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63 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Neither life nor the lawn-tennis club was so full at Natterley that the news of Harry Sterling's return had not some importance.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819926757
Langue	English

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FRIVOLOUS CUPID
BY
SIR ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS
(ANTHONY HOPE, PSEUD.)
Cupid, I met thee yesterday
With an empty quiver,
Coming from Clarinda's house
By the reedy river.
And I saw Clarinda stand
Near the pansies, weeping,
With her hands upon her breast
All thine arrows keeping.
FRIVOLOUS CUPID.
I.
RELUCTANCE.
I.
Neither life nor the lawn-tennis club was so full atNatterley that the news of Harry Sterling's return had not someimportance.
He came back, moreover, to assume a position verydifferent from his old one. He had left Harrow now, departing inthe sweet aroma of a long score against Eton at Lord's, and was togo up to Oxford in October. Now between a schoolboy and aUniversity man there is a gulf, indicated unmistakably by thecigarette which adorned Harry's mouth as he walked down the streetwith a newly acquiescent father, and thoroughly realized by his oldplaymates. The young men greeted him as an equal, the boysgrudgingly accepted his superiority, and the girls received himmuch as though they had never met him before in their lives andwere pressingly in need of an introduction. These features of hisreappearance amused Mrs. Mortimer; she recollected him as anuntidy, shy, pretty boy; but mind, working on matter, had sotransformed him that she was doubtful enough about him to ask herhusband if that were really Harry Sterling.
Mr. Mortimer, mopping his bald head after one of hisenergetic failures at lawn tennis, grunted assent, and remarkedthat a few years more would see a like development in their elderson, a remark which bordered on absurdity; for Johnny was buteight, and ten years are not a few years to a lady of twenty-eight,whatever they may seem to a man of forty-four.
Presently Harry, shaking himself free from anentangling group of the Vicarage girls, joined his father, and thetwo came across to Mrs. Mortimer.
She was a favorite of old Sterling's, and he wasproud to present his handsome son to her. She listened graciouslyto his jocosities, stealing a glance at Harry when his fathercalled him “a good boy. ” Harry blushed and assumed an air ofindifference, tossing his hair back from his smooth forehead, andswinging his racket carelessly in his hand. The lady addressed somewords of patronizing kindness to him, seeking to put him at hisease. She seemed to succeed to some extent, for he let his fatherand her husband go off together, and sat down by her on the bench,regardless of the fact that the Vicarage girls were waiting for himto make a fourth.
He said nothing, and Mrs. Mortimer looked at himfrom under her long lashes; in so doing she discovered that he waslooking at her.
“Aren't you going to play any more, Mr. Sterling? ”she asked.
“Why aren't you playing? ” he rejoined.
“My husband says I play too badly. ”
“Oh, play with me! We shall make a good pair. ”
“Then you must be very good. ”
“Well, no one can play a hang here, you know.Besides I'm sure you're all right, really. ”
“You forget my weight of years. ”
He opened his blue eyes a little, and laughed. Hewas, in fact, astonished to find that she was quite a young woman.Remembering old Mortimer and the babies, he had thought of her asfull middle-aged. But she was not; nor had she that likeness to asuet pudding, which his newborn critical faculty cruelly detectedin his old friends, the Vicarage girls.
There was one of them— Maudie— with whom he hadflirted in his holidays; he wondered at that, especially when arelentless memory told him that Mrs. Mortimer must have been at theparties where the thing went on. He felt very much older, so mucholder that Mrs. Mortimer became at once a contemporary. Why, then,should she begin, as she now did, to talk to him, in quasi maternalfashion, about his prospects? Men don't have prospects, or, anyhow,are spared questionings thereon.
Either from impatience of this topic, or because,after all, tennis was not to be neglected, he left her, and she satalone for a little while, watching him play. She was glad that shehad not played; she could not have rivaled the activity of theVicarage girls. She got up and joined Mrs. Sterling, who waspresiding over the club teapot. The good lady expected complimentson her son, but for some reason Mrs. Mortimer gave her none. Verysoon, indeed, she took Johnnie away with her, leaving her husbandto follow at his leisure.
In comparing Maudie Sinclair to a suet pudding,Harry had looked at the dark side of the matter.
The suggestion, though indisputable, was onlyoccasionally obtrusive, and as a rule hushed almost to silence bythe pleasant good nature which redeemed shapeless features. Mrs.Mortimer had always liked Maudie, who ran in and out of her housecontinually, and had made of herself a vice-mother to the littlechildren.
