His Honour, and a Lady, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  “Here you are at last!” remarked Mrs. Daye with vivacity, taking thethree long, pronounced and rustling steps which she took so very well,toward the last comer to her dinner party, who made his leisurelyentrance between the _portières_, pocketing his handkerchief. “Don’t sayyou have been to church,” she went on, holding out a condoning hand,“for none of us will believe you.”

  Although Mr. Ancram’s lips curved back over his rather prominent teethin a narrow smile as he put up his eyeglass and looked down at hishostess, Mrs. Daye felt the levity fade out of her expression: she hadto put compulsion on herself to keep it in her face. It was as if she,his prospective mother-in-law, had taken the least of liberties with Mr.Ancram.

  “Does the only road to forgiveness lie through the church gate?” heasked. His voice was high and agreeable; it expressed discrimination;his tone implied that, if the occasion had required it, he could havesaid something much cleverer easily—an implication no one who knew himwould have found unwarrantable.

  “The padres say it does, as a rule, Ancram,” put in Colonel Daye. “Inthis case it lies through the dining-room door. Will you take my wifein?”

  In a corner of the room, which she might have chosen for its warmobscurity, Rhoda Daye watched with curious scrutiny the lightest detailof Mr. Lewis Ancram’s behaviour. An elderly gentleman, with pulpy redcheeks and an amplitude of white waistcoat, stood beside her chair,swaying out of the perpendicular with well-bred rigidity now and then,in tentative efforts at conversation; to which she replied, “Really?”and “Yes, I know,” while her eyes fixed themselves upon Ancram’s face,and her little white features gleamed immobile under the halo which thetall lamp behind her made with her fuzz of light-brown hair. “Mother’srespect for him is simply outrageous,” she reflected, as she assured theelderly gentleman that even for Calcutta the heat was reallyextraordinary, considering that they were in December. “Iwonder—supposing he had not made love to me—if I could have had asmuch!” She did not answer herself definitely—not from any lack ofcandour, but because the question presented difficulties. She slippedpast him presently on the arm of the elderly gentleman, as Ancram stillstood with bent head talking to her mother. His eyes sought hers with asignificance that flattered her—there was no time for furthergreeting—and the bow with which he returned her enigmatic little nodsingled her out for consideration. As she went in to dinner the nape ofMr. Lewis Ancram’s neck and the parting of his hair remained with her aspictorial facts.

  Mrs. Daye always gave composite dinner-parties, and this was one ofthem. “If you ask nobody but military people to meet each other,” shewas in the habit of saying, “you hear nothing but the price of chargersand the prospects of the Staff Corps. If you make your list up ofcivilians, the conversation consists of abuse of their officialsuperiors and the infamous conduct of the Secretary of State about therupee.” On this occasion Mrs. Daye had reason to anticipate that theprice of chargers would be varied by the grievances of the CivilService, and that a touring Member of Parliament would participate inthe discussion who knew nothing about either; and she felt that herblend would be successful. She could give herself up to the somewhatfearful enjoyment she experienced in Mr. Ancram’s society. Mrs. Daye wasconvinced that nobody appreciated Mr. Ancram more subtly than she did.She saw a great deal of jealousy of him in Calcutta society, whereas shewas wont to declare that, for her part, she found nothing extraordinaryin the way he had got in—a man of his brains, you know! And if Calcuttaresented this imputation upon its own brains in ever so slight a degree,Mrs. Daye saw therein more jealousy of the fact that her family circlewas about to receive him. When it had once opened for that purpose andclosed again, Mrs. Daye hoped vaguely that she would be sustained forthe new and exacting duty of living up to Mr. Ancram.

  “She seems to be sufficiently entertained.”]

  “_Please_ look at Rhoda,” she begged, in a conversational buzz that herblend had induced.

  Mr. Ancram looked, deliberately, but with appreciation. “She seems to besufficiently entertained,” he said.

  “Oh, she is! She’s got a globe-trotter. Haven’t you found out that Rhodasimply loves globe-trotters? She declares that she renews her youth inthem.”

  “Her first impressions, I suppose she means?”

  “Oh, as to what she _means_——”

  Mrs. Daye broke off irresolutely, and thoughtfully conveyed a minutepiece of roll to her lips. The minute piece of roll was Mr. Ancram’sopportunity to complete Mrs. Daye’s suggestion of a certain interestingambiguity in her daughter; but he did not take it. He continued to lookattentively at Miss Daye, who appeared, as he said, to be sufficientlyentertained, under circumstances which seemed to him inadequate. Hertraveller was talking emphatically, with gestures of elderly dogmatism,and she was deferentially listening, an amusement behind her eyes withwhich the Chief Secretary to the Government at Bengal was not altogetherunfamiliar. He had seen it there before, on occasions when there wasapparently nothing to explain it.

