Читать книгу His Royal Happiness - Sara Jeannette Duncan - Страница 9

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Vandy went. As he went he quite entered into the spirit of the thing, or thought he did—into the spirit of this unexpected “lark” of Prince Alfred’s. Prince Alfred was so little given to larks of any sort—it made the post of his equerry a trifle dull. He hummed as he went, with a smile of amusement, the refrain of a delightful old ballad,

“Oh, the pretty, pretty creature!

When I next do meet her—”

He had found in his Prince a touch of human nature as he best understood it, and the find gave him real pleasure.

Colonel Vandeleur had always knocked about a good deal with royalty, was familiar with its habits, and knew its privileges by heart. It was upon him that the Tommy Thursbys, who entertained more of the Family for longer and more celebrated periods than any other commoners in the kingdom, depended to make each visit a more brilliant success than the last. His name went almost automatically upon house-party lists which had to be submitted, and he invariably arrived two days before. His detractors said of him that he could tell you in his sleep the brand of cigarette smoked by every crowned head in Europe. But he had not many detractors; he was too genial and made himself too broad an allowance for the weaknesses of his fellows.

His present mission would have been simple enough in England. “Half a word,” as he said to himself, “would have been enough there.” In England these things were understood. Here, doubtless, he might have to explain. He was confident of being able to explain, of being able to place the little suggestion in an attractive light. It must be, of course, the merest suggestion, the lightest hint. That would be as much, in all probability, as would be necessary.

“Hang it all,” said Colonel Vandeleur to himself, “it is a compliment.”

Yet he found himself wondering as he made his way to Mrs. Phipps’s morning-room, where they told him he would find her, exactly how he would put it.

He went straight to Mrs. Phipps. Already he had found that Mrs. Phipps preferred the direct method, did not at all appreciate having suggestions conveyed to her by the President’s aides-de-camp, whose duties seemed to Colonel Vandeleur much less domestic than they might be, than they ought to be. None of the four ever seemed to exercise the least supervision over the butler; Mrs. Phipps had herself proposed to admonish the cook when the custard went wrong at luncheon. And when he, Vandy, had asked Calder for some plain Windsor soap for the Prince he got it, but the fellow had looked at him. What was the fellow there for if not to see the guests of the house got the kind of soap they were accustomed to? He had an intuition that it would be no use, no manner of use, to mention this whim of the Prince about Miss Lanchester to Major Calder. Calder would bungle it. He would go straight to Mrs. Phipps. Ladies were much more understanding in such matters. Yet how the devil should he put it?

“But gallantly will I tre-eat her,

But gallantly will I treat her,

Oh! the pretty, pretty, pretty pretty—”

“Why, come in, Colonel Vandeleur. Bring your chair right over here, under the fan. The Prince understood, didn’t he, my not being at breakfast this morning? The President absolutely forbade it.”

“I’m immensely surprised and immensely gratified, dear lady, to find you up at all, after your most charming, most successful, but, alas, no doubt most fatiguing entertainment last night. The Prince was enchanted. I have never known him so happy at a dance.”

Mrs. Phipps sat, with a little gesture of dignity, slightly straighter.

“Ah well,” she said, “that’s an immense reward, Colonel. I thought Prince Alfred seemed to be enjoying himself. It was certainly our privilege to make him do so—in that uniform. Colonel Vandeleur, I want to tell you—I was never so touched by anything in my whole life. And the President, though he’s not a person to say much, feels exactly as I do about it.”

Colonel Vandeleur’s face bore no trace of even a cipher telegram. He looked gratified, and crossed his legs.

“It was the dear fellow’s own thought,” he said. “I had nothing whatever to do with it—though I daresay I shall get the credit of having had a good deal. He does seem, bless his heart, to have made a pleasant impression. He has also apparently received one, Mrs. Phipps.”

The Colonel’s archness was so obvious that Mrs. Phipps must have smiled whether she wanted to or not, and she did want to, being full of natural impulses.

“If the Prince has been expressing any particular admiration—” Mrs. Phipps dimpled for her country—“I expect it was for Mrs. Jack Fergus. Mrs. Jack really is a very great beauty, and she was looking quite lovely last night.”

“She certainly was—” Colonel Vandeleur often confessed the facility with which he picked up American ways of putting things. “She certainly was, Mrs. Phipps. But Prince Alfred’s homage was laid at the feet of somebody you think a great deal more of than you do of Mrs. Jack Fergus.”

“Colonel,” said Mrs. Phipps with a smile which made every admission, “I should have hated you if you had said Mrs. Jack. The Prince has been admiring my Hilary. How could he help it?”

“How could anybody help it?” The Colonel’s air of regret, of being hopelessly out-distanced, though humorous, was full of the most acceptable tact. “And the pretty part of it is, Mrs. Phipps, that Prince Alfred has practically never been known to look twice at a lady.”

“It’s very sweet of him,” Mrs. Phipps acknowledged, “because he must have seen so many lovely girls.”

“I take it that he is no less attracted by her character. ‘I so much wish,’ he said to me, ‘that I might have the opportunity of knowing her better.’”

