CHAPTER XVII.
HOW TITA SUGGESTS A GAME OF BLIND MAN'S BUFF, AND WHAT COMES OF IT.
"Well, I hardly can," says Tita, struggling with her memory. "He seems a big man, with—airs, you know, and—and——"
"Trousers!" puts in Mr. Gower. "I assure you," looking confidently around him, "the checks on his trousers are so loud, that one can hear him rattle as he walks."
"Oh! is that the Mr. Warbeck?" says Minnie. "I know; I met him in town last July."
"You met a hero of romance, then," says Gower. "That is, a thing out of the common."
"I know him too," says Mrs. Chichester, who has been thinking. "A big man, a sort of giant?"
"A horrid man!" says Tita.
Mrs. Chichester looks at her as if amused.
"Why horrid?" asks she.
"Oh, I don't know," says Tita, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't like him, anyway."
"I'm sure I'm not surprised," says Tom Hescott.
He takes a step closer to Tita, as if to protect her. It seems hideous to him that she should have to discuss—that she should even have known him.
"Well, neither am I," says Mrs. Chichester. "He _is _horrid, and as ugly as the——" She had the grace to stop here, and change her sentence. "As ugly can be."
It is a lame conclusion, but she is consoled for it by the fact that some of her audience understand what the natural end of that sentence would have been.
"And what manners!" says she. "After all," with a pretty little shake of her head, "what can you expect of a man with hair as red as a carrot?"
"Decency, at all events," says Tom Hescott coldly.
"Oh! That—last of all," says Mrs. Chichester.
"Lady Warbeck is a very charming old lady," says Margaret Knollys, breaking into the conversation with a view to changing it.
"Yes," says Mrs. Chichester. She laughs mischievously. "And such a delightful contrast to her son! She is so good."
"She's funny, isn't she?" says Tita, throwing back her lovely little head, and laughing as if at some late remembrance.
"No; good—good!" insists Mrs. Chichester. "Captain Marryatt, were you with me when she called that day in town? No? Oh! well," with a little glance meant for him alone—a glance that restores him at once to good humour, and his position as her slave once more—"you ought to have been."
"What did she say, then?" asks Minnie Hescott.
"Nothing to signify, really. But as a contrast to her son, she is perhaps, as Lady Rylton has just said, 'funny.' It was about a book—a book we are all reading nowadays; and she said she couldn't recommend it to me, as it bordered on impropriety! I was so enchanted."
"I know the book you mean," says Mrs. Bethune, who has just sauntered up to them in her slow, graceful fashion.
"Well, of course," says Mrs. Chichester. "Such nonsense condemning it! As if anybody worried about impropriety nowadays. Why, it has gone out of fashion. It is an exploded essence. Nobody gives it a thought."
"That is fatally true," says old Miss Gower in a sepulchral tone. She has been sitting in a corner near them, knitting sedulously until now. But now she uplifts her voice. She uplifts her eyes, too, and fixes them on Mrs. Chichester the frivolous. "Do your own words never make you shiver?" asks she austerely.
"Never," gaily; "I often wish they would in warm weather."
Miss Gower uprears herself.
"Be careful, woman! be careful!" says she gloomily. "There is a warmer climate in store for some of us than has been ever known on earth!"
She turns aside abruptly, and strides from the room.
Randal Gower gives way to mirth, and so do most of the others. Mrs. Chichester, it is true, laughs a little, but Tita can see that the laughter is somewhat forced.
She goes quickly up to her and slips her hand into hers.
"Don't mind her," says she. "As if a little word here and there would count, when one has a good heart, and I know you have one. We shall all go to heaven, I think, don't you? Don't mind what she hinted about—about that other place, you know."
"Eh?" says Mrs. Chichester, staring at her as if astonished.
"I saw you didn't like it," says Tita.
"Well, I didn't," says Mrs. Chichester, pouting.
"No, of course, one wouldn't."
"One wouldn't what?"
"Like to be told that one would have to go to—you know."
"Oh, I see," says Mrs. Chichester, with some disgust. "Is that what you mean? Oh, I shouldn't care a fig about that!"
"About what, then?" asks Tita anxiously.
"Well, I didn't like to be called a woman!" says Mrs. Chichester, frowning.
"Oh!" says Tita.
"Lady Rylton, where are you? You said you were going to get up blind man's buff," cries someone at this moment.
"Yes, yes, indeed. Maurice, will you come and help us?" says Tita, seeing her husband, and going to him gladly, as a means of getting out of her ridiculous interview with Mrs. Chichester, which has begun to border on burlesque.
"Certainly," says Sir Maurice; he speaks rapidly, eagerly, as if desirous of showing himself devoted to any project of hers.
"Well, then, come on—come on," cries she, gaily beckoning to her guests right and left, and carrying them off, a merry train, to the ball-room.
"Now, who'll be blinded first?" asks Mr. Gower, who has evidently constituted himself Master of the Ceremonies.
