The Dull Miss Archinard Part 2

"The art of not being bored requires patience, not to say genius. It can be learned though. And there are worse things than being bored."

"I think I could bear anything better."

"What would you like, Ally?" Odd's voice held a certain hopefulness.

"I'll do anything I can, you know. I believe in a woman's individuality and all that. Does your life down here crush your individuality, Alicia?"

Again Odd smiled down at her, conscious of an inward bitterness.

"Joke away, Peter. You know how much I care for all that woman business--rights and movements and individualities and all that; a silly claiming of more duties that do no good when they're done. I am an absolutely ba.n.a.l person, Peter; my mind to me isn't a kingdom. I like outside things. I like gayety, change, diversion. I don't like days one after the other--like sheep--and I don't like sheep!"

They had pa.s.sed through the shrubbery, and before them were meadows dotted with the harmless animals that had suggested Mrs. Odd's simile.

"Well, we won't look at the sheep. I own that they savor strongly of bucolic immutability. You've had plenty of London for the past year, Ally, and Nice and Monte Carlo. The sheep are really the change."

"You had better go in for a seat in Parliament, Peter."

"Longings for a political salon, Ally? I have hardly time for my scribbling and landlording as it is."

"A salon! Nothing would bore me so much as being clever and keeping it up. No, I like seeing people and being seen, and dancing and all that. I am absolutely ba.n.a.l, as I tell you."

"Well, you shall have London next year. We'll go up for the season."

"You took me for what I was, Peter," Mrs. Odd remarked as they retraced their steps towards the house. "I have never pretended, have I? You knew that I was a society beauty and that only. I am a very shallow person, I suppose, Peter; I certainly can't pretend to have depths--even to give Mary satisfaction. It would be too uncomfortable. Why did you fall in love with me, Peter? It wasn't _en caractere_ a bit, you know."

"Oh yes, it was, Ally. I fell in love with you because you were beautiful. Why did you fall in love with me?"

The mockery with which Alicia's smile was tinged deepened into a good-humored laugh at her own expense.

"Well, Peter, I don't think any one before made me feel that they thought me so beautiful. I am vain, you know. Your enthusiasm was awfully flattering. I am very sorry you idealized me, Peter. I am sure you idealized me. Shall we go in? Lunch must be ready, and you must be hungrier than ever."

CHAPTER III

At four that afternoon Odd, his wife, and Mary started for the Archinards' house. Mary had offered to join her brother; the prospect of the walk together was very pleasant. She could not object when Alicia, at the last moment, announced her intention of going too.

"I have never been to see her. I should like the walk, and Mary will approve of the fulfilment of my duty towards my neighbor."

Mary's prospects were decidedly nipped in the bud, as Alicia perhaps intended that they should be; but Alicia's avowed motive was so praiseworthy that Mary allowed herself only an inner discontent, and, what with her good-humored demeanor, Odd's placid chat of crops and tenantry, and Alicia's acquiescent beauty, the trio seemed to enjoy the mile of beechwood and country road and the short sweep of prettily wooded drive that led to Allersley Priory, a square stone house covered with vines of magnolia and wisteria, and incorporating in its walls, according to tradition, portions of the old Priory which once occupied the site. From the back of the house sloped a wide expanse of lawn and shrubberies, and past it ran the river that half a mile further on flowed out of Captain Archinard's little property into Odd's. The drawing-room was on the ground-floor, and its windows opened on this view.

Mrs. Archinard and the Captain were talking to young Lord Allan Hope, eldest son of Lord Mainwaring. Mrs. Archinard's invalidism was evidently not altogether fict.i.tious. She had a look of at once extreme fragility and fading beauty. One knew at the first glance that she was a woman to have cus.h.i.+ons behind her and her back to the light. There was no character in the delicate head, unless one can call a pa.s.sive determination to do or feel nothing that required energy, character.

The two little girls came in while Odd talked to their father. They were dressed alike in white muslins. Katherine's gown reached her ankles; Hilda's was still at the _mi-jambe_ stage. Their long hair fell about their faces in childlike fas.h.i.+on. Katherine's was brown and strongly rippled; Hilda's softly, duskily, almost bluely black; it grew in charming curves and eddies about her forehead, and framed her little face and long slim neck in straightly falling lines.

Katherine gave Odd her hand with a little air that reminded him of a Velasquez Infanta holding out a flower.

"You were splendid this morning, Mr. Odd. That hole was no joke, and Hilda swallowed lots of water as it was. She might easily have been drowned."

Katherine was certainly not pretty, but her deeply set black eyes had a dominant directness. She held her head up, and her smile was charming--a little girl's smile, yet touched with the conscious power of a clever woman. Odd felt that the child was clever, and that the woman would be cleverer. He felt, too, that the black eyes were lit with just a spice of fun as they looked into his as though she knew that he knew, and they both knew together, that Hilda had not been in much danger, and that his ducking had been only conventionally "splendid."

"Hilda wants to thank you herself, don't you, Hilda? She had such a horrid time altogether; you were a sort of Perseus to her, and papa the sea monster!" Then Katherine, having, as it were, introduced and paved the way for her sister, went back across the room again, and stood by young Allan Hope while he talked to the beautiful Mrs. Odd.

Hilda seemed really in no need of an introduction. She was not shy, though she evidently had not her sister's ready mastery of what to say, and how to say it. Odd was rather glad of this; he had found Katherine's _aplomb_ almost disconcerting.

"I do thank you very much." She put her hand into Odd's as he spoke, and left it there; the confiding little action emphasized her childlikeness.

"What did you think of as you went down?" he asked her.

"In the river?" A shade of retrospective terror crossed her face.

"No, no! we won't talk about the river, will we?" Odd said quickly.

However funny Katherine's greater common sense had found the incident, it had not been funny to Hilda. "Have you lived here long?" he asked.

Captain Archinard had joined Mrs. Odd, and with an admirer on either side, Alicia was enjoying herself. "I have never seen you before, you know."

"We have lived here since my uncle died; about eight years ago, I think."

"Yes, just about the time that I left Allersley."

"Didn't you like Allersley?" Hilda asked, with some wonder.

"Oh, very much; and my father was here, so I often came back; but I lived in London and Paris, where I could work at things that interested me."

"I have been twice in London; I went to the National Gallery."

"You liked that?"

"Oh, very much." She was a quiet little girl, and spoke quietly, her wide gentle gaze on Odd.

"And what else did you like in London?"

Hilda smiled a little, as if conscious that she was being put through the proper routine of questions, but a trustful smile, quite willing to give all information asked for.

"The Three Fates."

"You mean the Elgin Marbles?"

"Yes, with no heads; but one is rather glad they haven't."

"Why?" asked Odd, as she paused. Hilda did not seem sure of her own reason.

"Perhaps they would be _too_ beautiful with heads," she suggested. "Do you like dogs?" she added, suddenly turning the tables on him.

"Yes, I love dogs," Odd replied, with sincere enthusiasm.

"Three of our dogs are out there on the verandah, if you would care to know them?"

"I should very much. Perhaps you'll show me the garden too; it looks very jolly."