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He was ready now to use Major Cadwallader Hunter for catspawing in all its branches, but did not intend to be over civil in return. He divined that Cadwallader-Hunter by name was a Tuft-Hunter by nature; that vast wealth, or even a really good title was to him balm in Gilead; and that he was not one of those sensitive souls who find it difficult to be kind to the rich, for fear of being misunderstood by the world.
And the would-be leader was delighted to become Lord Loveland's catspaw, because he hoped that his way of handling the chestnuts would do him honour. He believed that, if through Lord Loveland he did not become King of all the lions in New York that season, he might at least be King's jester.
Presently, still smiling, he left Val stretched luxuriously in the labelled deck-chair, and trotted away to tell more people what a charming fellow Lord Loveland was. All the while it would have done his soul good – what there was of it – to box Val's ears. But it would have done him still more good to be re-souled or even half-souled, for all that he had ever possessed was long ago worn to rags.
Major Cadwallader Hunter prided himself on being able to find out everything about everybody, even when starting from the point of complete ignorance, and handicapped by a time limit. Indeed, he had a nice detective instinct, and putting it to use was one of the games he played best. But he found himself confronted with difficulties in the case of Mrs. Loveland and her niece.
It was simple to find out the girl's name, and that Mrs. Loveland, the aunt, was a delicate little person, at that time of life when sensible women cling no longer to the ragged edge of youth, as a bat clings to a shutter. It was easy to learn (stewards and stewardesses reveal such things, if handled by experts) that Mrs. Loveland had slipped into her berth on starting, with the intention of remaining there during the whole voyage, weather or no weather. But as to Wealth and as to Ancestors (Cadwallader Hunter was as devout a worshipper of Ancestors as any Chinaman) the matter was more difficult. However, he was eventually fortunate enough to stumble upon an acquaintance, a Mrs. Milton, who had met Mrs. Loveland and her niece while travelling in England. Mrs. Milton was a charming woman, but she had some weaknesses. In a sojourn of six weeks, she had become so much more English than the English that she had taken to calling her daughter Fanny "Fawny." She pitied Mrs. Loveland and Mrs. Loveland's niece because they were so – "so unnecessarily American, don't you know?" Also she was perfectly certain from their way of doing things, from remarks they had let drop, and answers they had given to her questions, that they were nobodies. They lived in a town in the middle west, knew no New York people, poor things, and were altogether provincial. They had been abroad for the first time, had enjoyed themselves with the most countrified enthusiasm everywhere, and were so much interested in history and dull subjects of that sort that Fawny's mother fawncied they were perhaps schoolteachers on their holidays, especially as they were so reserved about their own affairs, that there must be something they were ashamed of.
Major Cadwallader Hunter was glad to hear these damaging details, because it was evident that the Englishman was taken with Mrs. Loveland's niece. The self-appointed bear-leader wanted his bear for more important girls.
It was not till nearly dinner-time that he was able to make his report to Loveland. Meanwhile, during his leader's absence, the bear had found out some things for himself, and had forgotten Major Cadwallader Hunter. Val had felt the need of another constitutional, and seeing his namesake's niece struggling with a wind-blown rug, had tucked it round her feet. They were pretty feet, and Val was very fastidious about a woman's feet. These were even prettier, and many sizes smaller than Miss Coolidge's, therefore he was glad that a next-door chair stood empty for the moment. He begged so meekly to sit down and talk for a little while, that his mother, could she have heard him, would have trembled lest he might be sickening for something. But he had talked for more than a "little while," and then had been forced to go because the owner of the next-door chair came back and hovered suggestively.
Loveland had only just got up, and was taking his leave when Major Cadwallader Hunter arrived from the Music-room, where he had been gleaning facts. "She is a Miss Dearmer," he announced.
"Oh, I know that already," Val returned, ungratefully. "She told me herself."
"Lesley Dearmer."