"You!" cries Miss Hescott.
"Not at all. There is only one fair way of arranging that," says Tita. "I'll show you. Now," turning to her husband, "make them all catch hands, Maurice—all in a ring, don't you know—and I'll show you."
They all catch hands; there is a slight tussle between Captain Marryatt and Mr. Gower (who is nothing if not a born nuisance wherever he goes), as to which of them is to take Mrs. Chichester's right hand. This, providentially, is arranged by Mr. Gower's giving in, and consenting on a grimace from her to take her left hand. Not that he wants it. Tom Hescott has shown himself desirous of taking Tita's small fingers into his possession for the time being, at all events—a fact pointed out to Rylton by Mrs. Bethune with a low, amused little laugh; but Tita had told him to go away, as she couldn't give her hand to anybody for a moment, as she was going to have the conduct of the affair.
"Now, are you all ready?" asks she, and seeing them standing in a circle, hands entwined, she runs suddenly to Maurice, disengages his hand from Mrs. Bethune's with a little airy grace, gives her right hand to the latter, and the left to Maurice, and, having so joined the broken ring again, leans forward.
"Now," cries she gaily, her lovely little face lit up with excitement, "who ever the last word comes to, he or she will have to hunt us! See?"
She takes her right hand from Mrs. Bethune's, that she may point her little forefinger at each one in succession, and begins her incantation with Mr. Gower, who is directly opposite to her, nodding her head at each mystic word; and, indeed, so far as the beginning of it goes, this strange chant of hers mystifies everybody—everybody except Tom Hescott, who has played this game with her before, in the not so very distant past—Tom Hescott, who is now gazing at her with a most profound regard, all his soul in his eyes, oblivious of the fact that two pairs of eyes, at all events, are regarding _him _very curiously.
"Hena, Dena, Dina, Dus."
"Good heavens!" interrupts Mr. Gower, with extravagant admiration. "What command of language! I"—to miss Hescott—"didn't know she was a linguist, did you?"
"Calto, Wheela, Kila, Kus."
"Oh, I say!" murmurs Mr. Gower faintly. "It can't be right, can it, to say 'cuss words' at us like that? Oh, really, Rylton, _would _you mind if I retired?"
"Hot pan, Mustard, Jan,
Tiddledum, taddledum, twenty-one,
You raise up the latch, and walk straight out."
The last word falls on Tom Hescott. "Out" comes to him.
"There, Tom! You must be blindfolded," says Tita delightfully.
"Who's got a big handkerchief?"
"I wouldn't stand that, Hescott, if I were you," says Colonel
Neilson, laughing.
"What is it?" asks Tom, who is a little abstracted.
"Nothing much," says Mrs. Chichester mischievously. "Except that Lady Rylton says your head is so big that she has sent to the housekeeper for a young sheet to tie it up in."
Hescott smiles. He can well afford his smile, his head being wonderfully handsome, not too small, but slender and beautifully formed.
"Give me yours," says Tita, thrusting her hand into her husband's pocket and pulling out his handkerchief.
The little familiar action sends a sharp pang through Mrs. Bethune's heart.
"Now, Tom, come and be decorated," cries Tita. Hescott advances to her, and stops as if waiting. "Ah!" cries she, "do you imagine I could ever get up there!"
She raises both her arms to their fullest height, which hardly brings her pretty hands even to a level with his forehead. She stands so for a moment, laughing at him through the gracefully uplifted arms. It is a coquettish gesture, though certainly innocent, and nobody, perhaps, would have thought anything of it but for the quick, bright light that springs into Hescott's eyes. So she might stand if she were about to fling her arms around his neck.
"Down on your knees," cries Tita, giving herself the airs of a little queen.
Hescott drops silently on to them. He has never once removed his gaze from hers. Such a strange gaze! One or two of the men present grow amused, all the women interested. Margaret Knollys makes an involuntary step forward, and then checks herself.
"There!" says Tita, who has now bound the handkerchief over Hescott's eager eyes. "Now are you sure you can't see? Not a blink?" She turns up his chin, and examines him carefully. "I'm certain you can see out of this one," says she, and pulls the handkerchief a little farther over the offending eye. "Now, get up. 'How many horses in your father's stable?'"
This is an embarrassing question, or ought to be, as Mr. Hescott's father is dead; but he seems quite up to it. Indeed, it now occurs to Sir Maurice that this cannot be the first time he has played blind man's buff with his cousin.
"'Three white and three gray.'"
"An excellent stud!" says Mr. Gower.
But Tita is not thinking of frivolities. Like Elia's old lady, the "rigour of game" is all she cares for. She gives Tom Hescott one or two little turns.
"'Then turn about, and turn about,'" says she, suiting the action to the word, "'And you don't catch me till May-day.'"
With this, she gives him a delicate little shove, and, picking up the train of her gown, springs lightly backwards to the wall behind her.
