The Compleat Bachelor Read online

  III

  A MILITARY MANOEUVRE

  I had feigned to change my mind several times with regard to Bassishaw'sgarden-party, but Carrie had suddenly developed accentuated ideas on thesubject of engagement-keeping.

  "We promised, you know, Rol," she said, "and it would look so bad to runoff. I don't suppose it will be much fun," she added candidly.

  She was mistaken. It would be great fun.

  On the way thither I entertained her blandly on the subject of unmarriedlife. I pointed out to her the advantages of a brother and sister livinghappily together, as, say, in our own case. I argued on the holy bondsof kinship, and congratulated her on having a brother who would devotethe whole of his life to making her comfortable. How happy we were!

  Carrie moved uneasily in her seat. She endeavoured to change thesubject. Her conscience wrought within her--she was a guilty traitor,and deceiving the kindest of brothers. Had she been less in love, shemight have suspected something, as I continued in the same strain; butsuch is not the way of youth. Her arts might have been transparent to mefor months and months, yet she would at last break the great secret withmost delicious gentleness, in stammers and blushes, and I would show adramatic surprise and shock. We see other people's progress, but our ownlove affairs are always unguessed.

  It was a great relief to Carrie when we arrived at the Bassishaws'. Thestrain was getting embarrassing. A straight military young figure hadevidently been on the look-out for our conveyance, for he made severalfalse starts, and almost supplanted the more ceremonious reception duefrom his mother. This little formality through, he pounced on us atonce.

  "How d'ye do, Miss Butterfield? Do, Butterfield?" he said warmly. "Soglad you've come."

  "Thank you," I replied. "I was rather afraid I'd have to let Carrie comealone, but I managed to arrange it."

  A shade of regret was visible in his eyes, but he bore it nicely. He is"white," as Carmichael would have said.

  "Of course," he said, "Miss Butterfield would have been all right, youknow, but I'm glad you came too."

  I believe he was. Saying so seemed to make him so.

  We walked up the garden, I in the middle. Carrie received an occasionalbow, but we didn't know many people there. This was young Bassishaw'sexcuse for conducting us personally, and he pointed out various peopleas "men you ought to know, you know, Butterfield." I betrayed no greatdesire for the acquaintanceship. I was not to be shaken off.

  Bassishaw was piloting us into the most frequented parts. This young manwas manoeuvring, with more skill than I had given him credit for, to dropme. Carrie had my arm, and as Bassishaw stopped at the various groups Imade surer of it by a little closing in of my elbow. He had theadvantage of a tactician's knowledge, but I had the larger experience.He led us towards the base of operations, the refreshment tent, where hecalculated to play on the natural interest I should take in thecommissariat department. He gave me a hint of a private canteen--it wasgood strategy, I was very thirsty--but I held out. He showed a greatdesire to introduce me to personages, but I replied to his big guns witha harassing fire of conversational small-arms. He really did very well,and my respect for him increased. Personal strategy was his line, but Iheld him in the field of mental manoeuvres.

  He had pointed out some snowy-whiskered old general, and had held forthin his redundant way on the fascinating personality of the man. I madehim a text for an army discourse.

  "Do you know, Bassishaw," I said, "I cannot sufficiently admire youmilitary men. You are the outposts of a nation, who make all that ishappy and peaceful at home possible. You sacrifice yourselves oninaccessible Indian hills, you scorch under African suns, while all youlove is left behind you in England. You do not marry--that is, the truesoldier thinks it inconsistent with his duty,--and you leave all youcare for to fight the battles of a less devoted society. It isself-sacrificing; and when you return, it is to a bachelor's old age,like the general there."

  "Oh, I don't know, Butterfield," he replied. "Lots of our soldiersmarry, you know."

  I could feel Carrie's arm trembling on mine. I continued:

  "That is another instance of their nobility. It makes their duty all theharder. They have to leave their wives, and worship them only in theideal sense. They see them, perhaps, only once in ten years, unless theyhave risen to responsible posts. It is a great devotion."

  "But, Rol," said Carrie timidly, "lots of women are glad to go abroadwith their husbands, and--and nurse, and that kind of thing."

  "Then," I replied, "they but unnerve the warrior in the hour of histrial. He does not fight for his country, but for his wife. No. It isthe bachelor soldier who has my veneration."

  "That's all very well, you know, Butterfield," protested the bachelorsoldier uneasily, "but, confound it, it's hard enough without that. Hangit all," he broke out, "if you've got that fancy sort of thing in yourhead, why didn't you join the army yourself? You're a bachelor, youknow, and it would be a jolly lot easier for you to be a hero than--theother poor beggars."

