CHAPTER XXVI
THE MEETING
The new arrival in Charles Street soon discovered that he had by no means bettered his position, on the contrary, appeared to have gone out of the frying-pan, into the fire! Four years had wrought surprising changes in the ménage: Lord Torquilstone had become "more so," as Mayne mentally expressed it; his moustache was blacker, his coat more padded, his temper more irascible, than formerly. He belonged to a type of club man happily becoming extinct,—loud, aggressive in argument, quarrelsome, gouty, and greedy. He and her ladyship did not now hit it off,—and saw as little of one another as their mutual ingenuity could contrive. She, never appeared before one o'clock; he, lunched, and frequently dined, at his club,—unless they happened to have a few guests, or were engaged to present themselves, at some particular function.
Mayne noticed a woeful alteration in his mother; she looked faded, and worn, there were deep lines about her mouth, her voice was querulous, and her attitude the pose of one enduring "the bitter winter of her discontent!" In her cold, unemotional way, she was glad to welcome Derek, a handsome, creditable fellow and like his father; but in character much stronger, and more self-assertive.
He seemed to be thoroughly capable of shaping his own life, had excellent manners, plenty to say for himself, and judging by the number of his letters, with regimental, and other crests, was claimed by hosts of friends! In honour of his return, Lord Torquilstone dined at home, and abused the dinner; and he and his wife passed the young man under the harrow of a searching examination, with respect to his life, during the last four years. Mayne found it useless to protest, "But Mater, you had my letters."
"Yes, my dear boy,—they were rather dull. Not your fault I know, I always hated India,—the deadly paradise of the middle class. It's just what was not in your letters, that I want to hear about."
"Oh well, if you mean manœuvres, camps of exercise——"
"Don't be so silly," she interrupted impatiently.
"Your mother wants to hear about those lively grass widows up in Simla," broke in his lordship; "come now, own up!" and he chuckled diabolically.
"I have nothing to own. Never had any use for the frisky matron, at home, or abroad."