The Compleat Bachelor Page 14

  XIV

  THE THINGS THAT ARE CAESAR'S

  Almost the whole of my female acquaintance seemed to be gathered in myrooms, and seemed, moreover, to be doing its collective best to persuademe of the superfluity of my presence. The occasion was the eve ofCaroline's wedding, and the natural interest I myself took in the eventpaled before the engrossing fascination it appeared to have for theseladies. The company consisted largely of Mrs. Loring Chatterton; but shewas ably supported by the remainder of her particular set and half adozen supernumerary bridesmaids, not one of whom--with the exception,perhaps, of a quiet little creature who sat apart and said nothing--butwould willingly have turned me out of house and home had she dared, as aperson who could perfectly well be dispensed with. From the whisperedconversations and secret conferences around me I was rigidly excluded,which I regretted the more as I felt I should have taken a peculiarpleasure in them.

  "My good man," said Mrs. Loring, striding over my feet with an armful ofbridesmaids' frippery, "what a lot of room you take up! You are sure youhave no engagement this evening?"

  "Nothing of importance, Mrs. Loring," I replied, looking up from anentry-book of bridal gifts I was curiously scanning, with mental notesof my own. "You may consider me entirely at your disposal. My duty ishere to-night of all nights; and when you and Mrs. Carmichael can spareCaroline, I also have certain advice to give her not inappropriate tothe occasion."

  "Don't you think you'd better go and give Arthur the benefit of yourwisdom?" she rejoined.

  "Alas," I replied, "it is too late--he cannot draw back now. He musttake the inevitable consequences of engagement. He has made his bed----"

  "I see no reason for your being indelicate, Mr. Butterfield," answeredMrs. Chatterton; and she rustled away, dignity in flounces.

  Never had my flat known such wealth of plate and tissue-paper. HadJupiter, in wooing Danae, adopted a silver currency, he could scarcehave crowded more lavishly the Grecian tower. Ladies slipped in and outof the miscellaneous collection with feminine calculations andjudgments, which I noted in secret joy, estimating, apparently, thewhole affair in its comparison with previous functions. And above all,and more insistent from their very quietness, were heard the mysteriousconfabulations.

  I crossed over to Mrs. Carmichael and Caroline. "Well, little sister," Isaid, glancing at Mrs. Carmichael, "and what unspeakable things has Mrs.Kit been telling you now?"

  "Oh, Rollo," she replied, placing her hand pleadingly on my sleeve, "shehasn't. Please don't tease me to-night, dear. I am not a bit happy. Ialmost wish I was not going to be married."

  "Then she has?" I returned. "Mrs. Kit, how could you? But there--you'reall alike. They're not in the least interested in you, Carrie, my dear.It's just a wedding. A woman and a bridecake----"

  "What do you know about it?" Mrs. Carmichael said disdainfully.

  "Madame," I replied, "the exultation of your sex in all that pertains toa wedding is barely fit for the contemplation of a bachelor. Cannot youdisguise your interest in some seemly manner?"

  "If you'll arrange these cards," she retorted, "instead of concerningyourself with things of no moment to you, you'll be of much moreservice. _Will_ you be so good as to label these presents--and with aslittle talk as is convenient to you?"

  This to me, mind, in my own house! I looked to Caroline to espouse mycause and to resent the outrage on my feelings; but she merely lookedplaintively. With a sigh, which Mrs. Kit, calling after me, qualified as"avoirdupois," I tried Mrs. Vicars, who was fluttering round the otherend of the glittering table, arranging the nuptial tribute in symphonicharmonies of the Kensington amateur order. Mrs. Vicars is aesthetic at astreet's length, and, as Millicent Dixon had once spitefully said, wearsher art upon her sleeves for Jays to laugh at. She was placing her ownoffering, something in plush and oil colour, modestly, shrinkingly, allbut out of sight.

  I was saying something about the spiritual reality of which all thisexternal show was but the outward symbol, when she cut me off.

  "Oh, Mr. Butterfield," she said, "why _did_ Cissie Bingham give Carolinea _green_ fan?"