  I smiled. "It is just as necessary that the soldier should have worthypeople to defend," I replied. "No, Bassishaw, the soldier's watchword issingleness. He is as great a solitary as that other one, who devotes hislife to writing. The soldier knows he is doing some good--the writertakes the risk."

  "But writers often----" began Bassishaw.

  "And soldiers----" said Carrie at the same time.

  "Both cut themselves off in a voluntary abnegation," I replied. "Theyscorn the smaller comforts; the one worships his art, the other hisduty. Look at Loring and his wife, there. They look happy, andcomfortable, and pretty; they have gentle, domestic pleasures. But theyhave no conception of the grandeur of duty. They do not know the sternjoys of the warrior, they----"

  I had been so rapt in my idea that for the moment my guard was down. Thewatchful foe took instant advantage of it. Unseen by me, he had quietlybeckoned to Loring, who crossed over to us.

  "Rollo," he said, "my wife wants to speak to you a moment mostparticularly. She is waiting there."

  I was out-manoeuvred--the ally had taken me in the flank. I couldn'tresist. I looked at them, and then at Mrs. Loring, who was waiting,tapping her toe with her parasol. There was no way out. I turned away,and, looking over my shoulder, saw the triumphant foe turn the corner ofthe greenhouse into the shrubbery, a road of the third class, impassablefor artillery.

  "Now, Mrs. Loring," I said, smarting under my defeat; "I am glad to seeyou. What do you want?"

  "Oh, Mr. Butterfield," she returned effusively, "I've been wanting tospeak to you all the afternoon. Isn't it a lovely day?"

  "It is a lovely day; a lovely day," I replied. "I have been greatlystruck by the beauty of the day."

  "It is perfect," she said, endeavouring to gain time. "Oh, how nice itis to be young, Mr. Butterfield!"

  "Mrs. Loring," I answered severely, "did you send for me to tell me itwas a lovely day, and that it was nice to be young?"

  "Of course not," she replied, much embarrassed. "I wanted--I wanted totalk to you. I wanted--oh, do help me, Loring."

  "Molly wanted to tell you, Rollo----" began Chatterton.

  I silenced him with a peremptory wave of the hand.

  "Molly wanted to tell me something I didn't know," I replied. "Mollywanted to tell me that I was blind and deaf and stupid, and that Icouldn't see what was under my nose. She wanted to tell me of afternoonappointments at her house, and Heaven knows what sort of carrying on.She wanted----"

  "Well, you shouldn't tease them so," replied Mrs. Loring, illogical,after the manner of women, but staunch.

  "Madam," I said, "I am not so fatuous as to suppose that if two youngpersons intend to practise idolatry on one another, my wisdom andexperience will stop them. But I have been plotted against, have beentold nothing; and I am entitled to get what melancholy amusement I canout of the affair. You have spoiled my entertainment."

  I adjusted my hat to an angle suggestive
of rectitude, and bowed myselfaway. I made for my hostess, and had myself presented to the general.

  "You have a promising young strategist in our young friend Bassishaw," Iremarked.

  "In what way?" he inquired.

  "He has turned the flank of a superior force, and is in retreat with ahostage," I replied.

  When, half an hour afterwards, I again encountered the victorious enemy,they made straight for me. I received them with dignity.

  "Rollo, dear," began my sister, laying her hand affectionately on mysleeve, and coming very close to me, "we have something to say to you."

  Her voice was almost a whisper.

  "Yes," said Bassishaw. "You see it's this way, Butterfield, I've askedCaroline to be my wife. I know it's too bad not to have let you into it,but, hang it all, you don't encourage a chap much, you know. You're sodeuced quizzy, you know. And, I say, Butterfield. That was all rot aboutsoldiers not marrying, now, wasn't it? I know you're a good chap,Butterfield, and you'll let me have Carrie, won't you?"

  I was afraid he was going to say I should not lose a sister but gain abrother; but he didn't. My spirit was broken; I had no dramatic surpriseleft in me. Carrie looked up pleadingly, with a tiny little tear in oneeye.

  "It's 'yes,' isn't it, Butterfield?" said Bassishaw. "You're the onlyone to ask, you know. And if it isn't 'yes,' you know----"

  Talented young man! He knew when to press a yielding foe. I sighed, andtook an arm of each. I feebly tried to recover my old authority, butthey talked laughingly across me, and I knew what sort of glances werepassing behind my head. I was led captive to Chatterton and his wife.Action was better than insight after all.