“Does the Head see a great deal of you?” asked Mrs. Mussard, drawing away her hand and grasping at a chance of improving the languishing conversation. Then as Valcourt, with a grave air of reserve, nodded in reply, “I am so glad!” breathed Mrs. Mussard gushingly; “because, at your age, impressions received must sink in deeply. And to be brought in contact with a personality so marked must be impressive, mustn’t it?” she concluded, rather lamely.
“I suppose so,” agreed Valcourt, examining the pattern of the carpet. He looked a little sulky and a little bored, and for sheer womanly desire of seeing the illuminations rekindled Mrs. Mussard gave him her hand again.
“You are going into the Guards, aren’t you, by-and-by?” she queried.
“If I can get through,” said Valcourt, playing with her rings and smiling. “I’m in the Army Class, mathematics and swot generally. But I think our family’s too old or something to produce brainy fellows. Cads are cleverer, really, than we are.”
His tone took a reflection of the purple, his finely-cut profile looked for an instant hard as diamond and exquisite as a cameo.
Mrs. Mussard, sympathizing, said to herself: “After all, why should he be clever?”
“Still, when one hasn’t much money,” she began, reminiscent of the Duchess’s entreaty.
“We’re beastly poor, of course,” admitted Valcourt. “But as to clothes and horses and shootin’, tradespeople will tick a fellow till the cows come home, and the millionaire manufacturers who buy or rent fellows’ forests and moors and rivers and things are always glad to get the fellow himself to show with ’em; and the keepers and gillies and chaps take care that he gets the best that’s going generally. And so he does himself pretty well all round.”
“That sort of thing is too—undignified!” said Mrs. Mussard, “and too uncertain. A man of rank and title must have a solid backing, a definite entourage. You must marry, and marry well.”
“Mother always talks like that!” said Valcourt. “I think,” he added, “she has somebody in her eye for me!”