Rodens Corner | Page 9

younger portion of Lady Ferriby's world took heed of this catlike,
lonely woman, and recognized the melancholy fact that it is unwise to
form a romantic attachment in the days of one's youth.
"Tony," said her ladyship, "they have eaten all the sandwiches."

And there was something in her voice, in her manner of touching Tony
Cornish's arm with her fan that suggested in a far-off, cold way that this
social butterfly had reached one of the still strings of her heart. Who
knows? There may have been, in those dim days when Lady Ferriby
had played her part in the romantic story which all hinted at and none
knew, another such as Tony Cornish--gay and debonair, careless,
reckless, and yet endowed with the power of making some poor woman
happy.
"My dear aunt," replied Cornish, with a levity with which none other
ever dared to treat her, "the benevolent are always greedy. And each
additional virtue--temperance, loving-kindness, humility--only serves
to dull the sense of humour and add to the appetite. Give them biscuits,
aunt."
And offering her his arm, he good-naturedly led her to the
refreshment-room to investigate the matter. As she passed through the
crowded rooms, she glanced from face to face with her quick, seeking
look. She cordially disliked all these people. And their principal crime
was that they ate and drank. For Lady Ferriby was a miser.
At the upper end of the room a low platform served as a safe retreat for
sleepy chaperons on such occasions as the annual Ferriby ball. To-night
there were no chaperons. Is not charity the safest as well as the most
lenient of these? And does her wing not cover a multitude of
indiscretions?
Upon this platform there now appeared, amid palms and
chrysanthemums, a long, rotund man like a bolster. He held a paper in
his hand and wore a platform smile. His attitude was that of one who
hesitated to demand silence from so well-bred a throng. His high,
narrow forehead shone in the light of the candelabra. This was Lord
Ferriby--a man whose best friend did his best for him in describing him
as well-meaning. He gave a cough which had sufficient significance in
it to command a momentary quiet. During the silence, a well-dressed
parson stood on tiptoe and whispered something in Lord Ferriby's ear.
The suggestion, whatever it may have been, was negated by the speaker
on receipt of a warning shake of the head from Joan.

"Er--ladies and gentlemen," said Lord Ferriby, and gained the
necessary silence. "Er--you all know the purpose of our meeting here
to-night. You all know that Lady Ferriby and myself are much
honoured by your presence here. And--er--I am sure----" He did not,
however, appear to be quite sure, for he consulted his paper, and the
colonial bishop near the yellow chrysanthemums said, "Hear, hear!"
"And I am sure that we are, one and all, actuated by a burning desire to
relieve the terrible distress which has been going on unknown to us in
our very midst."
"He has missed out half a page," said Joan to Major White, who
somehow found himself at her side again.
"This is no place, and we have at the moment no time, to go into the
details of the manufacture of malgamite. Suffice it to say, that such
a--er--composition exists, and that it is a necessity in the manufacture
of paper. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the painful fact has been brought
to light by my friend Mr. Roden----" His lordship paused, and looked
round with a half-fledged bow, but failed to find Roden.
"By--er--Mr. Roden that the manufacture of malgamite is one of the
deadliest of industries. In fact, the makers of malgamite, and
fortunately they are comparatively few in number, stricken as they are
by a corroding disease, occupy in our midst the--er--place of the lepers
of the Bible."
Here Lord Ferriby bowed affably to the bishop, as if to say, "And that
is where you come in."
"We--er--live in an age," went on Lord Ferriby--and the practical Joan
nodded her head to indicate that he was on the right track now--"when
charity is no longer a matter of sentiment, but rather a very practical
and forcible power in the world. We do not ask your assistance in a
vague and visionary crusade against suffering. We ask you to help us in
the development of a definite scheme for the amelioration of the
condition of our fellow-beings."

Lord Ferriby spoke not with the ease of long practice, but with the
assurance of one accustomed to being heard with patience. He now
waited for the applause to die away.
"Who put him up to it?" Major White asked Joan.
"Mr. Roden wrote the speech, and I taught it to papa," was the answer.
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