mr. brumley's interest in lady harman was to be almost too crowded by detail before that impulsive call was over. superposed upon the mystery of the mushroom shed was the vivid illumination of lady harman by her mother and sister. they had an effect of having reluctantly become her social inferiors for her own good; the mother—her name he learnt was mrs. sawbridge—had all lady harman's tall slenderness, but otherwise resembled her only in the poise of her neck and an occasional gesture; she was fair and with a kind of ignoble and premeditated refinement in her speech and manner. she was dressed with the restraint of a prolonged and attenuated widowhood, in a rich and complicatedly quiet dress of mauve and grey. she was obviously a transitory visitor and not so much taking the opulence about her and particularly the great butler for granted as pointedly and persistently ignoring it in an effort to seem to take it for granted. the sister, on the other hand, had lady harman's pale darkness but none of her fineness of line. she missed altogether that quality of fineness. her darkness was done with a quite perceptible heaviness, her dignity passed into solidity and her profile was, with an entire want of hesitation, handsome. she was evidently the elder by a space of some years and she was dressed with severity in grey.
these two ladies seemed to mr. brumley to offer a certain resistance of spirit to the effusion of lady beach-mandarin, rather as two small anchored vessels might resist the onset of a great and foaming tide, but after a time it was clear they admired her greatly. his attention was, however, a little distracted from them by the fact that he was the sole representative of the more serviceable sex among five women and so in duty bound to stand by lady harman and assist with various handings and offerings. the tea equipage was silver and not only magnificent but, as certain quick movements of miss sharsper's eyes and nose at its appearance betrayed, very genuine and old.
lady beach-mandarin having praised the house and garden all over again to mrs. sawbridge, and having praised the cypress and envied the tea things, resumed her efforts to secure the immediate establishment of permanent social relations with lady harman. she reverted to the question of the shakespear dinners society and now with a kind of large skilfulness involved mrs. sawbridge in her appeal. "won't you come on our committee?" said lady beach-mandarin.
mrs. sawbridge gave a pinched smile and said she was only staying in london for quite a little time, and when pressed admitted that there seemed no need whatever for consulting sir isaac upon so obviously foregone a conclusion as lady harman's public adhesion to the great movement.
"i shall put his hundred guineas down to sir isaac and lady harman," said lady beach-mandarin with an air of conclusion, "and now i want to know, dear lady harman, whether we can't have you on our committee of administration. we want—just one other woman to complete us."
lady harman could only parry with doubts of her ability.
"you ought to go on, ella," said miss sawbridge suddenly, speaking for the first time and in a manner richly suggestive of great principles at stake.
"ella," thought the curious mind of mr. brumley. "and is that eleanor now or ellen or—is there any other name that gives one ella? simply ella?"
"but what should i have to do?" fenced lady harman, resisting but obviously attracted.
lady beach-mandarin invented a lengthy paraphrase for prompt acquiescences.
"i shall be chairwoman," she crowned it with. "i can so easily see you through as they say."
"ella doesn't go out half enough," said miss sawbridge suddenly to miss sharsper, who was regarding her with furtive intensity—as if she was surreptitiously counting her features.
miss sharsper caught in mid observation started and collected her mind. "one ought to go out," she said. "certainly."
"and independently," said miss sawbridge, with meaning.
"oh independently!" assented miss sharsper. it was evident she would now have to watch her chance and begin counting all over again from the beginning.
mr. brumley had an impression that mrs. sawbridge had said something quite confidential in his ear. he turned perplexed.
"such charming weather," the lady repeated in the tone of one who doesn't wish so pleasant a little secret to be too generally discussed.
"never known a better summer," agreed mr. brumley.
and then all these minor eddies were submerged in lady beach-mandarin's advance towards her next step, an invitation to lunch. "there," said she, "i'm not victorian. i always separate husbands and wives—by at least a week. you must come alone."
it was clear to mr. brumley that lady harman wanted to come alone—and was going to accept, and equally clear that she and her mother and sister regarded this as a very daring thing to do. and when that was settled lady beach-mandarin went on to the altogether easier topic of her social friends, a society of smart and influential women; who devoted a certain fragment of time every week to befriending respectable girls employed in london, in a briskly amiable manner, having them to special teas, having them to special evenings with special light refreshments, knowing their names as far as possible and asking about their relations, and generally making them feel that society was being very frank and amiable to them and had an eye on them and meant them well, and was better for them than socialism and radicalism and revolutionary ideas. to this also lady harman it seemed was to come. it had an effect to mr. brumley's imagination as if the painted scene of that lady's life was suddenly bursting out into open doors—everywhere.
"many of them are quite lady-like," echoed mrs. sawbridge suddenly, picking up the whole thing instantly and speaking over her tea cup in that quasi-confidential tone of hers to mr. brumley.
"of course they are mostly quite dreadfully sweated," said lady beach-mandarin. "especially in the confectionery——" she thought of her position in time. "in the inferior class of confectioners' establishments," she said and then hurried on to: "of course when you come to lunch,—agatha alimony. i'm most anxious for you and her to meet."
"is that the agatha alimony?" asked miss sawbridge abruptly.
"the one and only," said lady beach-mandarin, flashing a smile at her. "and what a marvel she is! i do so want you to know her, lady harman. she'd be a revelation to you...."
everything had gone wonderfully so far. "and now," said lady beach-mandarin, thrusting forward a face of almost exaggerated motherliness and with an unwonted tenderness suffusing her voice, "show me the chicks."
there was a brief interrogative pause.
"your chicks," expanded lady beach-mandarin, on the verge of crooning. "your little chicks."
"oh!" cried lady harman understanding. "the children."
"lucky woman!" cried lady beach-mandarin. "yes."
"one hasn't begun to be friends," she added, "until one has seen—them...."
"so true," mrs. sawbridge confided to mr. brumley with a look that almost languished....
"certainly," said mr. brumley, "rather."
he was a little distraught because he had just seen sir isaac step forward in a crouching attitude from beyond the edge of the lilacs, peer at the tea-table with a serpent-like intentness and then dart back convulsively into cover....
if lady beach-mandarin saw him mr. brumley felt that anything might happen.
