Loves Shadow | Page 4

the large panelled-oak room in which not a picture was to be seen. The only indication of its having ever been meant for a studio was the north light, carefully obstructed (on the grounds of unbecomingness) by gently-tinted draperies of some fabric suggesting Liberty's. 'Life wasn't worth living, trying to keep the peace!'
'But you must have missed her?'
'Still, I prefer coming to see her here. And knowing she has you with her is, after all, everything.'
He looked a question.
'Yes, she has. I mean, she seems rather--absorbed again lately,' said Anne.
'Who is it?' he asked. 'I always feel so indiscreet and treacherous talking over her private affairs like this with you, though she tells me everything herself. I'm not sure it's the act of a simple, loyal, Christian English gentleman; in fact, I'm pretty certain it's not. I suppose that's why I enjoy it so much.'
'I daresay,' said Anne; 'but she wouldn't mind it.'
'What has been happening?'
'Nothing interesting. Hazel Kerr came here the other day and brought with him a poem in bronze lacquer, as he called it. He read it aloud--the whole of it.'
'Good heavens! Poetry! Do people still do that sort of thing? I thought it had gone out years ago--when I was a young man.'
'Of course, so it has. But Hazel Kerr is out of date. Hyacinth says he's almost a classic.'
'His verses?'
'Oh no! His method. She says he's an interesting survival--he's walked straight out of another age--the nineties, you know. There were poets in those days.'
'Method! He was much too young then to have a style at all, surely!'
'That was the style. It was the right thing to be very young in the nineties. It isn't now.'
'It's not so easy now, for some of us,' murmured Sir Charles.
'But Hazel keeps it up,' Anne answered.
Sir Charles laughed irritably. 'He keeps it up, does he? But he sits people out openly, that shows he's not really dangerous. One doesn't worry about Hazel. It's that young man who arrives when everybody's going, or goes before anyone else arrives, that's what I'm a little anxious about.'
'If you mean Cecil Reeve, Hyacinth says he doesn't like her.'
'I'm sorry to hear that. If anything will interest her, that will. Yet I don't know why I should mind. At any rate, he certainly isn't trying to marry her for interested reasons, as he's very well off--or perhaps for any reasons. I'm told he's clever, too.'
'His appearance is not against him either,' said Anne dryly; 'so what's the matter with him?'
'I don't know exactly. I think he's capable of playing with her.'
'Perhaps he doesn't really appreciate her,' suggested Anne.
'Oh, yes, he does. He's a connoisseur--confound him! He appreciates her all right. But it's all for himself--not for her. By the way, I've heard his name mentioned with another woman's name. But I happen to know there's nothing in it.'
'Would you really like her to marry soon?' Anne asked.
'In her position it would be better, I suppose,' said her guardian, with obvious distaste to the idea.
'Has there ever been anyone that you thoroughly approved of?' asked Anne.
He shook his head.
'I rather doubt if there ever will be,' Anne said.
'She's so clever, so impulsive! She lives so much on her emotions. If she were disappointed--in that way--it would mean so much to her,' Sir Charles said.
'She does change rather often,' said Anne.
'Of course, she's never really known her own mind.' He took a letter out of his pocket. 'I came partly to show her a letter from Ella--my girl at school in Paris, you know. Hyacinth is so kind to her. She writes to me very confidentially. I hope she's being properly brought up!'
'Let me read it.'
She read--
'DARLING PAPA,
'I'm having heavenly fun at school. Last night there was a ball for Madame's birthday. A proper grown-up ball, and we all danced. The men weren't bad. I had a lovely Easter egg, a chocolate egg, and inside that another egg with chocolate in it, and inside that another egg with a dear little turquoise charm in it. One man said I was a blonde anglaise, and had a keepsake face; and another has taken the Prix de Rome, and is going to be a schoolmaster. There were no real ices. Come over and see me soon. It's such a long time to the holidays. Love to mother.
'Your loving,
'ELLA.'
'A curious letter--for her age,' said Ella's father, replacing it. 'I wish she were here. It seems a pity Lady Cannon can't stand the noise of practising--and so on. Well, perhaps it's for the best.' He got up. 'Miss Yeo, I must go and fetch Lady Cannon now, but I'll come back at half-past six for a few minutes--on my way to the club.'
'She's sure to be here then,' replied Anne consolingly; 'and do persuade her not to waste all her