'Would you like me to play to you a little?' Anne asked, when Hyacinth had returned and was sitting in the carved-oak chimney-corner, looking thoughtful and picturesque.
'Oh no, please don't! Besides, I know you can't'
'No, thank goodness!' exclaimed Anne. 'I know I'm useful and practical, and I don't mind that; but anyhow, I'm not cheerful, musical, and a perfect lady, in exchange for a comfortable home, am I?'
'No, indeed,' said Hyacinth fervently.
'No-one can speak of me as "that pleasant, cultivated creature who lives with Miss Verney," can they?'
'Not, at any rate, if they have any regard for truth,' said Hyacinth.
'I wish you wouldn't make me laugh. Why should I have a sense of humour? I sometimes think that all your friends imagine it's part of my duty to shriek with laughter at their wretched jokes. It wasn't in the contract. If I were pretty, my ambition would have been to be an adventuress; but an adventuress with no adventures would be a little flat. I might have the worst intentions, but I should never have the chance of carrying them out. So I try to be as much as possible like Thackeray's shabby companion in a dyed silk.'
'Is that why you wear a sackcloth blouse trimmed with ashes?' said
Hyacinth, with curiosity.
'No, that's merely stinginess. It's my nature to be morbidly economical, though I know I needn't be. If I hadn't had £500 a year left me, I should never have been able to come and live here, and drop all my horrid relations. I enjoy appearing dependent and being a spectator, and I've absolutely given up all interest in my own affairs. In fact, I haven't got any. And I take the keenest interest in other people's—romances. Principally, of course, in yours.'
'I'm sure I don't want you to be so vicarious as all that—thanks awfully,' said Hyacinth. 'At any rate, don't dress like a skeleton at the feast tomorrow, if you don't mind. I've asked the little Ottleys to dinner—and, I want Charles to come.'
'Oh, of course, if you expect Cecil Reeve!—I suppose you do, as you haven't mentioned it—I'll put on my real clothes to do you credit.' She looked out of the window. 'Here's poor old Charles again. How he does dislike Lady Cannon!'
'What a shame, Anne! He's angelic to her.'
'That's what I meant,' said Anne, going out quickly.
'Charles, how nice of you to call and return your own visit the same day! It's like Royalty, isn't it? It reminds me of the young man who was asked to call again, and came back in half an hour,' said Hyacinth.
'I didn't quite see my way to waiting till Monday,' he answered. 'We're going away the end of the week. Janet says she needs a change.'
'It would be more of a change if you remained in town alone; at least, without Aunty.'
From the age of ten Hyacinth had resented having to call Lady Cannon by this endearing name. How a perfect stranger, by marrying her cousin, could become her aunt, was a mystery that she refused even to try to solve. It was well meant, no doubt; it was supposed to make her feel more at home—less of an orphan. But though she was obedient on this point, nothing would ever induce her to call her cousin by anything but his Christian name, with no qualification. Instinctively she felt that to call them 'Charles and Aunty', while annoying the intruder, kept her guardian in his proper place. What that was she did not specify.
'Well, can't you stay in London and come here, and be confided in and consulted? You know you like that better than boring yourself to death at Redlands.'
'Never mind that. How did you enjoy your drive?'
'Immensely, and I've asked both the little Ottleys to come to dinner tomorrow—one of those impulsive, unconsidered invitations that one regrets the second after. I must make up a little party. Will you come?'
'Perhaps, if I arranged to follow Janet to Redlands the next day, I might. Who did you say was the other man?'
'I expect Cecil Reeve,' she said. 'Don't put on that air of marble archness, Charles. It doesn't suit you at all. Tell me something about him.'
'I can't stand him. That's all I know about him,' said Sir Charles.
'Oh, is that all? That's just jealousy, Charles.'
'Absurd! How can a married man, in your father's place, a hundred years older than you, be jealous?'
'It is wonderful, isn't it?' she said. 'But you must know something about him. You know everyone.'
'He's Lord Selsey's nephew—and his heir—if Selsey doesn't marry again. He's only a young man about town—the sort of good-looking ass that your sex admires.'
'Charles, what a brute you are! He's very clever.'
'My dear child, yes—as a matter of fact, I believe he is. Isn't he ever going to do something?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'I wish he would. Oh, why don't you like him?'
'What can it matter about me?' he answered. 'Why are you never satisfied unless I'm in love with the same people that you are?'
'Charles!' she exclaimed, standing up. 'Don't you understand that not a word, not a look has passed to suggest such a thing? I never met anyone so—'
'No, so listless, and so respectful; and yet so amusing…. But I'm pretty certain that he hates me. I wish I knew why.'
'And you hate him just as much, of course?'
'No, sometimes I don't. And then I want you to agree with me. No-one sympathises really so well as you, Charles.'
'No, I get on so well with Anne because she doesn't She's always interested, but I prefer her never to agree with me, as she lives here. It would be enervating to have someone always there and perpetually sympathetic. Anne is a tonic.'
'You need a little opposition to keep you up,' said Sir Charles.
'Didn't I once hear something about his being devoted to someone? Wasn't there a report that he was going to be married to a Mrs. Raymond?'
'I believe it was once contradicted in the Morning Post that he was engaged to her,' said Sir Charles. 'But I'm sure there's no truth in it. I know her.'
'No truth in the report? Or the contradiction?'
'So you know her. What's she like?' Hyacinth asked anxiously.
'Oh, a dear, charming creature—you'd like her; but not pretty, nor young. About my age,' he said.
'Oh, I see! That's all right, then!' She clapped her hands.
'Well, I must go. I'll arrange to turn up to dinner tomorrow.' He took his hat, looking rather depressed.
'And try to make him like me!' she commanded, as Sir Charles took leave.