A Change of Air. Hope Anthony

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      Unhappily, just in proportion as good cheer and good fellowship put Mrs. Hodge at her ease, and made her more and more to the Colonel's taste, her daughter's smothered uneasiness grew more intense. Nellie had borne herself with an impossible dignity and distance of manner toward Sir Harry, in the fear lest Sir Harry should find her wanting in the characteristics of good society, and her frigidity was increased by her careful watch on her mother's conduct. Sir Harry was disappointed. As he could not sit by Tora Smith, he had consoled himself with the prospect of some fun with "little Miss Fane." And little Miss Fane held him at arms'-length. He determined to try to break down her guard.

      "How did you manage to shock the Squire so?" he asked.

      "Was he shocked? I didn't know."

      "You were there, weren't you?"

      "Oh, yes. Well, I suppose it was Mr. Bannister's poetry."

      "Why should that shock him?" asked Sir Harry, who knew very well. "By Jove, I wish I could write some like it!"

      She turned to him with sudden interest.

      "Do you admire Dale's writings?"

      "Awfully," said Sir Harry. "Don't you?"

      "Of course I do, but I didn't know whether you would. Do you know Miss Delane?"

      "Yes, very well."

      "Do you like her?"

      "Oh, yes. I have known her all my life, and I like her. She frightens me a little, you know."

      "Does she? How?"

      "She expects such a lot of a fellow. Have you met her?"

      "No. D – Mr. Bannister has. He likes her."

      "I expect she blew him up, didn't she?"

      "Oh, I shouldn't think so. Dale wouldn't like that."

      "Depends how it's done," observed Sir Harry. "Don't you ever blow him up?"

      "Of course not. I'm much too – I look up to him too much."

      They were interrupted by the Colonel's voice. He was saying, with much energy:

      "Ability we don't expect in a Government office, but honesty one might hope for."

      "Just what Hodge used to say of old Pratt," said Mrs. Hodge.

      "I beg pardon?" said the Colonel.

      "Pratt was his manager, you know – my husband's."

      "Oh, yes, of course."

      "Nellie, you remember your father throwing down that two pound ten on the table, and saying, 'Well, I'm – '"

      "No, mother, I don't. Do you think I could learn to hunt, Sir Harry?"

      "Of course you could, in no time."

      "Does Miss Delane?"

      "And Pratt said that if Hodge couldn't play the king at two pound ten a week, – though that's hard living, my dear, – I beg pardon – Colonel – "

      The Colonel bowed courteously. Nellie grew very red.

      "Why, bantam-cocks had risen since his day, and that was all about it." And Mrs. Hodge emptied her glass and beamed pleasantly on the company.

      Suddenly Dale Bannister began to laugh gently. Tora Smith turned an inquiring look in his direction.

      "What is it, Mr. Bannister?"

      "I saw your father's butler looking at my friend Mrs. Hodge."

      "What nonsense! Simmons is not allowed to look at anyone."

      "Isn't he? Why not?"

      "No good servant does."

      Dale smiled.

      "I know what you mean," Tora continued; "but surely while they're actually waiting, Mr. Bannister, we can't treat them quite like ourselves? At any other time, of course – "

      "You'd take a walk with them?"

      "They'd be horribly uncomfortable if I did," she answered, laughing.

      "That's the worst of it," said he.

      "Do you think us great shams?"

      "I have come to learn, not to criticise."

      "We want a leader," said Tora, with pretty earnestness.

      "Haven't you one?"

      "Sir Harry Fulmer is our leader, but we're not contented with him. He's a very mild Radical. Won't you come to our help?"

      "I expect I should be too extreme the other way."

      "Oh, I love people who are extreme – in my direction, I mean."

      "Well, then, try the Doctor."

      "Mr. Roberts? Oh, he's hardly prominent enough; we must have somebody of position. Now, what are you laughing at, Mr. Bannister?"

      The gentleman to whom they referred sat looking on at them with no great pleasure, though they found one another entertaining enough to prevent them noticing him. Dale Bannister said that his new friend took life seriously, and the charge was too true for the Doctor's happiness. Dale Bannister had taken hold of his imagination. He expected Dale to do all he would give his life to see done, but could not do himself. The effect of Dale was to be instantaneous, enormous, transforming Denborough and its inhabitants. He regarded the poet much as a man might look upon a benevolent volcano, did such a thing exist in the order of nature. His function was, in the Doctor's eyes, to pour forth the burning lava of truth and justice, wherewith the ignorance, prejudice, and cruelty of the present order should be consumed and smothered; let the flood be copious, scorching, and unceasing! The Doctor could do little more than hail the blessed shower and declare its virtues; but that he was ready to do at any cost. And the volcano would not act! The eruptions were sadly intermittent. The hero, instead of going forth to war, was capering nimbly in a lady's chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute; that is to say, he was talking trifles to Tora Smith, with apparent enjoyment, forgetful of his mission, ignoring the powers of darkness around. No light-spreading saying, no swordflash had come from him all the evening. He was fiddling while Rome was – waiting for the burning it needed so badly.

      Perhaps it was a woebegone look about the Doctor that made Philip Hume take the chair next him after dinner, while Dale was, still as if in play, emitting anarchist sparks for the Colonel's entertainment.

      "Is it possible," asked the Doctor in low, half-angry tones, "that he thinks these people are any good – that they are sincere or thorough in the matter? He's wasting his time."

      "Well, well, my dear fellow, we must all dine, whatever our opinions."

      "Oh, yes; we must dine, while the world starves."

      "The bow can't be always stretched," said Philip, with a slight smile.

      "You don't think, Hume, do you, that he's getting any less – less in earnest, you know?"

      "Oh, СКАЧАТЬ