A Great Success | Page 8

written to her,
and--no doubt--flirted with her. Doris, as she listened to her, disliked
her heartily, and at the same time could not help being thrilled by so
much knowledge, so much contact with history in the making, and by
such a masterful way, in a woman, with the great ones of the earth.
"What a worm she must think me!" thought Doris--"what a worm she
does think me--and the likes of me!"
At the same time, the spectator must needs admit there was something
else in Lady Dunstable's talk than mere intelligence or mere
mannishness. There was undoubtedly something of "the good fellow,"
and, through all her hard hitting, a curious absence--in conversation--of
the personal egotism she was quite ready to show in all the trifles of life.
On the present occasion her main object clearly was to bring out Arthur
Meadows--the new captive of her bow and spear; to find out what was
in him; to see if he was worthy of her inner circle. Throwing all
compliment aside, she attacked him hotly on certain statements--certain
estimates--in his lectures. Her knowledge was personal; the knowledge
of one whose father had sat in Dizzy's latest Cabinet, while, through the

endless cousinship of the English landed families, she was as much
related to the Whig as to the Tory leaders of the past. She talked
familiarly of "Uncle This" or "Cousin That," who had been apparently
the idols of her nursery before they had become the heroes of England;
and Meadows had much ado to defend himself against her store of
anecdote and reminiscence. "Unfair!" thought Doris, breathlessly
watching the contest of wits. "Oh, if she weren't a woman, Arthur could
easily beat her!"
But she was a woman, and not at all unwilling, when hard pressed, to
take advantage of that fact.
All the same, Meadows was stirred to most unwonted efforts. He
proved to be an antagonist worth her steel; and Doris's heart swelled
with secret pride as she saw how all the other voices died down, how
more and more people came up to listen, even the young men and
maidens,--throwing themselves on the grass, around the two disputants.
Finally Lady Dunstable carried off the honours. Had she not seen Lord
Beaconsfield twice during the fatal week of his last general election,
when England turned against him, when his great rival triumphed, and
all was lost? Had he not talked to her, as great men will talk to the
young and charming women whose flatteries soften their defeats; so
that, from the wings, she had seen almost the last of that well-graced
actor, caught his last gestures and some of his last words?
"Brava, brava!" said Meadows, when the story ceased, although it had
been intended to upset one of his own most brilliant generalisations;
and a sound of clapping hands went round the circle. Lady Dunstable, a
little flushed and panting, smiled and was silent. Meadows, meanwhile,
was thinking--"How often has she told that tale? She has it by heart.
Every touch in it has been sharpened a dozen times. All the same--a
wonderful performance!"
Lord Dunstable, meanwhile, sat absolutely silent, his hat on the back of
his head, his attention fixed on his wife. As the group broke up, and the
chairs were pushed back, he said in Doris's ear--"Isn't she an awfully
clever woman, my wife?"

Before Doris could answer, she heard Lady Dunstable carelessly--but
none the less peremptorily--inviting her women guests to see their
rooms. Doris walked by her hostess's side towards the house. Every
trace of animation and charm had now vanished from that lady's
manner. She was as languid and monosyllabic as before, and Doris
could only feel once again that while her clever husband was an eagerly
welcomed guest, she herself could only expect to reckon as his
appendage--a piece of family luggage.
Lady Dunstable threw open the door of a spacious bedroom. "No doubt
you will wish to rest till dinner," she said, severely. "And of course
your maid will ask for what she wants." At the word "maid," did Doris
dream it, or was there a satiric gleam in the hard black eyes?
"Pretender," it seemed to say--and Doris's conscience admitted the
charge.
And indeed the door had no sooner closed on Lady Dunstable before an
agitated knock announced Jane--in tears.
She stood opposite her mistress in desperation.
"Please, ma'am--I'll have to have an evening dress--or I can't go in to
supper!"
"What on earth do you mean?" said Doris, staring at her.
"Every maid in this 'ouse, ma'am, 'as got to dress for supper. The maids
go in the 'ousekeeper's room, an' they've all on 'em got dresses
V-shaped, or cut square, or something. This black dress, ma'am, won't
do at all. So I can't have no supper. I