Kingston knew Gundred’s devoted loyalty to all old friends and neighbours, and was anxious to impress Ivor Restormel’s identity upon her, foreseeing that it would incline her favourably to his sudden plan of seeing as much as possible of the young fellow.
‘Yes, Lady Gundred soon recognised who I was. But I am afraid she was a little disappointed in me. I think I could see it.’
Kingston was slightly alarmed. He knew Gundred’s prejudices of old—soft and mild as milk; hard, ineluctable as iron.
‘Oh, nonsense!’ he replied, with more anxiety than the occasion appeared to warrant. ‘My wife is always a little cool and non-committal when she meets people for the first time. You will soon get accustomed to her.’
It never occurred to him that he was apparently explaining his wife, more or less apologetically, to a total stranger. Ivor Restormel was puzzled. His beauty had already made him many sudden friends, had immensely helped him on his way through life, predisposing everyone in his favour; but it had never yet kindled such a fire of zeal as seemed to be developing in Mr. Darnley. He was inclined to be cautious in acceptance, and during the rest of the meal gave careful, quiet answers to Kingston’s advances. But Kingston had not the faintest interest in the boy’s beauty, nor, precisely, in the boy himself. It was the acquaintance, the old friend in him, that Kingston divined so keenly, and was eager to investigate more fully. The vehement attraction that he felt towards Ivor Restormel was something, so to speak, impersonal, something quite unconnected with the boy’s pleasant manners or agreeable face. It was an attraction towards something deep and hidden in the young fellow’s personality, and the attraction grew stronger and clearer with every minute of their dialogue.
At last the time came to go into the drawing-room. The men rose, and drifted in knots towards the door. Kingston, as he went, retained possession of young Restormel, despite the evident anxiety of Mr. Hoope-Arkwright and Sir Nigel to have a word with Lady Gundred’s husband.
‘Look here,’ he said. ‘How long are you staying with the Hoope-Arkwrights? Come over to Brakelond, will you? Come over to-morrow. I should like you to see the place.’
Ivor Restormel accepted the unexpected invitation with thanks. Jack Hoope-Arkwright, following in their wake, wondered at the precipitate friendliness of Mr. Darnley. Such sudden hospitality was by no means in the traditions of Brakelond. A long preliminary purification was generally necessary before Lady Gundred considered her friends well tested enough to be invited to the Castle. And here was Ivor Restormel, after half an hour’s acquaintance, not only asked, but pressed to come, and to come as soon as possible. Times were changing indeed. It had taken the Hoope-Arkwrights three years to know the Darnleys, and eight to be dined with by them.
The rest of the evening passed without event. Gundred, however, gradually grew displeased with her surroundings. At first she had duly been throned on the best sofa, and listened to in silent admiration while she pronounced on the weather, the decadence of decorum in the servants’ hall, and the proper management of cooks. But ere long Lady Pope, whom, in her mind, Gundred characterized as a pushing young person, had begun to cut in frivolously, irreverently, with jokes and stories. Gundred, who had a faint instinct that all wit was more or less vulgar, did her best to repress these interruptions; but her efforts were vain, and soon even her devout hostess was listening and laughing at Lady Pope’s sallies. Lady Gundred was left rather out of the picture, and her authoritative comments on cooks began to lose their hold on the general attention. Then when the men appeared it was even worse. Lady Pope became the centre of a court; even those who came to make their dutiful obeisance to Lady Gundred passed hastily on, after a few pallid words about the weather, to join the cheerful crowd round the younger woman. Then games were played, largely at Lady Pope’s instigation; and Gundred, who would have disliked any proposal that sprung from one whom she now felt herself compelled to regard, however disdainfully, as a rival, had, further, personal reasons for disapproving this development. For she sang; and she expected, accordingly, to be asked to sing. Her music was waiting outside to be fetched; it would have been obviously proper of Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright to press her most important guest to perform. But apparently everyone preferred the thoughtless gaiety of this unprofitable evening to hearing Lady Gundred discoursing Chaminade in her neat and well-drilled little flute of a voice, which, as her friends said in extenuation, was so truly wonderful for a woman of forty.
Finally, to add to all these annoyances, she saw her husband neglecting everyone else in the room to talk to that young man for whom she had conceived such a repulsion. She would rather, even, have seen him spending the time in attendance on that forward Lady Pope. But Kingston was so distressingly friendly. Actuated by many collaborating motives, Gundred made haste to ask for her carriage, and showed every sign of imminent departure, much to the distress of hospitable Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright. Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright felt that the evening had not been altogether satisfactory since dinner. Lady Pope had evidently shone excessively; and the light of Lady Gundred Darnley had been thereby most unjustly dimmed. It grew plain that Lady Gundred was a little put out. Gaiety and dignity were hard to combine. Lady Pope offered the gaiety; Lady Gundred the dignity. And the two ambitions were irreconcilable; for it was already clear that Lady Gundred could not amuse—certainly not while Lady Pope was of the party. Grievously did Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright regret that she had infused the gay and sparkling element of the young woman into what she had meant to be the serene if soporific delights of a dinner made illustrious by the presence of March and Brakelond. But it was now too late for regret, and no entreaties could soften Lady Gundred’s determination to go.