  "Possibly, Mrs. Vicars," I replied, "for the same order of reason thatcauses a miller to wear a white hat."

  "But a green one--how horrid! Look at her complexion!" And she bent thetrifle coquettishly round her chin, with a well-studied sparkle over thetop of it--a lesson in feminine Arts and Crafts.

  "A fan, Mrs. Vicars," I replied, "may be used either for flirtation orconcealment--before marriage. Afterwards, only for the latter. In eithercase the appropriateness----"

  "I think you are very horrid, Mr. Butterfield," she answered, preeningthe openwork effervescence of her corsage and turning her shoulders tome in pique. "I believe Mrs. Bassishaw wants you."

  I tried my luck with Mrs. Bassishaw, Arthur's mother. Mrs. Bassishaw isa comely widow, as young as is compatible with having a son on the eveof marriage, and still possessing what her friends call "excellentchances." She made a place for me by her side.

  "You and I will be less in the way in this corner, Mr. Butterfield," shesaid, "and we can watch the young people. Doesn't this make you feelterribly old? I declare I feel myself ageing already."

  She passed her hand over her glossy hair.

  "I also feel it keenly, Mrs. Bassishaw," I replied.

  "And only think, Mr. Butterfield," she continued, "should--should youbecome an uncle, I shall be a grandmother! Oh, I do hope they'll becomfortable--and happy!"

  "I have not a doubt, Mrs. Bassishaw," I answered, "that they will beexceedingly comfortable--and becomingly happy."

  "Only that?" she inquired.

  "Is not that a good deal?" I replied.

  "They are, I believe, made for each other; but I do not expect anythingepic from either of them, nor will they, so far as I can see, mark thebeginning of an aeon in the annals of matrimony."

  "You are very hard on them, Mr. Butterfield--poor things!" sheanswered--apparently because I had not granted them the beginning of anaeon. Thus does one suffer for principle! I rose to interview anautomatic reporter from a fashion paper, whom Mrs. Loring handed over tome with a request to be good enough to take the thing seriously. I toldhim that the presents were numerous and costly, including--here followeda list; and crossed over to a knot of frolicking bridesmaids that wasgabbling millinery in one corner.

  These young ladies had apparently a good deal to say; and prominentamong the chatter could be heard Miss Nellie Bassishaw's voice declaringthat something or other of hers was of a poorer quality of silk thansome one else's; which was always the way, she remarked, with a grown-uptoss of the head, when one bought six gowns at the same shop. Miss FloBassishaw and another maid were talking simultaneously, the one sayingthat the organist was sure to play the march too soulfully for it to beof much use as walking music, and the other that old----(a respectedfriend of mine) could afford to give cheap salad bowls now that he hadmarried all his daughters. And above all, and to an extent that was anenlightenment even to me, the pairing arrangements for the breakfastwere discussed with a freedom and pointedness that took entireprecedence of any other significance the occasion might have. In thistheme again Miss Nellie revelled.

  "I don't care," she said, "I shall ask Carrie. He's not a bit too old;and I _have_ met him before--you haven't. I'm not going to be bored todeath by Jack Somers, and have to do all the talking myself; and that'smy decision," she said irrevocably.

  "We shall have _our_ hair up to-morrow, too," returned Flo, with thespiteful familiarity of a younger sister, "and I shall hear every wordyou say, because I shall be on the other side."

  "I don't know why they ask such a crowd," another half-blown bud ofsixteen joined in. "I expect Rollo Butterfield went to school with mostof them--they're old enough."

  And fat enough--and dull enough--and bald enough--the poise of her chinseemed to say. I admired her confidence.

  "And what about----?" a nod of Miss Nellie's head gave the
direction tomy eyes. I looked, and saw apparently unheeded by the noisy group, thepretty, timid creature I had remarked once or twice before, an importedcousin of somebody's, condemned to wear pink because it suited the rest.She was out in the cold; but something in the abstracted quietness ofher pose told me it was perhaps as much from choice as from thepassing-over of her companions.

  "Oh," Miss Flo replied, "she can go somewhere near RolloButterfield--she'll be less awkward near him than with anybody else. Andthen Jack Somers."

