And now you remain in England? the young man asked.
Oh yes; Ive bought a small house in London.
And I hope you like it, said Overt, looking at Mrs. St. George.
Well, a little house in Manchester Squaretheres a limit to the enthusiasm that inspires.
Oh I meant being at home againbeing back in Piccadilly.
My daughter likes Piccadillythats the main thing. Shes very fond of art and music and literature and all that kind of thing. She missed it in India and she finds it in London, or she hopes shell find it. Mr. St. George has promised to help herhe has been awfully kind to her. She has gone to churchshes fond of that toobut theyll all be back in a quarter of an hour. You must let me introduce you to hershell be so glad to know you. I dare say she has read every blest word youve written.
I shall be delightedI havent written so very many, Overt pleaded, feeling, and without resentment, that the General at least was vagueness itself about that. But he wondered a little why, expressing this friendly disposition, it didnt occur to the doubtless eminent soldier to pronounce the word that would put him in relation with Mrs. St. George. If it was a question of introductions Miss Fancourtapparently as yet unmarriedwas far away, while the wife of his illustrious confrère was almost between them. This lady struck Paul Overt as altogether pretty, with a surprising juvenility and a high smartness of aspect, something thathe could scarcely have said whyserved for mystification. St. George certainly had every right to a charming wife, but he himself would never have imagined the important little woman in the aggressively Parisian dress the partner for life, the alter ego, of a man of letters. That partner in general, he knew, that second self, was far from presenting herself in a single type: observation had taught him that she was not inveterately, not necessarily plain. But he had never before seen her look so much as if her prosperity had deeper foundations than an ink-spotted study-table littered with proof-sheets. Mrs. St. George might have been the wife of a gentleman who kept books rather than wrote them, who carried on great affairs in the City and made better bargains than those that poets mostly make with publishers. With this she hinted at a success more personala success peculiarly stamping the age in which society, the world of conversation, is a great drawing-room with the City for its antechamber. Overt numbered her years at first as some thirty, and then ended by believing that she might approach her fiftieth. But she somehow in this case juggled away the excess and the differenceyou only saw them in a rare glimpse, like the rabbit in the conjurers sleeve. She was extraordinarily white, and her every element and item was pretty; her eyes, her ears, her hair, her voice, her hands, her feetto which her relaxed attitude in her wicker chair gave a great publicityand the numerous ribbons and trinkets with which she was bedecked. She looked as if she had put on her best clothes to go to church and then had decided they were too good for that and had stayed at home. She told a story of some length about the shabby way Lady Jane had treated the Duchess, as well as an anecdote in relation to a purchase she had made in Parison her way back from Cannes; made for Lady Egbert, who had never refunded the money. Paul Overt suspected her of a tendency to figure great people as larger than life, until he noticed the manner in which she handled Lady Egbert, which was so sharply mutinous that it reassured him. He felt he should have understood her better if he might have met her eye; but she scarcely so much as glanced at him. Ah here they comeall the good ones! she said at last; and Paul Overt admired at his distance the return of the church-goersseveral persons, in couples and threes, advancing in a flicker of sun and shade at the end of a large green vista formed by the level grass and the overarching boughs.
If you mean to imply that were bad, I protest, said one of the gentlemenafter making ones self agreeable all the morning!
Ah if theyve found you agreeable! Mrs. St. George gaily cried. But if were good the others are better.
They must be angels then, said the amused General.
Your husband was an angel, the way he went off at your bidding, the gentleman who had first spoken declared to Mrs. St. George.
At my bidding?
Didnt you make him go to church?
I never made him do anything in my life but oncewhen I made him burn up a bad book. Thats all! At her Thats all! our young friend broke into an irrepressible laugh; it lasted only a second, but it drew her eyes to him. His own met them, though not long enough to help him to understand her; unless it were a step towards this that he saw on the instant how the burnt bookthe way she alluded to it!would have been one of her husbands finest things.
A bad book? her interlocutor repeated.
I didnt like it. He went to church because your daughter went, she continued to General Fancourt. I think it my duty to call your attention to his extraordinary demonstrations to your daughter.
Well, if you dont mind them I dont, the General laughed.
Il sattache à ses pas. But I dont wondershes so charming.
I hope she wont make him burn any books! Paul Overt ventured to exclaim.
If shed make him write a few it would be more to the purpose, said Mrs. St. George. He has been of a laziness of late!
Our young man staredhe was so struck with the ladys phraseology. Her Write a few seemed to him almost as good as her Thats all. Didnt she, as the wife of a rare artist, know what it was to produce one perfect work of art? How in the world did she think they were turned on? His private conviction was that, admirably as Henry St. George wrote, he had written for the last ten years, and especially for the last five, only too much, and there was an instant during which he felt inwardly solicited to make this public. But before he had spoken a diversion was effected by the return of the absentees. They strolled up dispersedlythere were eight or ten of themand the circle under the trees rearranged itself as they took their place in it. They made it much larger, so that Paul Overt could feelhe was always feeling that sort of thing, as he said to himselfthat if the company had already been interesting to watch the interest would now become intense. He shook hands with his hostess, who welcomed him without many words, in the manner of a woman able to trust him to understand and conscious that so pleasant an occasion would in every way speak for itself. She offered him no particular facility for sitting by her, and when they had all subsided again he found himself still next General Fancourt, with an unknown lady on his other flank.
Thats my daughterthat one opposite, the General said to him without lose of time. Overt saw a tall girl, with magnificent red hair, in a dress of a pretty grey-green tint and of a limp silken texture, a garment that clearly shirked every modern effect. It had therefore somehow the stamp of the latest thing, so that our beholder quickly took her for nothing if not contemporaneous.
Shes very handsomevery handsome, he repeated while he considered her. There was something noble in her head, and she appeared fresh and strong.
Her good father surveyed her with complacency, remarking soon: She looks too hotthats her walk. But shell be all right presently. Then Ill make her come over and speak to you.