The Twelfth Hour Part 45

"At _our_ age," said Aunt William, "_only_ little flower toques, as you call them, should be left to younger people. Oh how much nicer you would look, Virginia, in a black or brown silk dress, and a close bonnet with strings, say with a chrysanthemum or two, and a few bugles if you like.

It would be so much more suitable."

"What _is_ a close bonnet?" asked Lady Virginia, trying to concentrate her thoughts and not in the least offended.

The arrival of Savile at this moment created a diversion. His air of inscrutability and self-restraint was neither more nor less marked than usual; but, to the acute observer, it would have been evident that he was crammed with suppressed and exciting information.

"You remember my nephew, Virginia? My brother James's only son, you know." Aunt William spoke proudly, as if his being an only son were some remarkable merit of his own.

"Not at all," murmured Savile indistinctly.

"Oh, is he really? What a darling! I adore children," said Lady Virginia, benevolently smiling at him. "And _so_ tall for his age, too!"

"You don't know his age," snapped Aunt William.

"No, I don't; but I can see he's tall--a very fine child. What do you learn at school, darling?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Savile, with patience.

Lady Virginia laughed inconsequently.

"What a clever boy he is! Children _are_ so wonderful nowadays! When Delestin was only six he played all Chopin's Valses and Liszt's Rhapsodies by heart. Of course that's some time ago now, but it shows what boys _can_ do."

"By Jove!" said Savile.

"Who's your great friend at school, dear?"

"Oh--I suppose Sweeny's my _greatest_ pal. He's in the eleven," added Savile explanatorily.

"Oh, yes! I daresay--a very nice boy too. He has a marvellous likeness to you, Mary dear," Lady Virginia said, using the long-handled gla.s.s, "especially about the--well--the ears--and forehead. Are you musical, my dear?"

"I like some of it," said Savile, with a sigh.

"You're like James, too," said Lady Virginia, "and I think I see a look of his mother, Mary."

"You never saw her, and you know it," said Aunt William, who always tried in vain to pin Virginia down to facts.

"Yes, but that was merely by chance," said Lady Virginia, getting into her cloak. "Then I shall expect you, Mary, to come and hear Delestin play? Oh, no, I forgot--you said you couldn't. I'm so sorry; but I _must_ fly.... I've a thousand things to do. You know my busy life! I'm the President of the Young Girls' Typewriting Society, and I have to go and see about it. How we poor women ever get through the season with all the work we do is more than I can ever understand."

Aunt William became much more cordial at the prospect of her friend's departure, and when Virginia had at last fluttered out, after dropping the gold bag and the ivory fan twice, Savile said--

"Do you expect _many_ more visitors like that to-day, Aunt William?"

"None like that."

"Well, while you're alone I've got some news to tell you. Sylvia would have come herself, but she's engaged--this afternoon."

"Not engaged to be married, I suppose!" said Aunt William, with a sort of triumphal archness.

"Yes, you've hit it in once. At least, up to a certain point. It'll be all right. But the Governor's a bit nasty--and the fact is, we want you to come and see him, and sort of talk him over, you know."

"Savile! Do you mean it? How charming!... But who's the young man--and what's the objection?"

Savile thought a moment, and remembered her tinge of sn.o.bbishness. "He's Sir Bryce Woodville's nephew. Chap who died. I mean, the uncle died.

It's Woodville, _you_ know!"

"Your father's secretary?"

"Yes, and a rattling good chap, too. Sylvia's liked him for ages, and he didn't like to come up to the scratch because he was hard up. Now something's turned up. Old Ridokanaki's written him a letter--wants him to go into his bank. He'll have three thousand a year. It's only _habit_ with the Governor to pretend to mind. But a few words with you will settle it. I'll tell you more about it later on."

"I _am_ amazed at the news, Savile. He's a very fine young man, but----"

"He's all right, Aunt William."

"But I thought the Greek gentleman with the unp.r.o.nounceable name was madly in love with Sylvia himself? I've often talked it over with your father. He and I took opposite views."

"So he was, but he's got some one else now. It's simply _got_ to come off. Now _will_ you come and see us?"

"Certainly. When?"

"As soon as possible. I wish you'd come now."

"But this is my Day, Savile! How can I go out on my _Day_?"

"Of course you can. You'll have heaps of other days, but none like this--for Sylvia."

Aunt William hesitated, then her intense romantic curiosity got the upper hand.

"Savile, I'll come back with you now! Do you think James will listen to reason? He never agrees with me. And I don't know yet what to think myself."

"Of course he will. You're a brick, Aunt William. I'll tell you more about it in the cab. It's as right as rain for Sylvia, or you may be pretty certain _I_ shouldn't have allowed it," said Savile.

To get Aunt William to go out on her Day, a thing she had not done for thirty years, was so great a triumph that he had little fear of not getting her to be on the right side. He knew she always made a point of disagreeing with his father on every subject under heaven, so he rubbed in Sir James's opposition, and gradually worked on her sentimental side until she was almost tearfully enthusiastic.

"How shall I behave? Go right in and tell your father he must consent?--or what?"

"Play for safety," said Savile.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE TWELFTH HOUR

Sir James was extremely annoyed with the weather. In his young days, as he remarked with bitterness, spring was spring, and it didn't thunder and snow in April. He was prattling pompously of the suns.h.i.+ne in the past, when a sudden heavy shower of hail, falling rather defiantly in spite of his hints, made him lose his temper. Sir James, looking angrily up at the sky, declared that unless it stopped within half an hour he would write to the _Times_ about it.

Whether or not this threat had any real meteorological influence, there is no doubt that the clouds dispersed rather hastily, the sun hurriedly appeared, and the weather promptly prepared to enable Sir James to venture out, which he did with a gracious wave of the hand to the entire horizon, as though willing to say no more about it.