In Her Own Right Part 9

"And taking up Bridge!" the Captain e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "And it is just as well--we have sense enough to stop before we're broke, but they haven't."

"To hear father talk, you would think that the present generation is no earthly good!" smiled Miss Carrington. "Yet I suppose, when he was young, his elders held the same opinion of him."

"I dare say!" laughed the Captain. "The old ones always think the young ones have a lot to learn--and they have, sir, they have! But it's of another sort than we can teach them, I reckon." He pushed back his chair. "We'll smoke on the piazza, sir--the ladies don't object."

As they pa.s.sed out, a visitor was just ascending the steps. Miss Carrington gave a smothered exclamation and went forward.

"How do you do, Miss Erskine!" she said.

"How do you do, my dear!" returned Miss Erskine, "and Mrs.

Carrington--and the dear Captain, too.--I'm charmed to find you all at home."

She spoke with an affected drawl that would have been amusing in a handsome woman, but was absurdly ridiculous in one with her figure and unattractive face.

She turned expectantly toward Croyden, and Miss Carrington presented him.

"So this is the new owner of Clarendon," she gurgled with an 'a' so broad it impeded her speech. "You have kept us waiting a long time, Mr.

Croyden. We began to think you a myth."

"I'm afraid you will find me a very husky myth," Croyden answered.

"'Husky' is scarcely the correct word, Mr. Croyden; _animated_ would be better, I think. We scholars, you know, do not like to hear a word used in a perverted sense."

She waddled to a chair and settled into it. Croyden shot an amused glance toward Miss Carrington, and received one in reply.

"No, I suppose not," he said, amiably. "But, then, you know, I am not a scholar."

Miss Erskine smiled in a superior sort of way.

"Very few of us are properly careful of our mode of speech," she answered. "And, oh! Mr. Croyden, I hope you intend to open Clarendon, so as to afford those of us who care for such things, the pleasure of studying the pictures, and the china, and the furniture. I am told it contains a Stuart and a Peale--and they should not be hidden from those who can appreciate them."

"I a.s.sume you're talking of pictures," said Croyden.

"I am, sir,--most a.s.suredly!" the dame answered.

"Well, I must confess ignorance, again," he replied. "I wouldn't know a Stuart from a--chromo."

Miss Erskine gave a little shriek of horror.

"I do not believe it, Mr. Croyden!--you're playing on my credulity. I shall have to give you some instructions. I will lecture on Stuart and Peale, and the painters of their period, for your especial delectation--and soon, very soon!"

"I'm afraid it would all be wasted," said Croyden. "I'm not fond of art, I confess--except on the commercial side; and if I've any pictures, at Clarendon, worth money, I'll be for selling them."

"Oh! Mrs. Carrington! Will you listen--did you ever hear such heresy?"

she exclaimed. "I can't believe it of you, Mr. Croyden. Let me lend you an article on Stuart to read. I shall bring it out to Clarendon to-morrow morning--and you can let me look at all the dear treasures, while you peruse it."

"Mr. Croyden has an appointment with me to-morrow, Amelia," said Carrington, quickly--and Croyden gave him a look of grat.i.tude.

"It will be but a pleasure deferred, then, Mr. Croyden," said Miss Erskine, impenetrable in her self conceit. "The next morning will do, quite as well--I shall come at ten o'clock--What a lovely evening this is, Mrs. Carrington!" preparing to patronize her hostess.

The Captain snorted with sudden anger, and, abruptly excusing himself, disappeared in the library. Miss Carrington stayed a moment, then, with a word to Croyden, that she would show him the article now, before the others came, if Miss Erskine would excuse them a moment, bore him off.

"What do you think of her?" she demanded.

"Pompous and stupid--an irritating nuisance, I should call her."

"She's more!--she is the most arrogant, self-opinionated, self-complacent, vapid piece of humanity in this town or any other town. She irritates me to the point of impoliteness. She never sees that people don't want her. She's as dense as asphalt."

"It is very amusing!" Croyden interjected.

"At first, yes--pretty soon you will be throwing things at her--or wanting to."

"She's art crazy," he said. "Dilettanteism gone mad."

"It isn't only Art. She thinks she's qualified to speak on every subject under the sun, Literature--Bridge--Teaching--Music. Oh, she is intolerable!"

"What fits her for a.s.suming universal knowledge?" asked Croyden.

"Heaven only knows! She went away to some preparatory school, and finished off with another that teaches pedagogy. Straightway she became an adept in the art of instruction, though, when she tried it, she had the whole academy by the ears in two weeks, and the faculty asked her to resign. Next, she got some one to take her to Europe--spent six weeks in looking at a lot of the famous paintings, with the aid of a guide book and a catalogue, and came home prepared to lecture on Art--and, what's more, she has the effrontery to do it--for the benefit of Charity, she takes four-fifths of the proceeds, and Charity gets the balance.

"Music came next. She read the lives of Chopin and Wagner and some of the other composers, went to a half dozen symphony concerts, looked up theory, voice culture, and the like, in the encyclopaedias, and now she's a critic! Literature she imbibed from the bottle, I suppose--it came easy to _her_! And she pa.s.ses judgment upon it with the utmost ease and final authority. And as for Bridge! She doesn't hesitate to arraign Elwell, and we, of the village, are the very dirt beneath her feet. I hear she's thinking of taking up Civic Improvement. I hope it is true--she'll likely run up against somebody who won't hesitate to tell her what an idiot she is."

"Why do you tolerate her?" Croyden asked. "Why don't you throw her out of society, metaphorically speaking."

"We can't: she belongs--which is final with us, you know. Moreover, she has imposed on some, with her a.s.sumption of superiority, and they kowtow to her in a way that is positively disgusting."

"Why don't you, and the rest who dislike her, snub her?"

"Snub _her_! You can't snub her--she never takes a snub to herself. If you were to hit her in the face, she would think it a mistake and meant for some one else."

"Then, why not do the next best thing--have fun with her?"

"We do--but even that grows monotonous, with such a mountain of Egotism--she will stay for the Bridge this evening, see if she doesn't--and never imagine she's not wanted." Then she laughed: "I think if she does I'll give her to you!"

"Very good!" said he. "I'd rather enjoy it. If she is any more cantankerous than some of the women at the Heights, she'll be an interesting study. Yes, I'll be glad to play a rubber with her."

"If you start, you'll play the entire evening with her--we don't change partners, here."

"And what will _you_ do?" he asked.

"Look on--at the _other_ table. She will have my place. I was going to play with you."

"Then the greater the sacrifice I'm making, the greater the credit I should receive."

"It depends--on how you acquit yourself," she said gayly. "There are the others, now--come along."

There were six of them. Miss Tilghman, Miss Las.h.i.+el and Miss Tayloe, Mr. Dangerfield, Mr. Leigh, and Mr. Byrd. They all had heard of Croyden's arrival, in Hampton, and greeted him as they would one of themselves. And it impressed him, as possibly nothing else could have done--for it was distinctly new to him, after the manners of chilliness and aloofness which were the ways of Northumberland.