MR CAPES
(A CHANCE STUDY MADE FOR THE PUBLISHERS OF “RURAL ENGLAND.” NO OTHER PORTRAIT WAS OBTAINABLE)
“Claret wine, thank you, sir,” answered Mr Capes.
Cosmo brought out some College claret and poured it into a tumbler. Mr Capes took a gulp of it; his expression changed and he put it down again.
“Would you rather have some port, Mr Capes?” said Cosmo anxiously.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mr Capes, “I don’t care if I do.” There was an assurance beneath the deference of his manner which Cosmo could hardly bear in silence. As he stood and poured out the port for Mr Capes in his easy chair, he said, “Well?”
“Well ...” said Mr Capes, holding his glass poised and staring at the fire ... “I’ve been talking to my ’Ermione”; he pronounced these two last words as though they were but one, and he put into them a very mournful emphasis.
“Now I know what you’re going to say, sir,” he went on, putting up a large wooden palm, while Cosmo kept his lips tight and drawn; “I know what you’re going to say, an’ I say nothing.... I don’t want to make any unpleasantness—but there! ... my poor girl!” He shook his head up and down, and then from side to side, still gazing at the fire.
Cosmo sat quite silent with his hands clasped before him. He was under a considerable strain, and every word that fell from Mr Capes increased the strain till it became almost intolerable.
Mr Capes continued his monologue in the very tone and with all the pathos of a street preacher. “She’s told me all, sir, she has. Quite straightforward; she always was that!” He wagged his head again from side to side, and then up and down, “and all I can say is,”—his voice rose, he turned round and faced Cosmo squarely—“you owe her some com-pen-sa-tion.” Having said that with a victorious scansion, Mr Capes brought one open hand down smack upon the table, and then with the other very carefully put down his empty glass.
He had expected Cosmo to speak, but Cosmo only rose and filled Mr Capes’ glass. Then he sat down again, still silent with compressed lips.