared nothing whatever about his costume; while Romer, the sober and serious, enjoyed it immensely, and appeared to think his appearance of the utmost importance--almost a matter of life and death.

The women were far less self-conscious in costume than the men, and cared far less how they looked, probably because women are always more or less in fancy dress, and it was not so much of a novelty to them.

Valentia had pointed out that Shakespeare, to be quite correct, should wear ear-rings; so Vaughan called at her house on the way to Van Buren's, as she had promised to lend him some.

"He won't know how to put them on," said Daphne, drawing on her long boots. "Probably he hasn't had his ears pierced; you must go and screw them on for him."

Valentia ran down. Just as she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the long coral and pearl ear-rings with rather painful energy on to the unfortunate young man's ears, the servant, with a slight expression of terror that could not be concealed, announced--

"Mrs. Wyburn."

The situation was really rather comic. Romer's mother, who was going to a dinner-party in the same street, could not forgo the pleasure of calling unexpectedly on them at half-past seven, vaguely hoping that it might be inconvenient to them, and that she would catch them in something they didn't want her to know--a true mother's instinct. But not in her wildest dreams had she expected what she saw when she entered the drawing-room--her daughter-in-law in her red mortar-board, red cloak and bands, with, apparently, her arms round the neck of a young man in purple silk stockings and jewelled embroidered gloves with rings outside them.

Mrs. Wyburn literally sank into a chair.

Valentia was perfectly equal to the occasion. She thoroughly enjoyed the baffling of Mrs. Wyburn.

"I can't think why Romer didn't tell you," she repeated several times, "that Van Buren is giving a dinner for the fancy ball!" and she rang and gave orders that her husband and sister were to come down immediately.

Romer had been four hours dressing; Daphne about ten minutes.

"I do think you ought to have a little make-up. Will you?" said Valentia to Vaughan.

"I should love to," he answered, to Mrs. Wyburn's disgust and horror, looking in the gla.s.s and taking very little notice of the indignant old lady.

"He _does_ need just a touch of lip-salve and a little black under the eyes, don't you think so?" Valentia asked, caressingly, pretending to consult Mrs. Wyburn.

"I can't say, I'm sure. I've no idea what he wants," said Mrs. Wyburn with a snap.

"But don't you think it would improve him, darling?" Valentia went on, holding her head on one side and holding up her hand as if she were looking at a picture.

"Not at all," said Mrs. Wyburn.

"Then do you think his lips are red enough already?" asked Valentia.

Vaughan hastily interrupted the absurd discussion.

"The human lip is never red enough," he said decidedly; "they ought to be bright, light scarlet."

"That's just what I think. I've got some lovely scarlet stuff--the colour of sealing-wax. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"Yes, do," he said.

"But won't it look rather----"

"No; merely decent," said the young man decidedly.

"And what does Romer say to _all this_?" said Mrs. Wyburn with a forced smile and a voice trembling with uncontrollable rage.

"Oh, he likes it, darling. He loves it. No one's been so keen about their dress as Romer. I'll go and fetch him, and my roll of parchment--I had forgotten my roll of parchment."

She ran upstairs and came down saying--

"Romer won't be a minute, dear; he's awfully anxious for you to see his dress. He's just darkening his eyelashes. That's all. He's Louis XIX or something, you know."

She then deliberately and openly drew Vaughan to the window where there was still bright June daylight and painted his lips a brilliant scarlet to their mutual satisfaction and Mrs. Wyburn's unspeakable horror.

"Mad," murmured Mrs. Wyburn, half to herself, "quite mad! I shall be quite upset for the Trott-h.e.l.lyers' dinner-party. It's Dr.

Trott-h.e.l.lyers' birthday. He only _lives_ three doors from you" (she said this rather reproachfully), "and I dine with him _every_ year on his birthday! And to think I only came in to see my son for a minute or two, because I couldn't bear to pa.s.s his door ... his very door...."

"Sweet of you," said Valentia.

... "And then to think I should find----" She screamed suddenly.

Daphne had come in, in her green cloak, doublet and hose, and little green cap, Romer in paint and powder, patches and lace ruffles, sword and snuffbox. There was a lavish amount of rouge on his cheeks and his eyes were blacked almost to the temples.

Hearing that his mother was there he had finished the left eye rather hurriedly, the result being that he looked as if he had been fighting.

While the poor lady was trying to adjust herself to this sight, and explaining for the sixth time why she was there, and making bitter remarks about a young girl going to a ball in what she (Mrs. Wyburn) called trousers, and while Daphne kept on wrapping herself in the folds of her cloak and then undoing them again to show her nice high boots, she was still more distressed at the arrival of her _bete noire_ and mortal enemy, Harry de Freyne.

Van Buren had sent his motor for them, containing Harry.