And now the fun grows fast and furious. Hescott, who, I regret to say, must have disarranged that handkerchief once for all, is making great running with the lady guests. As Mr. Gower remarks, it is perfectly wonderful how well he and Marryatt and the other men can elude him. There is no difficulty at all about it! Whereas Mrs. Chichester is in danger of her life any moment, and Mrs. Bethune has had several narrow escapes. Tita, who is singularly nimble (fairies usually are), has been able to dart to and fro with comparative ease; but Margaret Knollys, who, to everybody's immense surprise, is enjoying herself down to the ground, was very nearly caught once.
"That was a near shave," says Colonel Neilson, who happens to be near her when she runs, flushed and laughing, to the doorway. And then—"How you are enjoying yourself!"
"Yes. Isn't it foolish of me," says she; but she laughs still.
"It is the essence of wisdom," says Neilson.
Here a little giggle from Mrs. Chichester tells of her having been nearly caught. And now, now there is a skirmish down there, and presently they can see Hescott drawing Tita reluctantly forward.
Tita is making frantic signs to Mr. Gower.
"It's not a fair capture unless you can guess the name of your captive," says Gower, in answer to that frantic if silent appeal.
Hescott raises his right hand, pretends to feel blindly in the air for a moment, then his hand falls on Tita's sunny little head. It wanders on her short curls—it is a very slow wandering.
Mrs. Bethune looks up at Rylton, who is standing beside her.
"Do you still doubt?" asks she, in a low whisper.
"Doubt! I am a past master at it," says he bitterly. "I should be! You taught me!"
"I! Oh, Maurice!"
"Yes—you! Yesterday, as it seems to me, I believed in everyone.
To-day I doubt every soul I meet."
At this point Hescott's "doubts," at all events, seem to be set at rest. His hand has ceased to wander over the pretty head, and in a low tone he says:
"Titania!"
This word is meant for Tita alone. A second later he calls aloud:
"Lady Rylton!"
But Maurice and Mrs. Bethune, who had been standing just behind him, had heard that whispered first word.
"Oh, you rare right," says Tita petulantly. "But you would never have known me but for my hair. And I hate being blindfolded, too. Maurice, will you take it for me?" holding out to him the handkerchief.
"No!" says Rylton quietly, but decisively—so decisively that Mrs.
Chichester suddenly hides her face behind her fan.
"What a No!" says she to Captain Marryatt. "Did you hear it? What's the matter with him?"
"He's jealous, perhaps," says Captain Marryatt.
Mrs. Chichester gives way to wild, if suppressed, mirth.
"Heavens! Fancy being jealous of one's own wife!" says she. "Now, if it had been anyone else's——"
"Yes, there would be reason in that!" says Captain Marryatt, so gloomily that her mirth breaks forth afresh.
He is always a joy to her, this absurd young man, who, in spite of barbs and shafts, follows at her chariot wheels with a determination worthy of a better cause.
Gower, who also had heard that quiet "No," had come instantly forward, and entreated Tita to blindfold him. And once more the fun is at its height. Hescott, as compared with Randal Gower, is not even in it in this game. The latter simulates the swallow, and even outdoes that wily bird in his swift dartings to and fro. Great is his surprise, and greater still his courage—this last is acknowledged by all—when, on a final swoop round the room with arms extended, he suddenly closes them round the bony form of Miss Gower, who had returned five minutes ago, and who, silent and solitary, is standing in a distant corner breathing anathemas upon the game.
Everyone stops dead short—everyone looks at the ceiling; surely it must fall! There had been a general, if unvoiced, opinion up to this that Mr. Gower could see; but now he is at once exonerated, and may leave the dock at any moment without a stain upon his character.
"Come away! come away!" whisper two or three behind his back.
Mrs. Chichester pulls frantically at his coat-tails; but Mr. Gower holds on. He passes his hand over Miss Gower's gray head.
"It is—it is—it must be!" cries he, in a positive tone.
"It"—here his hand flies swiftly down her warlike nose—"it is
Colonel Neilson!" declares he, with a shout of triumph.
"Unhand me, sir!" cries Miss Gower.
She had not spoken up to this—but to compare her to a man! She moves majestically forward. Gower unhands her, and, lifting one side of his would-be blind, regards her fixedly.
"It was the nose!" He looks round reproachfully at Neilson. "Just see what you've let me in for!" says he.
"Don't talk to me, sir!" cries his aunt indignantly. "Make no excuses—none need be made! When one plays demoralizing games in daylight, one should be prepared for anything;" and with this she once more leaves the room.
"Ah, we should have played demoralizing games at midnight," says Mr. Gower, who doesn't look half as much ashamed of himself as he ought, "then we should have been all right."
Here somebody who is standing at one of the windows says suddenly:
"It is clearing!"
"Is it?" cries Tita. "Then I suppose we ought to go out! But what a pity we couldn't have another game first!"
She looks very sorry.
"You certainly seemed to enjoy it," says Sir Maurice with a cold smile, as he passes her.