  “It would be satisfactory to see her eating her dinner,” he remarked,with what Mrs. Daye felt to be too slight a degree of solicitude. Shewas obliged to remind herself that at thirty-seven a man was apt to takethese things more as matters of fact, especially—and there was a doublecomfort in this reflection—a man already well up in the Secretariat andknown to be ambitious. “Is it possible,” Mr. Ancram went on, somewhatabsently, “that these are Calcutta roses? You must have a very clevergardener.”

  “No”—and Mrs. Daye pitched her voice with a gentle definiteness thatmade what she was saying interesting all round the table—“they came fromthe Viceroy’s place at Barrackpore. Lady Emily sent them to me: so sweetof her, I thought! I always think it particularly kind when people inthat position trouble themselves about one; they must have so _many_demands upon their time.”

  The effect could not have been better. Everybody looked at the roseswith an interest that might almost be described as respectful; and Mrs.Delaine, whose husband was Captain Delaine of the Durham Rifles, saidthat she would have known them for Their Excellencies’ rosesanywhere—they always did the table with that kind for the Thursdaydinners at Government House—she had never known them to use any other.

  Mrs. St. George, whose husband was the Presidency Magistrate, found thisinteresting. “Do they really?” she exclaimed. “I’ve often wondered whatthose big Thursday affairs were like. Fancy—we’ve been in Calcuttathrough three cold weathers now, and have never been asked to anythingbut little private dinners at Government House—not more than eight orten, you know!”

  “Don’t you prefer that?” asked Mrs. Delaine, taking her quenching withnoble equanimity.

  “Well, of course one sees more _of_ them,” Mrs. St. George admitted.“The last time we were there, about a fortnight ago, I had a long chatwith Lady Emily. She is a sweet thing, and perfectly wild at being outof the school-room!” Mrs. St. George added that it was a charmingfamily, so well brought up; and this seemed to be a matter of specialcongratulation as affecting the domestic arrangements of a Viceroy.There was a warmth and an emphasis in the corroboration that arose whichalmost established relations of intimacy between Their Excellencies andMrs. Daye’s dinner-party. Mrs. Daye’s daughter listened in her absorbed,noting manner; and when the elderly gentleman remarked with a certainsolemnity that they were talking of the Scansleighs, he supposed, thesmile with which she said “Evidently” was more pronounced than he couldhave had any right to expect.

  “They seem to be delightful people,” continued the elderly gentleman,earnestly.

  “I daresay,” Miss Daye replied, with grave deliberation. “They’re verydecorative,” she added absently. “That’s a purely Indian vegetable, Mr.Pond. Rather sticky, and without the ghost of a flavour; but you oughtto try it, as an experience, don’t you think?”

  It occurred to Mrs. Daye sometimes that Mr. Ancram was unreasonablydifficult to entertain, even for a Chief Secretary.
It occurred to hermore forcibly than usual on this particular evening, and it was almostwith trepidation that she produced the trump card on which she had beenrelying to provoke a lively suit of amiabilities. She produced itawkwardly too; there was always a slight awkwardness, irritating to so_habile_ a lady, in her manner of addressing Mr. Ancram, owing to herconfessed and painful inability to call him “Lewis”—yet. “Oh,” she saidfinally, “I haven’t congratulated you on your ‘Modern Influence of theVedic Books.’ I assure you, in spite of its being in blue paper coversand printed by Government I went through it with the greatest interest.And there were no pictures either,” Mrs. Daye added, with theingenuousness which often clings to Anglo-Indian ladies somewhat late inlife.

  Mr. Ancram was occupied for the moment in scrutinising the contents of adish which a servant patiently presented to his left elbow. It was anornate and mottled conception visible through a mass of brown jelly, andthe man looked disappointed when so important a guest, after perceptibledeliberation, decisively removed his eyeglass and shook his head. Mrs.Daye was in the act of reminding herself of the probably impaireddigestion of a Chief Secretary, when he seemed suddenly recalled to thefact that she had spoken.

  “Really?” he said, looking fully at her, with a smile that had manyqualities of compensation. “My dear Mrs. Daye, that was doing a gooddeal for friendship, wasn’t it?”

