“So good of you to come!” she said. “Lee, dear, this is my intimate friend, Miss Pix. How perfectly brilliant you look! Of course you have been out. I almost went myself. I feel quite fit to-day; one would think I’d never had a nerve. Victoria, my beautiful daughter-in-law has been such a belle in the States, and has had an unheard-of number of offers, three of them from immensely wealthy members of the peerage, Lord Arrowmount’s friends. But it was an old boy-and-girl affair between her and Cecil, and I think it is all too romantic and sweet! I’ve felt ever so much younger since she came. I never had one spark of romance in my life. Men are in the way, though—we’ll have ever so much nicer times a year from now when you and Cecil have learned to exist without each other—not that I can complain that Barnstaple was ever in my way. Things might have turned out differently if he had been occasionally, for I was young enough, and romantic enough, when I married him; but he always was, and always will be, the most cold-blooded brute in England. Once I cared, but now I don’t. I’m content to have got the upper hand of him. It was that or being simply ground to powder myself. But, to say nothing of the fact that he sold himself in the most bare-faced manner, I soon learned that when I played a tune on my nerves he’d give in at any price; there are more ways of getting ahead of an Englishman than one. Still he was a fascinating creature—but that’s passed. Cecil always was sweet to me, and I’ve always simply adored him. If he’d been his father—well! It would have made me simply ill if he hadn’t married a woman worthy of him. I believe he’s the only human being I’ve ever really loved. And he simply adores—but I shan’t be personal. Your clothes are really perfect—”
She rattled on, with brief intermissions, for nearly an hour. It was evident that her mood had undergone a metamorphosis in the night, and that she desired to be amiable. Lee could understand her “popularity”; her manner and certain intonations were most fascinating, and she constantly swept little glances of suffering appeal and voiceless admiration into her disciplined orbs. Her tiny hands fluttered, and from head to foot, in a pink light, she pleased the eye. Her smile was rare and dazzling. Lee wondered why, when she was young, Lord Barnstaple had not loved her.
Miss Pix made one or two sensible remarks in a low excellent voice, which had evidently received scientific training. When Cecil was flashing among his stepmother’s conversational pyrotechnics, her cheek looked less like paper for a moment, but her profile stood the strain.
Suddenly Lady Barnstaple jumped up. “You must dress and I must dress,” she said to Lee. “We’re going out to luncheon on the moor, and afterward we’ll stay and watch them shoot, if you like. Of course, everything will interest you so much—I envy you! I’m sick to death of shooting-talk myself! One doesn’t hear another topic from the twelfth of August until the first of November, and then one has hunting and racing for a change. I live for the London season—and the Riviera. I’ve had to give up dear, delightful Homburg. Well, ta, ta!”
CHAPTER VI
A FORTNIGHT later Lee scanned her new boudoir with complacency and pride. The large tower-room beneath the suite above had been cleared of its rubbish, and she had availed herself to the full of Lady Barnstaple’s careless permission to take what she liked. Lee liked beautiful things, and, having been surrounded by many during the greater part of her life, regarded the best that could be had as her natural right. Therefore her stone walls had disappeared behind ancient tapestries, which she had thoughtfully selected from different rooms, that they might not be missed. Round two sides of the room ran a deep divan, made by a village carpenter, which was covered with Persian rugs, and cushions of many, but harmonious styles. Persian rugs also covered the floor. Some of the furniture was carved, high-backed, and ancient, cut with the Maundrell arms; other pieces were modern and luxurious. In two of the window-seats, which were five feet deep, were cushions, in the others noble marbles and bronzes. The room was further glorified by a writing-table which had belonged to Charles II., a wonderful brass and ivory chest with secret drawers which had been the property of Katherine of Aragon, an ancient spinet with a modern interior, a table inlaid with lapis-lazuli, a tortoise-shell cabinet, and a low bookcase curiously carved. On the mantel, heavily draped with the spoils of an obscure window, and on the top of the bookcase, were not too many bibelots, selected after much thought and comparison. The tapestries could meet across the narrow windows at night, but flat against the glass were silk curtains of a pale yellow colour, as a background for the marbles and bronzes. Altogether, Lee felt that she had some reason to be proud of her taste.
She sat down to await her father-in-law. He was kept at home by a sprained wrist, and she had invited him to be the first to pay her a call. He entered in a few moments, raised his eyebrows, then gave vent to a chuckle of unusual length.
“What amuses you?” asked Lee, rather tartly. “Don’t you think my room is pretty?”
“Oh, it’s charming! It’s close to being the prettiest room in the house. I congratulate you. You have excellent taste—and you are delicious!”
Lee never expected to understand her father-in-law, and felt little inclination to attempt the dissecting of him; she merely begged him to take the most comfortable chair, placed a cushion under his elbow, and sat down opposite him with an expression of genuine welcome; she liked him so much better than she liked Emmy that she was almost persuaded that she loved him. And he had been consistently kind and polite to her, whereas her mother-in-law had twice been the victim of a “mood,” and cut her dead in the corridors.