第22章 CHAPTER THE FIRST(8)

And in that case ought he to maintain the smooth social surface unbroken by pretending as far as possible to be this kind of person, or ought he to make a sudden gap in it by telling his realities.He evaded the shooting question anyhow.He left it open for Lady Marayne and the venerable butler and Sir Godfrey and every one to suppose he just happened to be the sort of gentleman of leisure who doesn't shoot.He disavowed hunting, he made it appear he travelled when he travelled in directions other than Scotland.But the fourth question brought him to bay.He regarded his questioner with his small rufous eye.

"I have never been across a horse in my life, Lady Marayne.""Tut, tut," said Sir Godfrey."Why!--it's the best of exercise.

Every man ought to ride.Good for the health.Keeps him fit.

Prevents lodgments.Most trouble due to lodgments.""I've never had a chance of riding.And I think I'm afraid of horses.""That's only an excuse," said Lady Marayne."Everybody's afraid of horses and nobody's really afraid of horses.""But I'm not used to horses.You see--I live on my mother.And she can't afford to keep a stable."His hostess did not see his expression of discomfort.Her pretty eyes were intent upon the peas with which she was being served.

"Does your mother live in the country?" she asked, and took her peas with fastidious exactness.

Prothero coloured brightly."She lives in London.""All the year?"

"All the year."

"But isn't it dreadfully hot in town in the summer?"Prothero had an uncomfortable sense of being very red in the face.

This kept him red."We're suburban people," he said.

"But I thought--isn't there the seaside?""My mother has a business," said Prothero, redder than ever.

"O-oh!" said Lady Marayne."What fun that must be for her?""It's a real business, and she has to live by it.Sometimes it's a worry.""But a business of her own!" She surveyed the confusion of his visage with a sweet intelligence."Is it an amusing sort of business, Mr.Prothero?"Prothero looked mulish."My mother is a dressmaker," he said."In Brixton.She doesn't do particularly badly--or well.I live on my scholarship.I have lived on scholarships since I was thirteen.

And you see, Lady Marayne, Brixton is a poor hunting country."Lady Marayne felt she had unmasked Prothero almost indecently.

Whatever happened there must be no pause.There must be no sign of a hitch.

"But it's good at tennis," she said."You DO play tennis, Mr.

Prothero?"

"I--I gesticulate," said Prothero.

Lady Marayne, still in flight from that pause, went off at a tangent.

"Poff, my dear," she said, "I've had a diving-board put at the deep end of the pond."The remark hung unanswered for a moment.The transition had been too quick for Benham's state of mind.

"Do you swim, Mr.Prothero?" the lady asked, though a moment before she had determined that she would never ask him a question again.

But this time it was a lucky question.

"Prothero mopped up the lot of us at Minchinghampton with his diving and swimming," Benham explained, and the tension was relaxed.

Lady Marayne spoke of her own swimming, and became daring and amusing at her difficulties with local feeling when first she swam in the pond.The high road ran along the far side of the pond--"And it didn't wear a hedge or anything," said Lady Marayne."That was what they didn't quite like.Swimming in an undraped pond...."Prothero had been examined enough.Now he must be entertained.She told stories about the village people in her brightest manner.The third story she regretted as soon as she was fairly launched upon it; it was how she had interviewed the village dressmaker, when Sir Godfrey insisted upon her supporting local industries.It was very amusing but technical.The devil had put it into her head.She had to go through with it.She infused an extreme innocence into her eyes and fixed them on Prothero, although she felt a certain deepening pinkness in her cheeks was betraying her, and she did not look at Benham until her unhappy, but otherwise quite amusing anecdote, was dead and gone and safely buried under another....

But people ought not to go about having dressmakers for mothers....

And coming into other people's houses and influencing their sons....

8

That night when everything was over Billy sat at the writing-table of his sumptuous bedroom--the bed was gilt wood, the curtains of the three great windows were tremendous, and there was a cheval glass that showed the full length of him and seemed to look over his head for more,--and meditated upon this visit of his.It was more than he had been prepared for.It was going to be a great strain.The sleek young manservant in an alpaca jacket, who said "Sir" whenever you looked at him, and who had seized upon and unpacked Billy's most private Gladstone bag without even asking if he might do so, and put away and displayed Billy's things in a way that struck Billy as faintly ironical, was unexpected.And it was unexpected that the brown suit, with its pockets stuffed with Billy's personal and confidential sundries, had vanished.And apparently a bath in a bathroom far down the corridor was prescribed for him in the morning; he hadn't thought of a dressing-gown.And after one had dressed, what did one do? Did one go down and wander about the house looking for the breakfast-room or wait for a gong? Would Sir Godfrey read Family Prayers? And afterwards did one go out or hang about to be entertained? He knew now quite clearly that those wicked blue eyes would mark his every slip.She did not like him.

She did not like him, he supposed, because he was common stuff.He didn't play up to her world and her.He was a discord in this rich, cleverly elaborate household.You could see it in the servants'

attitudes.And he was committed to a week of this.