  His eyes were certainly blue and expressive when he allowed them to be,his hostess thought, and he had the straight, thin, well-indicated nosewhich she liked, and a sensitive mouth for a man. His work as part ofthe great intelligent managing machine of the Government of Indiaoverimpressed itself upon the stamp of scholarship Oxford had left onhis face, which had the pallor of Bengal, with fatigued lines about theeyes, lines that suggested to Mr. Ancram’s friends the constant reproachof over-exertion. A light moustache, sufficiently well-curled andworldly, effectually prevented any tinge of asceticism which mightotherwise have been characteristic, and placed Mr. Ancram among thosewho discussed Meredith, had an expensive taste in handicrafts, andsubscribed to the _Figaro Salon_. His secretary’s stoop was not apronounced and local curve, rather a general thrusting forward of hispersonality which was fitting enough in a scientific investigator; andhis long, nervous, white hands spoke of a multitude of well-phrasedResolutions. It was ridiculous, Mrs. Daye thought, that with soagreeable a manner he should still convey the impression that one’sinterest in the Vedic Books was not of the least importance. It must bethat she was over-sensitive. But she would be piqued notwithstanding.Pique, when one is plump and knows how to hold oneself, is moreeffective than almost any other attitude.

  “You are exactly like all the rest! You think that no woman can possiblycare to read anything but novels! Now, as a matter of fact I am_devoted_ to things like Vedic Books. If I had nothing else to do Ishould dig and delve in the archaic from morning till night.”

  “The implication being,” returned Mr. Ancram sweetly, “that I havenothing else to do.”

  Mrs. Daye compressed her lips in the manner of one whose patience is atan end. “It would serve you perfectly right,” she exclaimed, “if Ididn’t tell you what a long review of it I saw the other day in one ofthe home papers.”

  Ancram looked up with an almost imperceptible accession of interest.

  “How nice!” he said lightly. “A fellow out here always feels himself inluck when his odds and ends get taken up at home. You don’t happen toremember the paper—or the date?”

  “I’m almost sure it was the _Times_,” Mrs. Daye replied, with rather anaccentuation of rejoiceful zeal; “but Richard can tell you. It was hewho drew my attention to the notice.”

  Mr. Ancram’s eyebrows underwent a slight contraction. “Notice” did notseem to be a felicitous word.

  “Oh, thanks,” he said. “Never mind; one generally comes across thosethings sooner or later.”

  “I say, Ancram,” put in Mr. St. George, who had been listening on Mrs.Daye’s left, “you Asiatic Society fellows won’t get as much out ofChurch for your investigations as you did out of Spence.”

  Ancram looked fixedly at a porcelain cherub that moored a boatful ofpink-and-white confectionery to the nearest bank of the Viceregal roses.“Sir Griffiths was certainly generous,” he said. “He gave Pierson aquarter of a lakh, for instance, to get his ethnological statisticstogether. It was easy to persuade him to recognise the value of thesethings.”

  “It won’t be easy to get this man to recognise it,” persisted St.George. “He’s the sort of fellow who likes sanitation better thanSanscrit. He’s got a great scheme on for improving the villagewater-supply for Bengal, and I hear he wants to reorganise thevaccination business. Great man for the people!”

  “Wants to spend every blessed pice on the bloomin’ ryot,” remarkedCaptain Delaine, with humorous resentment.

  “Let us hope the people will be grateful,” said Ancram vaguely.

  “They won’t, you know,” remarked Rhoda Daye to Mr. Pond. “They’ll neverknow. They are like the cattle—they plough and eat and sleep; and if atenth of them die of cholera from bad water, they say it was writtenupon their foreheads; and if Government cleans the tanks and the tenthare spared, they say it is a good year and the gods are favourable.”

  “Dear me!” said Mr. Pond: “that’s very interesting.”

  “Isn’t it? And there’s lots more of it—all in the Calcutta newspapers,Mr. Pond: you should read them if you wish to be informed.” And Mr. Pondthought that an excellent idea.

  When a Lieutenant-Governor drops into the conversational vortex of aCalcutta dinner-party he circles on indefinitely. The measure of hishospitality, the nature of his tastes, the direction of his policy, hisquality as a master, and the measure of his popularity, are only a fewof the heads under which he is discussed; while his wife is made themost of separately, with equal thoroughness and precision. Just beforeMrs. Daye looked smilingly at Mrs. St. George, and the ladies flockedaway, some one asked who Mrs. Church’s friends were in Calcutta, anyway:she seemed to know hardly any one person more than another—a delightfulimpartiality, the lady added, of course, after Lady Spence’sfavouritism. The remark fell lightly enough upon the air, but LewisAncram did not let it pass. He looked at nobody in particular, but intospace: it was a way he had when he let fall anything definite.

  “Well,” he said, “I hope I may claim to be one. My pretension dates backfive years—I used to know them in Kaligurh. I fancy Mrs. Church will beappreciated in Calcutta. She is that combination which is so much lessrare than it used to be—a woman who is as fine as she is clever, and asclever as she is charming.”

