“Oh no,” said Mabel, but her face wore a peculiar smile as she gathered her cloak around her preparatory to leaving the carriage. The reason for her unusual taciturnity became evident to Dick a little later, when he found that he was expected to take Miss Keeling in to dinner.
“You are old friends, I think,” said Mrs Egerton, pleasantly, and Dick perceived by her tone that she imagined she had done him a kindness in arranging her guests in this way. It was clear that she remembered the old days, even if Miss Keeling had forgotten them. But no, doubtless Mabel had given her the hint.
If Dick had only known it, Georgia was in a much softer mood to-night, for all day long her conscience had been pricking her for her share in the conversation of the morning. She was indignant with herself for the things she had said, and it did not render them more excusable in her estimation that pique at Dick’s attitude towards her was not by any means the sole motive that had actuated her in uttering them. What in the world did it signify to her if the hero of the Khemistan Frontier chose to make himself look absurd in clothes which the idlest stay-at-home of a club-lounger could wear with far more pleasure to the beholder and satisfaction to himself? If the poor man thought that he looked well in them, why not leave him to enjoy his delusion, instead of rudely shattering his dream, and letting him know that his appearance, in the opinion of one person who knew him, verged on the ridiculous? Miss Keeling felt uncomfortably conscious that, after all, pique had had something to do with, at any rate, the terms of her remonstrance. She had even been led into vying with her opponent in cool rudeness, and for this she could not forgive herself. It was no excuse for her that she found most men so easy to get on with, when once they had laid aside the mock deference or the real antipathy with which they were wont to greet the lady doctor on their first introduction to her. She could not help knowing, for admiring female friends kept her informed of the fact, that it was the mingled graciousness and dignity of her manner which converted these adversaries and scoffers into firm allies and champions, and yet she had so far forgotten herself and her sense of what was becoming as to chaff Major North on his appearance, just as any ordinary fast girl might have done, and the fact humiliated her. A younger or less experienced woman, feeling as she did, would have precipitated matters by an apology, but Georgia was too wise to introduce any further complication into her difficulties. There could be no advantage in putting herself into North’s power in such a way, when it was undeniable that he had invited a snubbing by his perplexing conduct the day before. No, if he was to be won back to friendliness it must be by letting bygones be bygones, and accepting the situation as it presented itself.
Dinner was considerably delayed, owing to the fact that the Miss Herveys were late, and Georgia had some time in which to try her skill upon Dick. Her task was more difficult than she had anticipated, for he manifested an abiding resentment which irritated her as being quite out of proportion to the circumstances which had called it forth, and he answered her only in frigid monosyllables. Georgia talked on bravely, resolved not to appear to notice his lack of responsiveness, although she could not but feel slightly aggrieved by her failure to soften him. When Sir Dugald Haigh crossed the room to speak to Dick, and, with an apology to Georgia, carried him off to be introduced to Lady Haigh, she heaved a little sigh.
“He was such a nice boy!” she said to herself, “and I think he would be nice now, if he would only let his better side show. I like his face so much.” She glanced across the room at him, and marked appreciatively the thin brown face, on which the fair moustache looked almost white, the firm chin, the keen grey eyes, and the brow set in the habitual frown produced by the constant watching of distant objects under a burning sun. “He looks like a ‘man and a leader of men,’” she went on slowly, “but why should he behave in this way? It is so small, so petty, to keep up a grudge for so many years, and how could I have done anything but refuse him? It would have been absurd to do anything else, even if I had cared for him, and he was such a boy. He must be at least two years older than I am, but I always felt then that he was years younger. At any rate, he ought to be grateful to me, instead of sulking like this.”
At this moment a diversion was created by the entrance of the beautiful Miss Hervey, a vision of loveliness in rose-coloured silk; while behind her came her sister, a smaller, plainer, and, so to speak more shadowy, edition of herself. Mabel gave Georgia a look which implied that the young lady was by no means averse to making herself the observed of all observers in this fashion, but if such was the case, her triumph was short, for every one resented the delay which had been caused by her non-appearance. The host marched up Dr Headlam and presented him to Miss Hervey, to the intense disgust of Fitz Anstruther, Mrs Egerton’s brother, who found himself put off with the younger sister instead of the lady he adored, and a move was made into the dining-room.
Dick North’s temper seemed to have improved in some measure since his conversation with Lady Haigh, and Georgia smiled inwardly over the change, gathering that a few kind things said by his chief’s wife would go far to soothe the ruffled susceptibilities of even so sensitive an individual, but she was not long in discovering that he had by no means forgiven herself. True, he was willing to talk, but with great persistence and considerable skill he kept the conversation directed to the ordinary trifles which form the staple subjects at most London dinner-tables. He might never have been further from Pall Mall than to Paris in his life, thought Georgia, with increasing irritation, while he was favouring her with his views on the Eton and Harrow match, and the iniquity of the vestries in taking up the principal thoroughfares in the height of the season. To add to her resentment, she saw, or believed she saw, that he was perfectly well aware of her eagerness to hear about his life in India and Khemistan, and that he was rejoicing in her unavailing disgust. Miss Hervey, his left-hand neighbour, claimed his attention at last, and Georgia found an attraction of greater power in the talk of Sir Dugald Haigh, a small, neutral-tinted man, with grey hair, grey eyes, grey moustache, and a greyish-brown skin, who was telling Mrs Egerton of various changes which had taken place in Baghdad, whence he had lately returned, since the days of her residence there.
“I was not sorry to wash my hands of the place,” he said. “Very likely I belong to an old, worn-out school, and my ways are too rough and ready for the kid-glove methods of to-day. Our rule was always to ask only for what we meant to have, but never to recede from a demand once made. ‘Hold on like grim death,’ was our motto, and we followed it out. The method had this advantage, that every one knew we meant what we said. It’s a great thing not to be afraid of bringing on war if it’s necessary, but you are too squeamish for that nowadays.”
“Why, Sir Dugald,” said Mrs Egerton, laughing, “any one hearing you would think you were a perfect firebrand, and ferociously bloodthirsty, but I remember that when I was at Baghdad there was nothing you dreaded so much as the slightest complication. I believe you would have done anything, short of hauling down the flag, to avert a disturbance.”
“Don’t believe her, Miss Keeling,” said Sir Dugald. “Behind my back she will be telling you that I am a regular Jingo.”