  Seeing myself so allotted, I thought it well to make the acquaintancebeforehand of the maid for whose conversational flow I was to beresponsible. I skirted the group, and sat down by her.

  "I see you're taking a short rest from your duties, Aggie," I remarked."Are you having a good time?"

  "Yes, thank you, Mr. Butterfield," she answered shyly. "I think it's alllovely."

  "The dresses and things?" I asked.

  "No," she replied, turning grey eyes upon me. "Mr. Bassishaw and thewedding--and Caroline. The presents don't matter much, do they, Mr.Butterfield?"

  I looked around in some doubt.

  "I don't know, Aggie," I returned. "Every one appears to think a gooddeal of--that sort of thing--except you--and me. I think we shall befriends, Aggie."

  "Thank you, Mr. Butterfield." The grey eyes looked into some middledistance that I could not follow. "Caroline does look nice," she added,making an admission that for some reason did not seem easy to her. "But,of course, she's your sister, and brothers do not think of that. Youngbrothers, I mean."

  "Your brothers are young, then, Aggie?"

  "Yes; and they say no one will ever want to marry _me_; but that is whenI won't be tied to a table for them to fight about--an imprisonedprincess, you know. It doesn't matter--now," she added, half to herself,and apparently forgetful of my presence.

  "And you don't like--all this?" I inquired, designating the surroundingbustle with my hand.

  "No," she replied in the same half-musing tone. "_We_ shouldn't havewanted bridesmaids and things, you know.--Of course"--she momentarilyremembered my position--"it's all lovely; but we should just have goneaway somewhere and not have had anybody but perhaps a maid. We shouldn'thave wanted anyone else, you know; and we should have lived there everso long. That would have been nice."

  She was scarcely talking to me; but I replied:

  "It is the ideal wedding, Aggie, although it is only for the few--thereare relations and people. I trust you will make a success of it. I hopeyou will allow _me_ to make you a present, though?"

  She raised her head again with the same remote look. I noticed a finegold chain round her neck, the end of which disappeared in her bosom.

  "It won't ever be quite the same," she replied. "Perhaps some day Ishall have forgotten----"

  I looked at the chain and spoke quietly.

  "Is that----?"

  "Yes," she replied, her hand going softly to her breast. "I cut it outof a group, but he didn't give it to me. You don't mind if I don't showit to you, do you, Mr. Butterfield? You don't know what it is to loseanybody--like that."

  "You forget I am losing a sister, Aggie," I answered. She thought amoment, and then made a sudden resolve. She spoke softly and almostmechanically.

  "I think I will tell you, Mr. Butterfield. I wouldn't tell"--she lookedround--"any one else, but--I trust you, Mr. Butterfield. I haven't givenCaroline my present yet--I haven't made up my mind. I've got two, ahandkerchief case, and--this. I could give her the handkerchiefcase--anybody can give handkerchief cases--or the other. Anybodywouldn't give the other. I can't keep it, Mr. Butterfield. Look."

  She glanced round, and drew the small locket from her neck and openedit. It was Bassishaw's portrait, a poor, ragged production, cut out, asshe had said, from some larger picture. I half glanced at it,understanding without looking.

  "It is worth more than a handkerchief case," she continued, speakingvery low, "and I know Caroline would value it more, if I told her. Ifanybody did that to me I should--I should love them. Wouldn't you, Mr.Butterfield?"

  I made no reply. Poor Aggie! She was only sixteen, and would get overit; but it was real to her, and she was very brave. She went on:

  "And that's why I don't like all these things, Mr. Butterfield. Whatwould you do?"

  Mrs. Carmichael was signalling for me across the room. I rose and tookAggie's hand.

  "My dear," I replied, "you have a truer instinct in these things than I.Whatever you do will be right, I know; and a fat, blundering man wouldspoil it. We sit together at breakfast to-morrow. I'm very glad."

  And, in response to Mrs. Carmichael's imperious summons, I left her andplunged again into the general bewilderment.

  Shortly afterwards I heard Mrs. Vicars's voice.

  "Oh, look, Caroline, what a _sweet_ handkerchief case Agnes there hasgiven you!"