  “With all due deference to Mr. Ancram’s opinion,” remarked Mrs. Dayepublicly, with one hand upon the banister, as the ladies went up to thedrawing-room, “I should _not_ call Mrs. Church a fine woman. She’s muchtoo slender—really almost thin!”

  “My dear mummie,” exclaimed Rhoda, as Mrs. St. George expressed herentire concurrence, “don’t be stupid! He didn’t mean that.”

  Later Ancram stepped out of one of the open French windows and found heralone on the broad verandah, where orchids hung from the roof and bigplants in pots made a spiky gloom in the corners. A tank in the gardenglistened motionless below; the heavy fronds of a clump of sago palmswaved up and down uncertainly in the moonlight. Now and then in themoist, soft air the scent of some hidden temple tree made itself felt. Acluster of huts to the right in the street they looked down upon stoodhalf-concealed in a hanging blue cloud of smoke and fog. Far away in thesuburbs the wailing cry of the jackals rose and fell and recommenced;nearer the drub-drubbing of a tom-tom announced that somewhere in thebazar they kept a marriage festival. But for themselves and themoonlight and the shadow of the creeper round the pillars, the verandahwas quite empty, and through the windows came a song of Mrs. Delaine’sabout love’s little hour. The situation made its voiceless demand, andneither of them were unconscious of it. Nevertheless he, lighting acigarette, asked her if she would not come in and hear the
music; andshe said no—she liked it better there; whereat they both kept thesilence that was necessary for the appreciation of Mrs. Delaine’s song.When it was over, Rhoda’s terrier, Buzz, came out with inquiringcordiality, and they talked of the growth of his accomplishments sinceAncram had given him to her; and then, as if it were a development ofthe subject, Rhoda said:

  “Mrs. Church has a very interesting face, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” Ancram replied unhesitatingly.

  “She looks as if she cared for beautiful things. Not only pictures andthings, but beautiful conceptions—ideas, characteristics.”

  “I understand,” Ancram returned: “she does.”

  There was a pause, while they listened to the wail of the jackals, whichhad grown wild and high and tumultuous. As it died away, Rhoda looked upwith a little smile.

  “I like that,” she said; “it is about the only thing out here that isquite irrepressible. And—you knew her well at Kaligurh?”

  “I think I may say I did,” Ancram replied, tossing the end of hiscigarette down among the hibiscus bushes. “My dear girl, you must comein. There is nothing like a seductive moonlight night in India to giveone fever.”

  “I congratulate you,” said Miss Daye—and her tone had a defiance whichshe did not intend, though one could not say that she was unaware of itscynicism—“I congratulate you upon knowing her well. It is always anadvantage to know the wife of the Lieutenant-Governor well. The mostdelightful things come of it—Commissionerships, and all sorts of things.I hope you will make her understand the importance of the Vedic Books intheir bearing upon the modern problems of government.”

  “You are always asking me to make acknowledgments—you want almost toomany; but since it amuses you, I don’t mind.” Rhoda noted the littlegleam in his eyes that contradicted this. “Sanscrit is to me now exactlywhat Greek was at Oxford—a stepping-stone, and nothing more. One must dosomething to distinguish oneself from the herd; and in India, thankfortune, it’s easy enough. There’s an enormous field, and next to nobodyto beat. Bless you, a Commissariat Colonel can give himself an aureoleof scientific discovery out here if he cares to try! If I hadn’t takenup Sanscrit and Hinduism, I should have gone in for palæontology, orconchology, or folk-lore, or ferns. Anything does: only the less otherpeople know about it the better; so I took Sanscrit.” A combinedsuggestion of humour and candour gradually accumulated in Mr. Ancram’ssentences, which came to a climax when he added, “You don’t think itvery original to discover that!”

  “And the result of being distinguished from the herd?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, they don’t send one to administer theAndamans or Lower Burmah,” he said. “They conserve one’s intellectualachievements to adorn social centres of some importance, which is moreagreeable. And then, if a valuable post falls vacant, one is notconsidered disqualified for it by being a little wiser than otherpeople. Come now—there’s a very big confession for you! But you mustn’ttell. We scientists must take ourselves with awful seriousness if wewant to be impressive. That’s the part that bores one.”

  Mr. Ancram smiled down at his betrothed with distinct good-humour. Hewas under the impression that he had spontaneously given his soul anairing—an impression he was fond of. She listened, amused that she couldevoke so much, and returned to the thing he had evaded.

  “Between the Vedic Books and Mrs. Church,” she said, “our future seemsassured.”

  Ancram’s soul retired again, and shut the door with a click.

  “That is quite a false note,” he said coolly: “Mrs. Church will havenothing to do with it.”