“In the first place,” said the old woman, ruthlessly, “you are not quite what you were. Five-and-sixty is—well, five-and-sixty. It is no use disguising the fact that young and attractive women are a little inclined to smile at you.”
Cheriton writhed. Rather pitifully he raised a hollow guffaw. It was perhaps the worst thing he could have done in the circumstances; but the poor butterfly, when the pin is through its middle, is prone to augment its own tortures by twisting its body and flapping its wings. Caroline Crewkerne smiled grimly.
“The fact is, Cheriton,” said she, “you have grown already a little passé for the rôle of Phœbus Apollo. Understand the phrase is not mine. It was whispered in my ear by an insolent girl who looks upon you in the light of a grandfather.”
Cheriton mopped his perspiring features with a yellow silk handkerchief. He conducted this operation very delicately because his cheeks were flushed with a carmine that was apt to run all over the place.
“I have heard a complaint of your mustache,” said his old friend. “In my opinion it requires careful treatment. At present it does not harmonize with your general scheme of color. When did you dye it last?”
“The same day on which you last dyed your hair, my dear Caroline,” said Cheriton, rather laboriously. “As they both belong to the same period, I thought it right to——”
“Don’t explain at length,” said Caroline. “I dye my hair weekly. But what I want to point out to you is this. In my opinion it is quite time you were married. You are rich. It is almost a national scandal that there is no entertaining at Cheriton House; and the title reverts to a branch of the family you don’t esteem. Surely there is to be found in the world some youngish person of modest attractions—do not delude yourself, Cheriton, that you can ask for more—to whom you can offer a vocation.”
“There is a little actress at the Gayety,” said Cheriton, thoughtfully. “She seems a healthy creature. I dare say she——”
“Burden, quit the room,” said the old lady.
Blushing like a peony and trembling like an aspen—a double feat of which gentlewomen nurtured in the best Victorian traditions were always capable—Miss Burden obeyed.