"I hadn't got as far as the Lesley yet." Val laughed lightly, for he had had a delightful conversation with Miss Dearmer. That cleft in her chin had not proved a trap to catch the unwary, whom it tempted to expect a merry wit. And while Loveland sat beside her, she had flung bright thought after bright thought, carelessly as a cashier in a bank shovels out gold for other people's purses. He had never met a girl like Miss Dearmer. No wonder she could write stories. But he felt it was far more suitable that she should entertain the Marquis of Loveland.
"Of course you must do exactly as you please," said Cadwallader Hunter, "but from what I've learned, I fancy you can pass your valuable time better on this trip than in the society of Miss Dearmer."
"What do you mean?" Val flashed out at him.
"Oh, only that it's just as I thought. She and her aunt are ordinary, provincial little people, with no money or connections. They live in the southwest, near a city called Louisville. These ladies, aunt and niece, have been 'doing' as much of Europe as they could afford, and are now returning to their native wilds, where they'll probably stay for the remainder of their respectable, colourless lives."
The picture was not alluring, and Loveland's face fell.
"Mr. and Miss Coolidge are at your table," said Cadwallader Hunter, "and I've just been arranging to sit there, too, so I can introduce you this evening at dinner. You'll be next Miss Coolidge, and opposite, you'll have a very nice girl, a Miss Fanny Milton, who admires Englishmen. Her mother is a youngish woman with a temper. She doesn't get on well with her husband, but he is a very rich man who must give a dot of at least five hundred thousand to his daughter. These people are friends of mine, and will be very pleased to know you."
Loveland did not doubt the last statement, nor did he feel grateful to his benefactor, this general provider of charming, rich young ladies. He was sulkily regretting that Miss Dearmer was poor and provincial, and altogether impossible as the future Lady Loveland.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Guide, Philosopher and Friend
"Well," said the girl, "what do you think of things?"
"I think," answered Loveland, "it's a beastly shame we're not put at the same table."
"I mean of things in general."
"I prefer to think of you in particular."
"It wouldn't pay," said the girl, with one of her whimsical smiles.
Loveland looked at her sharply. "What makes you say that?" he wanted to know.
"Because it's true."
"Why do you insinuate that I only want to do things that pay?"
"I told you I wrote stories, didn't I? Well, to write stories, one must make a study of Man. I do. And I never found it dull yet."
"I'm glad you don't find it dull where I'm concerned," said Val. "But I'm not glad you consider me a swine."
"Lucky I've just been in England, and heard other Englishmen talk," said the girl. "If not, I should hardly understand that pretty expression."
"So you've been making a study of other Englishmen? What did you think of us?"
"That you, as a race, are very tall and tweedy. And that you aren't precisely dissatisfied with yourselves."
It was the next morning, and they were pacing up and down the long white deck. Loveland had joined Miss Dearmer as she walked, and she had not been repellent in her manner. Yet somehow her friendliness did not encourage him to increasing conceit. Even before she had made that little remark about studying Man, he had vaguely felt that she read him as if he were a cypher of which she had found the key.
"I hope you met the right kind of men," he said.
"You mean, men like you? You see, I know who you are, now."
"Who told you anything about me?"
"Miss Milton."
"Oh, you know her – daughter of the white-faced woman, pretty, blushy little thing who sits at my table?"
"Yes. We were travelling in England at the same time, and met often at hotels."
"What did Miss Milton say about me?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes. I'm not a coward."
"She said she wondered if you were going over to our country to try and marry an American girl."
"By Jove! Well, supposing I do try, what's your opinion? Do you think I stand a good chance of bringing it off?"
"It's rather soon for me to judge."
"You seem to have made up your mind quickly about some of my other qualities. About my wanting to do things which pay, for instance."
"You haven't forgiven me that? It might pay to 'try' and marry an American girl."
"Well," admitted Loveland on an impulse, "no matter how much I might want to, I couldn't marry one if it didn't pay."
"Now you are being frank," replied Miss Lesley. "I like people to be frank."
"So do I," said Loveland, "when that doesn't mean being disagreeable, as it generally does from one's relations, especially one's maiden aunts."
"England expects that every aunt will do her duty."
