CHAPTER XIX.
LET US TELL THE TRUTH.
A month had elapsed, and Shirani was as full and as gay as Miss Paske had predicted—there were dinners, dances, balls, theatricals, and picnics.
Visitors had shaken down into sets, and discovered whom they liked and whom they did not like. In a short hill season there is no time to waste on long-drawn-out overtures to acquaintance; besides, in India, society changes so rapidly, and has so many mutual friends—the result of so many different moves—that people know each other as intimately in six months as they would in six years in England. There were “sets” in Shirani, though not aggressively defined: the acting and musical set, which numbered as stars Miss Paske and Mr. Joy; also Captain Dashwood, of the Dappled Hussars; Mrs. Rolland, who had once been a matchless actress, but was now both deaf and quarrelsome; and many other lesser lights.
Then there was the “smart” set, headed by Mrs. Langrishe, who wore dresses more suitable to Ascot than the Hymalayas; drank tea with each other, dined with each other—talked peerage, and discussed London gossip; looked down on many of their neighbours, and spoke of them as being “scarcely human,” and were altogether quite painfully exclusive.
There was the “fast” set—men who played high at the club, betted on races in England (per wire); enjoyed big nights and bear fights, and occasionally went down without settling their club account!
And even Mrs. Brande had a set—yes, positively her own little circle for the first time in her life—and was a proud and happy woman.
“It made a wonderful difference having a girl in the house,” she remarked at least twice a day to “P.,” and “P.,” strange to say, received the well-worn observation without a sarcastic rejoinder.
Certainly Honor had made a change at Rookwood. She had prevailed on her aunt to allow her to cover the green rep drawing-room suite with pretty cretonne, to banish the round table with its circle of books dealt out like a pack of cards, to arrange flowers and grasses in profusion, and to have tea in the verandah. Honor played tennis capitally, and her uncle, instead of going to the club, inaugurated sets at home, and these afternoons began to have quite a reputation. There were good courts, good players—excellent refreshments. Mrs. Brande’s strawberries and rich yellow cream were renowned; and people were eager for standing invitations to Rookwood “Tuesdays” and “Saturdays.” Besides Mr. Brande and his niece—hosts in themselves—there were Sir Gloster, Mrs. Sladen, the Padré and his wife, and young Jervis, who were regular habitués. There were tournaments and prizes, and a briskness and “go” about these functions that made them the most popular entertainments in Shirani, and folk condescended to fish industriously for what they would once have scorned, viz.:—“invitations to Mother Brande’s afternoons.”
Captain Waring was tired of Shirani, though he had met many pals—played polo three times a week, and whist six times, until the small hours. Although invited out twice as much as any other bachelor, and twice as popular as his cousin, indeed he and his cousin—as he remarked with a roar of laughter—“were not in the same set.”
(Nor, for that matter, were Mrs. Langrishe and her niece in the same set; for Lalla was “theatrical” and her aunt was “smart.”)
Captain Waring and his companion lived together in Haddon Hall, with its world-wide reputation for smoking chimneys; but although they resided under the same roof, they saw but little of one another. Waring had the best rooms, an imposing staff of crest-emblazoned servants. Jervis lived in two small apartments, and the chief of his retinue was a respectable grey-bearded bearer, Jan Mahomed by name, who looked cheap. Jervis spent most of his time taking long walks or rides—shooting or sketching with some young fellows in the Scorpions—or up at Rookwood, where he dined at least thrice a week and spent all his Sundays, and where he had been warmly received by Ben, and adopted into the family as his “uncle”! No words, however many and eloquent, could more strongly indicate how highly he stood in Mr. and Mrs. Brande’s good graces. To be Ben’s “uncle” almost implied that they looked upon him as an adopted son.
Frequently days elapsed, and Clarence and his companion scarcely saw one another, save at polo. Mark kept early hours and was up betimes—indeed, occasionally he was up and dressed ere his cousin had gone to bed.
One afternoon, however, he found him evidently awaiting his arrival, sitting in the verandah, and not as usual at the club card-table.
“Hullo, Mark! what a gay young bird you are, always going out, always on the wing—never at home!”