Mrs. Phipps looked the least bit in the world taken aback. “How nice of him,” she said with a certain quietude.

“And—it’s quite my own idea, dear lady, and please don’t be cross with me—I wondered whether you wouldn’t perhaps indulge the Prince in his perfectly natural and charming desire to know a little more of American young people of Miss Lanchester’s type, and perhaps—if it isn’t too much to ask—have her here for the remainder of his visit. Remember it’s quite my own idea,” he added, meeting her round eyes.

“Have Hilary here?” she said slowly. “But—but, Colonel Vandeleur, what would people say?”

“What could they say, dear lady, except that you very sweetly wanted to add to Prince Alfred’s visit the——”

“And the newspapers! Colonel, you don’t—you’ve forgotten——”

Colonel Vandeleur pursed his lips a little contemptuously. “I should not mind about the newspapers,” he said. “Besides, why should they find anything remarkable in it? She ought not to be asked alone of course—some other lady—such things are so easy. And Miss Lanchester has often stayed here before.”

“But to ask her while the Prince is in the house—after the dance——”

“They would surely understand that he might wish to obtain the most delightful impression possible of American young ladies—or that you might wish it for him.”

By this time Colonel Vandeleur felt that he really must carry his point. Dear Mrs. Phipps’s opposition was too unexpected, too unreasonable, too—well really, too provincial.

“I am afraid they would couple it with the name of only one American young lady,” Mrs. Phipps told him with a flushed and troubled face.

“I quite see your point. But, my dear Mrs. Phipps, between ourselves, as man and woman of the world——”

“That, Colonel Vandeleur, I am not, and never shall be. I must beg you not to call me a woman of the world. It does not flatter me, Colonel Vandeleur, at all.”

The Colonel leaned forward with an impressive gentle smile, and a confidential gesture.

“You can hardly, dear madam, be the wife of the President of the United States and not be a woman of the world. In the best sense—in the very best sense of the term.”

“That’s just where you make a mistake, Colonel. I didn’t marry the President of the United States. I came along with him. And I am only too well aware how far I fall short of filling the position as it should be filled. But nothing would make me believe that any woman of the world would on that account fill it better.”

“Dear lady,” soothed the Colonel, “dear lady, no woman of any sort would fill it better. But don’t—now please don’t misunderstand this little pleasure, this little treat, that I thought I might try to secure for the Prince. If you know what an innocent young a—what an absolute baby he is, you would let them play blind man’s buff together, and not have a moment’s anxiety.”

“You needn’t tell me anything about the Prince, Colonel Vandeleur. I have the greatest affection and admiration for him. But I’ve got to think of Hilary, and I don’t think I could expose her to—Suppose she fell in love with him.”

Colonel Vandeleur rose, with just a hint of displeased dignity. “My dear friend, she is much too sensible a girl. Such things only happen where they are morganatically possible.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Phipps in some confusion. “Countries in Europe ending in ‘ania.’ Still—I’ll speak to the President. I really can’t decide by myself.”

Colonel Vandeleur had approached the door.

“Please dismiss it from your mind, Mrs. Phipps,” he said kindly. “We mustn’t, after all, spoil our young man. An occasional disappointment is good for him.”

Mrs. Phipps, uncertain and unhappy, made a step or two in pursuit.

“But what will you say to the Prince?” she entreated. “I’m afraid I’ve been perfectly silly and ridiculous, Colonel Vandy. Please——”

“There will be no need to mention it to him,” Vandy replied. “You forget that it is quite my own idea, a mere butterfly thought, dear lady. Don’t let it disturb you, I beg,” and the door closed upon him.

Mrs. Phipps, left alone, became an immediate prey to reaction. She sat down desolately beside the buhl table and leaned her head upon her hand. Had she, after all, just shied away from the idea, in nervous and ridiculous fear of some bogey that wasn’t there? Had she shown herself a silly prude and prig toward the most innocent and genial of initiatives? A prude and prig dear Mrs. Phipps was in mortal fear of being considered, conscious as she was of an almost ungovernable bias toward things sweet and straight and without reproach. She took little ineffective measures sometimes to show that she wasn’t really to be so frightfully easily shocked as people might imagine, measures which the President observed with an amused twinkle and chaffed her unmercifully about afterwards. James would probably laugh at her scruples about this. He had been so anxious that the Prince should meet Hilary and should admire her. Besides, what was the use of consulting James? She would be certain not to agree with him, and do the other thing. No—she did wish she knew how to act; but it had better be on her own responsibility. She would not consult James.

“Then nobody will be to blame but me,” she said resolutely.

There was also Hilary’s point of view. Of what might she not be depriving Hilary? Of a pleasant, distinguished friendship, most valuable perhaps, in later years, if it ripened and mellowed, leading to all sorts of interesting things. Useful perhaps, to Hilary’s children. Of course she must tell Hilary, later. What if she looked reproach? The little tribute would be dead then, like a pressed flower. Why should she not have the flower fresh, with the dew on it?