"Luckily you're not my aunt, so please don't do yours if it's unpleasant. But couldn't we be frank – and friends? I should like most awfully to have you for my friend. You could be no end valuable to me, you know, about giving me good advice, if you would."
She laughed. "I dare say. But could you be valuable to me?"
Loveland wished that he might dare to be dangerous; but the idea of having her for a friend, into whose pink shell of an ear he could pour confidences, really attracted him – since her value, not being cash value, could be realised by him in no other way. And, of course, if she would promise to be his friend, it would be caddish to make love to her. He felt very virtuous as he laid down this rule for himself.
"I'll let you study me as much as you like, and put me into your next story."
"As the villain?"
He looked rather blank. His conception for himself was always the part of hero.
"But after all, it's usually baronets who're villains – in stories and plays," she went on. "A Marquis – you are a Marquis, aren't you – may perhaps be a fellow being."
"Please treat me as such, then," said Loveland.
"I will, anyway till further notice. Now you may begin to tell me frank things, and I'll give you frank advice about them, as a friend."
"How I wish you were rich!" exclaimed Loveland, thinking aloud, as he did sometimes.
"How do you know I'm not? Oh, of course Major Cadwallader Hunter found out for you. He would! He's the sort of man who takes a worm's eye view of the world, and of women and wealth. But never mind if I'm not rich."
"I do mind. I shouldn't want you for a friend if you were."
"You wouldn't – oh! Well, now you are being still franker, aren't you?"
"You said you liked people to be frank."
"Ye – es."
"I haven't offended you, have I?"
"No. I'm just getting used to you. It's quite interesting. What do you want my advice about? Other girls, I suppose?"
"It may come to that," Loveland admitted.
"Anyone in particular, at the moment?"
"Well, supposing I were forced to marry money, for the sake of – of – my estates and all that, is there anyone on board you'd recommend?"
"You've two very eligible girls at your table."
"Yes. But hang it all, it's too much of a good thing having them at one's elbow like that, you know. If only it were you, instead – "
"On the principle of having the poor always with one. But for that you'd have to change and sit at mine. We're all poor there, I think. It's the Ineligible's Table, for both sexes. Would you care to come?"
"I'd care to, but I couldn't afford it," said Val. "I must stop where I am and take the goods the gods provide."
"You mean the dining-room steward who arranged the seats."
"What else did Miss Milton say about me?"
"That you were very good-looking – as we're being frank."
"I hope you agreed with her?"
"Oh, yes, I had to. Your looks are so obvious – so much a part of your stock-in-trade, if you don't mind my saying so, it would be silly to deny that the shop windows are well decorated. It was apropos of your marrying that she spoke. I said a handsome man oughtn't to be driven into the obscurity of marriage, by necessity. He ought simply to be supported by the nation, become a sort of public institution, and be the pride of his country; be sent, beautifully got up, to walk in Parks, and dance at balls, and make life pleasant for girls."
"Thank you. Anything else?"
"From Miss Milton or me?"
"From you."
"Nothing more from me. The rest was silence."
"From Miss Milton, then?"
"Let me see. She said it seemed as if you'd bought your eyelashes by the yard, and been frightfully extravagant."
"Wish I could pawn them!"
"If you marry as you intend, you won't need to."
"I say, I'm afraid you're frightfully sarcastic," said Loveland, who had never had an American girl for a friend before, and found that having one kept his hands full. "You think I'm a beast to marry a girl for her money."
"First catch your hare."
"You mean I mayn't get one to take me."
"One never can tell. There have been slips between cup and lip."
"Although I'm poor, I can give my wife a lot of things a woman likes to have."
"Second best things."
"Oh, come! You haven't stopped to think what they are."
"I've stopped to think that love's the best thing – the thing a girl cares most for a man to give her."
"It seems to me that all the girls I know would be pretty well satisfied with the right to walk into a dining-room behind a Duchess, and – "
"Do you? What a lot you've got to learn about girls."
"I don't think I have," said Val. "I think I know most of it."
"About life, then, and about yourself."