“The same to you,” said the other cheerily.
“Well, I just wanted to see you and catch you for a few minutes, old chap. I’m getting beastly sick of this place—we have been here nearly six weeks—I vote, as the policeman says, we ‘move on.’”
“Move where?” was the laconic inquiry.
“To Simla, to be sure! the club here is just a mere rowdy pot-house. I never saw such rotten polo! My best pony is lame—gone in the shoulder. I believe that little beggar Byng stuck me; and besides this, Miss Potter—the girl with the black eyes and twelve hundred a year—is going away.”
“To Simla?” expressively.
“Yes. She does not want to move, but the people she is with, the Athertons, are off, and of course she is bound to go with them. That girl likes me—she believes in me.”
“Do you think she believes that you are what they call you here, a millionaire?”
“What a grossly coarse way of putting it! Well, I should not be surprised if she did!”
“Then if that is the case, don’t you think the sooner you undeceive her the better!”
“Excellent high-minded youth! But why?”
“Because it strikes me that we have played this little game long enough.”
“And you languish for the good old board ship and Poonah days over again! Shall we publish who is really who, in the papers, and send a little ‘para’ to the Pioneer?” with angry sarcasm.
“No; but don’t you see that when I took what you called a ‘back seat,’ I never supposed it would develop into a regular sort of society fraud, or lead us on to such an extent. I’m always on the point of blurting out something about money, and pulling myself up. If I speak the truth people will swear I am lying. I don’t mind their thinking me an insignificant, idle young ass; but when they talk before me of dire poverty, and then pause apologetically—when they positively refrain from asking me to subscribe to entertainments or charities—I tell you I don’t like it. I am a rank impostor. There will be an awful explosion some day, if we don’t look out.”
“A pleasant explosion for you. Surely you are not quite such a fool as to suppose that any one would think the worse of you because you are a rich man.”
Mark’s thoughts wandered to Honor Gordon, and he made no answer.
“We have gone too far to go back,” continued Waring, impressively, “at least as far as Shirani is concerned. We might shift our sky and go to Simla, and then after a time allow the truth to ooze out.”
“I am desperately sorry I ever tampered with the truth,” cried the other, starting to his feet and beginning to walk about the verandah. “I have never told a direct lie, and no one has ever suspected me—I have not a rich air, nor the tastes of a wealthy man; now, you”—suddenly halting before Clarence, and looking him all over—“have both.”
“True, oh king! and people jumped at their own conclusions. Can we help that? It has given me a ripping good time, and saved you a lot of bother and annoyance. Why, the girl in the plaid waistcoat would have married you months ago.”
“Not she! I’m not so easily married as all that!” rejoined the other indignantly.
“I am much relieved to hear it. I am glad you remember Uncle Dan’s instructions. I was afraid they were beginning to slip out of your head, and bearing them in mind, I think the sooner, for all parties, that you clear out of Shirani the better.”
“I am not going to budge,” said Jervis resolutely; “and you know the reason.”
Waring blew away a mouthful of smoke, and then drawled out—“Of course—Miss Gordon.”
“No; my father,” reddening like a girl. “You know he lives within forty miles of this, and that was what made me so keen to come to Shirani.”
“Yes, I understand perfectly; and so keen to stay!”
“I wrote to him,” ignoring this innuendo, “and said I would wait on here till October, hoping to see him.”
“You’ll never see him,” now bringing a volume of smoke down his nostrils.
“Time will tell—I hope I shall.”
“And time stands still for no man! The Athertons and Miss Potter start in ten days, and I shall accompany them; there is nothing like travelling with a young lady for advancing one’s interests—as you know, my boy. Now, don’t be angry. Yes, I’m off. I’m not heir to a millionaire, and I must consult my interests. If you will take my advice, you will join the little party.”
“No, thank you; I shall stay here.”
“Do you mean to say that you will stick to this dead-and-alive place for the next four months?”
“I do—at any rate till my father sends for me”—and he paused for a second—“or until the end of the season.”
“In fact, in plain English, until the Brandes go down,” repeated Clarence significantly; and rising, and tossing away the end of his cigarette, he strolled over to the adjacent mess.