“Absurd!” said Mrs. Phipps aloud. “He’s the merest boy, and Hilary’s head would have been turned long ago if compliments could do it. She shall decide for herself. And I shall tell her,” added Mrs. Phipps firmly, “exactly how it is.”

“My darling child,” she wrote, looked at the words, and took another sheet. Unconsciously she found them too maternal and impressive. “Darling Hil” looked better, less portentous.

Colonel Vandeleur has been worrying my life out this morning to get you to come and stay with us for the rest of the Prince’s visit. It seems that H.R.H. condescends to wish to know you better. (I don’t want to be satirical, for he’s a dear boy, but I suppose I am not used to royal ways, though Colonel Vandy declares that he alone is responsible, and I tell myself that he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t wish to know you better, and why should a Prince be less than human? Most are more.) So I write to tell you, darling, that you have been approved—and will you come? You must decide. You know our house and hearts are always happy and glad to hold you. And we will try not to be too jealous. Now fly to the arms of

Your ever devoted

Mumkins.

“I won’t read it over,” she said, “or I will change my mind.” Nor did she add any of the dozen postscripts which presented themselves to her. The letter went by hand, with all despatch, and Mrs. Phipps curled herself upon a sofa to await the reply. Presently she rang.

“Tell Martha to get Miss Hilary’s room ready,” she said. “I am expecting her for a few days.”

Then she picked up a book and turned a page or two, but put it down every few minutes to smile at the picture of Hilary, reading her letter. “It is a compliment,” she agreed with Colonel Vandeleur, “when all is said and done.”

The reply came with a quickness that quite startled Mrs. Phipps. She opened it, having just decided that on the first night at dinner Hilary should wear her rose brocade, with eager fingers. And she read:

Belovedest,

How can you think that He wishes to be condescending! How can you think that he wishes to be anything but exactly what he is—simply and utterly adorable! You may lay my heart at his feet if you like. But Oh, my love, I don’t want him to know me any better! And papa has wired that he will be in New York in a week, and that I am to go at once to Moose Lick and get the house ready. I go to-night at six. Belovedest—understand!

Your own

Hil.

Mrs. Phipps flushed and paled and flushed again.

“But it has happened already!” she cried, and read a second time.

“It has certainly happened already—but not in the least seriously,” she smiled with reassurance. “She wouldn’t write like that if— But what a risk I ran!”

The Prince and Colonel Vandeleur were lunching with the Secretary for the Navy. She would have to wait till tea-time, which she did with impatience. She quite wanted, why, she didn’t ask herself, to let Colonel Vandeleur know what had happened. Vandy luckily, when five o’clock came, gave her an early chance, begging for cream.

“I thought better of it after all, Colonel Vandy,” she said, looking up at him over the jug. “I wrote to Miss Lanchester suggesting that she should make us a little visit just now. And she is immensely sorry, but she can’t. Her father—the ex-President, you know—is returning from Alaska, and has wired to her to get their place in the mountains ready as soon as she can. She leaves this afternoon.”

“Poor dear girl—what rotten luck,” observed the Colonel, possessing himself of a sandwich.

“I think she will be rather glad to get out of the heat,” his hostess told him. “And she is always rather anxious about her father until Dr. Morrow looks him over.”

“Dr. Morrow,” repeated Colonel Vandeleur.

“The famous Dr. Morrow, the lung specialist.”

“Never heard of him in my life.”

“He doesn’t travel,” said Mrs. Phipps simply.

“He stays right here and cures people. He cured Henry Lanchester when he had his great breakdown, and now Mr. Lanchester spends the best part of every summer up there in the pine woods. He’s a wonderful man, Dr. Morrow.”

“He must be,” said Vandy, and moved away to digest Mrs. Phipps’s information. It did not digest well, and when he thought of it later, in conversation with the Prince, it had changed its character.

“By the way,” said he, “I mentioned, quite as my own idea, the suggestion that Miss Lanchester should join the home party here. But I was too late, Prince. That charming girl has left Washington for the country. Pity!”

Prince Alfred half turned from the window where he was again wasting time, and cocked, as it were, an ear toward the Colonel.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Since she’s not coming, Vandy, what about that notion of yours of clearing out a day earlier? These people must be dead sick of us by now, and it is infernally hot.”

“Right-o,” said Vandy. “I’ll fix it up. By the way, did I show you this? It came by the second post to-day.”

The photograph was of a small group outside a historic English country house, and Colonel Vandeleur made part of it. So did Princess Georgina, Duchess of Altenburg. The Duchess had graciously sent the picture to Colonel Vandeleur.

“Who is the fair girl on your left?” asked the Prince.

“Ah—may I see? That is the Archduchess Sophia Ludovica. She was staying in the house—Lord Bannermore’s place in Kent. Extraordinary charming girl—great friend of the Duchess.”

“Oh—is it?” said Prince Alfred and handed back the picture to the trusted friend of the Duchess of Altenburg, who wrote by return to say that His Royal Highness had seen the group, and had looked twice, at all events, at a certain member of it.