Chapter XIV—THE BUBBLE REPUTATION
THE princess had the affability to inform Mrs. Hardacre that it was a “charming barty,” and Mrs. Hardacre felt that she had not lived in vain.
Henceforth she would be of the innermost circle of the elect of the county. Exclusive front doors would open respectfully to her. She would be consulted on matters appertaining to social polity. She would be a personage. She would also make her neighbour, Lady FitzHubert, sick with envy. A malignant greenness on that lady's face she noted with a thrill of pure happiness, and she smilingly frustrated all her manoeuvres to get presented to Her Serene Highness. She presented her rival, instead, to Jimmie.
“My dear Lady FitzHubert, let me introduce Mr. Padgate, who is painting the dear princess's portrait. Mr. Padgate is staying with us.”
Whereby Mrs. Hardacre conveyed the impression that Heddon Court and Chiltern Towers contained just one family party, the members of which ran in and out of either house indiscriminately. It may be mentioned that Jimmie did not get on particularly well with Lady FitzHubert. He even confided afterwards to Connie Deering his suspicion that now and again members of the aristocracy were lacking in true urbanity.
By declaring the garden-party to be charming the princess only did justice to the combined efforts of the Hardacres and Providence. The warm golden weather and the chance of meeting august personages had brought guests from far and near. The lawns were bright with colour and resonant with talk. A red-coated band played on the terrace. Between the items of music, Guignol, housed in the Greek temple, with the portico for a proscenium, performed his rogueries to the delight of hastily assembling audiences. Immediately below, a long white-covered table gleamed with silver tea-urns and china, and all the paraphernalia of refreshments. At the other end of the lawn sat the august personages surrounded by the elect.
Among these was Morland. But for him neither blue September skies nor amiable duchesses had any charm. To the man of easy living had come the sudden shock of tragedy, and the music and the teacups and the flatteries seemed parts of a ghastly farce. The paragraph he had read in the paper that morning obsessed him. The hours had seemed one long shudder against which he vainly braced his nerves. He had loved the poor girl in his facile way. The news in itself was enough to bring him face to face with elementals. But there was another terror added. The chance word of a laughing woman had put him on the rack of anxiety. Getting out of the train at Cosford, she had seen the queerest figure of a man step on to the platform, with the face of Peter the Hermit and the costume of Mr. Stiggins. Morland's first impulse had been to retreat precipitately from Cosford, and take the next train to London, whither he ought to have gone that morning. The tradition-bred Englishman's distaste for craven flight kept him irresolutely hanging round the duchess. He thought of whispering a private word to Jimmie; but Jimmie was far away, being introduced here and there, apparently enjoying considerable popularity. Besides, the whisper would involve the tale of the newspaper paragraph, and Morland shrank from confiding such news to Jimmie. No one on earth must know it save his legal adviser, an impersonal instrument of protection. He did what he had done once during five horrible weeks at Oxford, when an Abingdon barmaid threatened him with a breach of promise action. He did nothing and trusted to luck. Happy chance brought to light the fact that she was already married. Happy chance might save him again.
Beyond the mere commonplaces of civility he had exchanged no words that day with Norma. Moved by an irritating feeling of shame coupled with a certain repugnance of the flesh, he had deliberately avoided her; and his preoccupation had not allowed him to perceive that the avoidance was reciprocated. When they happened to meet in their movements among the guests, they smiled at each other mechanically and went their respective ways. Once, during the afternoon, Mr. Hardacre, red and fussy, took him aside.
“I have just heard a couple of infernal old cats talking of Norma and that fellow Weever. There they are together now. Will you give Norma a hint, or shall I?”