A Humble Enterprise Part 12

They sat down, and did justice to Jarvis's preparations. Anthony's little dinners were famous amongst dining men, who knew better than to disturb enjoyment and digestion with too much conversation while they were in progress; but when this meal had reached the stage of coffee and cigarettes, the two friends fell into very confidential talk.

"What you want," said Adam Danesbury, "is to get married, Tony."

"Why," said the host, "you've been the loudest of us all in denouncing those bonds--till now. Because you've lost your tail, is that any reason why we should cut off ours?"

"That's all very well while we're young and foolish," said Mr. Danesbury sedately (he was a sedate person always, but "a devil of a fellow," all the same, at times). "And I denounce the thing still, when it's nothing but a buying and selling business, like what we so often see. But get a good girl, Tony--a girl like _my_ girl--one who doesn't make a bargain of you, but loves the ground you walk on, though you may go barefoot--_then_ it's all right. Think of our advanced age, if you please. Byron was in the sere and yellow leaf before he was as old as I am, and you are close up. Twenty years hence we shall be old fogies, and we shall have lost our appet.i.te for cakes, if not for ale, and they will shunt us into corners; then we shall want our girls and boys to ruffle it in our place. If we don't look sharp, those girls and boys won't be there, Tony, and it will feel lonely--I know it will."

"These be the words of wisdom," said Tony reflectively. "I must confess I had forgotten about the girls and boys."

"Oh, but, apart from them, it's a mistake to put it off, after a certain time of life--that is, of course, if you can find the right sort of woman. For G.o.d's sake, don't go and throw yourself away on one of these society girls. What a fellow wants is a home, and they don't seem to know the meaning of the word."

"How would you describe the right sort of woman?" asked Anthony, pus.h.i.+ng the wine towards his friend.

"I would say, a woman like Rose Lennox."

"Yes, of course--naturally. Only, unfortunately, I don't know Miss Lennox."

"I wish you did, Tony. If you had come down to my father's place, as I wanted you to, you would have met her. However, you will see her before long, I trust."

Anthony spread his arms over the table, and looked curiously at the man in whom Miss Lennox had wrought so great a change.

"Tell me about her, will you, old fellow?" he said. "Tell me, so that I may know what the right woman is like, when I do happen to see her."

Mr. Danesbury was nothing loth. He, too, spread his arms on the table, with an air of preparation, having placed his unconsumed cigarette in the ash-tray beside him.

"Well, in the first place, I must tell you she is poor," he began. "But she's none the worse for that."

"No, the better--the better!" cried Anthony, delighted. "I believe it's just money that spoils them all."

"Though she's poor, she's the most perfect lady that ever stepped."

The host nodded comprehendingly.

"Her father has the parish next to my father's; old Lennox got the living after I left home. It's supposed to be worth two-fifty, but if he gets two it's as much as he does; and there are seven children. My Rose is the eldest--twenty-three next birthday."

"Yes?" Anthony had left off smoking, and was listening as men seldom listened to this love-sick swain.

"The way I knew her first--my sisters gave a garden party--you know those little clerical garden parties?--parsons and their wives and daughters from miles round, coming in their washed frocks and their little basket carriages; and two of the Lennox girls were there--nice, interesting little things, but not Rose. We had three tennis afternoons before I knew of her existence. I used to hear my sisters say, 'Why don't you make Rose come?' but never took any heed; until one day I had to drive some of them home, because a storm was coming, and they hadn't any carriage; and just as I got there the storm burst, and I went in to wait till it was over. And there I saw that girl--my Rose--sitting at a table, mending stockings, with half a dozen little brats saying their lessons to her. This was what she did every day--sewed, and kept house, and taught the children, while her sisters went out to play tennis. She said it was so good for them to have a little recreation--as if _she_ wasn't to be thought of at all. That's the sort of woman she is."

Anthony stretched out his hand. "Show me that locket again, will you?"

Adam Danesbury detached watch and chain, and pushed them over the table.

"It don't do her justice," he said tenderly. "She's got hair that you can see yourself in, and a complexion like milk; the colour comes and goes with every word you say to her, and her expression changes in the same way. Photography always fails with people of that sort.

Still--there she is."

Photography had evidently not done justice to Miss Lennox. The ladies on the yacht had called her dowdy, and insignificant, and plain, wondering at Mr. Danesbury's taste; but, helped by that gentleman's description of her, Anthony made out a sweet and modest face, which held his gaze for several minutes. Her lover watched him eagerly--this accomplished connoisseur--and swelled with pride to see her so appreciated.

"Well?" he said challengingly.

"Well," said Anthony, as he snapped the locket, "she's a charming creature, and you are an enviable fellow."

"I am that," rejoined the lover, re-opening the case before hanging it to his b.u.t.ton-hole. "And I shall be a great deal more enviable this time next year, please G.o.d."

CHAPTER XIII

TWO UNWISE WOMEN

This conversation haunted our young man all night, and drove him in the morning to the tea-room, in serious pursuit of the right kind of woman, if haply she might be found there. To his surprise and consternation the bird had flown.

"Not ill, I trust?" he said in alarm, at the end of five restless minutes, during which he had scarcely taken his eyes from the screen.

Sarah was arranging the flowers he had just brought her. She had patiently waited for this question. "No," she said, with a nonchalant air. "She _was_ ill--very ill indeed--but she is all right now."

"Is she--she is not away?"

"Just now she is. She wanted a change so badly, poor dear."

"With friends?"

"Yes. They are most kind to her. It was just what she wanted, for she was quite worn out. The hard work at Cup time prostrated her."

"I'm awfully sorry to hear it. You are sure she is all right again?"

"Oh, quite. They weigh her every now and then, and she has gained half a stone."

"In this hot weather, too! Evidently it is doing her good. The sea, I suppose?"

"No. Mountains. At least I suppose they are mountains--I never was there myself."

"You must miss her very much?"

"Dreadfully. And I am afraid she worries about us. But the room goes on all right. Lucinda Allonby is a cat, but she is smart at waiting; and her aunt is a good soul. She is regularly in the partners.h.i.+p now."

"Yes. Did you say your sister had gone to Healesville?"

"No, I didn't."

She laughed mischievously, and Anthony laughed too, his bronzed cheek reddening.

"What then?" he pleaded. "Come, tell me, there's a good child."

"I should have thought you'd known," said Sarah, playing with his growing impatience.

"How was I to know anything, away on the sea?"