The very next day she came, and, in the intervals ofplaying cricket with Johnnie, took occasion to inform Mrs. Mortimerthat in her opinion Harry Sterling was by no means improved by hisnew status and dignity. She went so far as to use the term“stuck-up. ” “He didn't use to be like that, ” she said, shakingher head; “he used to be very jolly. ” Mrs. Mortimer was relievedto note an entire absence of romance either in the regretted pastor the condemned present. Maudie mourned a friend spoiled, not anadmirer lost; the tone of her criticisms left no doubt of it, andMrs. Mortimer, with a laugh, announced her intention of asking theSterlings to dinner and having Maudie to meet them. “You will beable to make it up then, ” said she.
“Why, I see him every day at the tennis club, ”cried Maudie in surprise.
The faintest of blushes tinged Mrs. Mortimer's cheekas she chid herself for forgetting this obvious fact.
The situation now developed rapidly. The absurdthing happened: Harry Sterling began to take a serious view of hisattachment to Mrs. Mortimer. The one thing more absurd, that sheshould take a serious view of it, had not happened yet, and,indeed, would never happen; so she told herself with a nervouslittle laugh. Harry gave her no opportunity of saying so to him,for you cannot reprove glances or discourage pressings of your handin fashion so blunt.
And he was very discreet: he never made her lookfoolish. In public he treated her with just the degree of attentionthat gained his mother's fond eulogium, and his father's approvingsmile; while Mr. Mortimer, who went to London at nine o'clock everymorning and did not return till seven, was very seldom bothered byfinding the young fellow hanging about the house. Certainly he camepretty frequently between the hours named, but it was, as thechildren could have witnessed, to play with them. And, through hiscomings and goings, Mrs. Mortimer moved with pleasure, vexation,self-contempt, and eagerness.
One night she and her husband went to dine with theSterlings. After dinner Mr. Mortimer accepted his host's invitationto stay for a smoke. He saw no difficulty in his wife walking homealone; it was but half a mile, and the night was fine and moonlit.Mrs. Mortimer made no difficulty either, but Mrs. Sterling was surethat Harry would be delighted to see Mrs. Mortimer to herhouse.
She liked the boy to learn habits of politeness, shesaid, and his father eagerly proffered his escort, waving asideMrs. Mortimer's protest that she would not think of troubling Mr.Harry; throughout which conversation Harry said nothing at all, butstood smiling, with his hat in his hand, the picture of anobedient, well-mannered youth. There are generally two waysanywhere, and there were two from the Sterlings' to the Mortimers':the short one through the village, and the long one round by thelane and across the Church meadow. The path diverging to the latterroute comes very soon after you leave the Sterlings', and not aword had passed when Mrs. Mortimer and Harry reached it. Stillwithout a word, Harry turned off to follow the path. Mrs. Mortimerglanced at him; Harry smiled.
“It's much longer, ” she said.
“There's lots of time, ” rejoined Harry, “and it'ssuch a jolly night. ” The better to enjoy the night's beauty, heslackened his pace to a very crawl.
“It's rather dark; won't you take my arm? ” hesaid.
“What nonsense! Why, I could see to read! ”
“But I'm sure you're tired. ”
“How absurd you are! Was it a great bore? ”
“What? ”
“Why, coming. ”
“No, ” said Harry.
In such affairs monosyllables are danger signals. Along protestation might have meant nothing: in this short,sufficient negative Mrs. Mortimer recognized the boy's sincerity. Alittle thrill of pride and shame, and perhaps something else, ranthrough her. The night was hot and she unfastened the clasp of hercloak, breathing a trifle quickly. To relieve the silence, shesaid, with a laugh:
“You see we poor married women have to depend oncharity. Our husbands don't care to walk home with us. Your fatherwas bent on your coming. ”
Harry laughed a short laugh; the utter darkness ofMr. Sterling's condition struck through his agitation down to hissense of humor. Mrs. Mortimer smiled at him; she could not help it:the secret between them was so pleasant to her, even while shehated herself for its existence.
They had reached the meadow now, halfway throughtheir journey. A little gate led into it and Harry stopped, leaninghis arm on the top rail.
“Oh, no! we must go on, ” she murmured.
“They won't move for an hour yet, ” he answered, andthen he suddenly broke out:
“How— how funny it is! I hardly remembered you, youknow. ”
“Oh, but I remembered you, a pretty little boy; ”and she looked up at his face, half a foot above her. Mere staturehas much effect and the little boy stage seemed very far away. Andhe knew that it did, for he put out his hand to take hers. She drewback.
“No, ” she said.
Harry blushed. She took hold of the gate and he,yielding his place, let her pass through. For a minute or two theywalked on in silence.
“Oh, how silly you are! ” she cried then, beginningwith a laugh and ending with a strange catch in her throat. “Why