FullReads

Lady Lawless fanned herself. “Duke, you make me hot. But if you will have the truth: the fish-knife business by all means. Nobody need feel uncomfortable about the burglary, except the burglar; but see what a position for the other person’s hostess.”

“My dear, women have no civic virtues. Their credo is, ‘I believe in beauty and fine linen, and the thing that is not gauche.'”

His wife was smiling. “Well, have it your own way. It is a creed of comfort, at any rate. And now, Duke, if I must meet the man of mines and railways and the spare person making faces at Lord Hampstead, let it be soon, that it may be done with; and pray don’t invite them to Craigruie till I have a chance to speak with you again. I will not have impossible people at a house-party.”

“What a difficult fellow your husband is, Molly!”

“Difficult; but perfectly possible. His one fault is a universal sympathy which shines alike on the elect–and the others.”

“So. Well, this is our dance. After it is over, prepare for the Americanos.”

Half-an-hour later Mr. Vandewaters was standing in a conspicuous corner talking to Lady Lawless.

“It is, then, your first visit to England?” she asked. He had a dry, deliberate voice, unlike the smooth, conventional voices round him. “Yes, Lady Lawless,” he replied: “it’s the first time I’ve put my foot in London town, and–perhaps you won’t believe it of an American–I find it doesn’t take up a very conspicuous place.”

The humour was slightly accentuated, and Lady Lawless shrank a little, as if she feared the depths of divertisement to which this speech might lead; but a quick look at the man assured her of his common-sense, and she answered: “It is of the joys of London that no one is so important but finds the space he fills a small one, which may be filled acceptably by some one else at any moment. It is easy for kings and princes even–we have secluded princes here now–to get lost and forgotten in London.” “Well, that leaves little chance for ordinary Americans, who don’t bank on titles.”

She looked up, puzzled in spite of herself. But she presently said, with frankness and naivete: “What does ‘bank on titles’ mean?”

He stroked his beard, smiling quaintly, and said: “I don’t know how to put the thing better-it seems to fill the bill. But, anyway, Americans are republicans; and don’t believe in titles, and–“

“O, pardon me,” she interrupted: “of course, I see.”

“We’ve got little ways of talking not the same as yours. You don’t seem to have the snap to conversation that we have in the States. But I’ll say here that I think you have got a better style of talking. It isn’t exhausting.”

“Mr. Pride said to me a moment ago that they spoke better English in Boston than any other place in the world.”

“Did he, though, Lady Lawless? That’s good. Well, I guess he was only talking through his hat.”

She was greatly amused. Her first impressions were correct. The man was interesting. He had a quaint, practical mind. He had been thrown upon his own resources, since infancy almost, in a new country; and he had seen with his own eyes, nakedly, and without predisposition or instruction. From childhood thoroughly adaptable, he could get into touch with things quickly, and instantly like or dislike them. He had been used to approach great concerns with fearlessness and competency. He respected a thing only for its real value, and its intrinsic value was as clear to him as the market value. He had, perhaps, an exaggerated belief in the greatness of his own country, because he liked eagerness and energy and daring. The friction and hurry of American life added to his enjoyment. They acted on him like a stimulating air, in which he was always bold, collected, and steady. He felt an exhilaration in being superior to the rustle of forces round him. It had been his habit to play the great game of business with decision and adroitness. He had not spared his opponent in the fight; he had crushed where his interests were in peril and the sport played into his hands; comforting himself, if he thought of the thing, with the knowledge that he himself would have been crushed if the other man had not. He had never been wilfully unfair, nor had he used dishonourable means to secure his ends: his name stood high in his own country for commercial integrity; men said: he “played square.” He had, maybe, too keen a contempt for dulness and incompetency in enterprise, and he loathed red-tape; but this was racial. His mind was as open as his manners. He was utterly approachable. He was a millionaire, and yet in his own offices in New York he was as accessible as a President. He handled things without gloves, and this was not a good thing for any that came to him with a weak case. He had a penetrating intelligence; and few men attempted, after their first sophistical statements, to impose upon him: he sent them away unhappy. He did not like England altogether: first, because it lacked, as he said, enterprise; and because the formality, decorum and excessive convention fretted him. He saw that in many things the old land was backward, and he thought that precious time was being wasted. Still, he could see that there were things, purely social, in which the Londoners were at advantage; and he acknowledged this when he said, concerning Stephen Pride’s fond boast, that he was “talking through his hat.”