A Lesson in the Art

by Anthony Hope

A Lesson in the Art

By Anthony Hope.

"OH, but you'll have to learn," said Mrs. Maurice Duncan, making room for me beside her; "you couldn't employ your vacation better."

"Will you teach me, Mrs. Duncan?" I asked.

"I believe you are learning," said she, with a glance. "You said that just in the right way—with the right look too."

"I'm very young," said I, pathetically.

"H'm," observed Mrs. Maurice Duncan.

"But if I watch people who know how to do it——"

"I'm sure you can't mean me?" she said, obviously assuming that I did. "Seriously, you ought to do it very well," and she sighed gently. She was a woman of pleasing appearance.

"Why ought I to do it very well?" I had the curiosity to ask.

"Oh, well, Mr. Vansittart—but you don't want to be flattered, do you?"

"I am flattered."

"Are you? How?"

"By your sitting here with me."

"I don't believe you want any lessons at all," declared Mrs. Duncan.

My eyes encountered Mrs. Duncan's eyes. She nodded and smiled; I am not to this day quite sure that she did not blush. I averted my eyes and glanced across the room.

"Ah!" said I, "if I watch that girl talking to the tall man, I might learn."

Mrs. Duncan looked in the direction indicated. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't think you'll learn much there," she said.

"Oh, I don't know," said I. "Look, she's made room for him beside her."

"Well, I did that."

"So you did. Then it means nothing, of course?"

"Nothing at all, Mr. Vansittart," she smiled.

"And they're talking to one another quite low."

"We're not speaking very loud."

"Well, we won't count that then. Oh, but look! He's buttoning her glove."

"That's nothing. You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?"

"Rather—if the button came undone, you know." Mrs. Duncan smiled again.

"But what's he taken her fan for?" I asked, puzzled. "I don't see much point in that."

"There isn't any; it's stupid," said she, letting her own fan hang loosely in her fingers.

"Is it?" said I; and I tried it.

The man opposite opened and shut the fan; I followed his example. Mrs. Duncan seemed to pay little attention to me; I threw Mrs. Duncan's fan down carelessly.

"Take care; you'll break it," she said, almost sharply.

"Look!" I cried. "He's turned right round, and he's staring at her like anything!" and I gazed across in a most interested manner.

"Well, it's sometimes thought polite to look at people when you talk to them."

"I think that's more than politeness," said I, turning to Mrs. Duncan.

"Do you? Then it's different from your look, isn't it? You're looking away again!"

"Well, I want to see them."

Mrs. Duncan took up her fan and beat it softly against the palm of her hand.

"He's looking this way now," I cried, as the tall man suddenly turned towards us and smiled.

"Please don't mind them," said Mrs. Duncan, laying the tips of two fingers on my arm.

I felt pleased. The tall man turned round to the girl again.

To speak it plainly, their heads almost met. Mrs. Duncan leant forward to me.

"Are you very bored, talking to a poor old widow like me?" she said, but in so low a tone that I had to bend my head quite close to hers, to hear.

"I don't call you old," said I, suddenly realising that her complexion was very pretty. "You can't be any older than I am."

"Oh, you're very foolish, Mr. Vansittart," and she laughed softly.

I glanced again across the room; nothing was to be seen but a black head and a fair one in close proximity. It was not interesting. I turned again to Mrs. Duncan, who started the least bit in the world.

"How do you manage those little curls on your forehead?" I asked (I like to understand things).

"Oh, it's quite easy. Do you think they're not real, Mr. Vansittart?"

"I don't know," said I, prudently.

"They're all my own. What an unbelieving boy you are! How can I satisfy you?"

I looked round the room. Supper was going on, and, save for the preoccupied couple opposite, we were alone.

"One could tell if one pulled one," I observed.

"Oh, could one?" laughed Mrs. Duncan.

"A hard pull," said I, and I half advanced my hand.

Mrs. Duncan looked round. I didn't—I don't know why not.

"What would anyone think if they saw?" she asked.

"I don't care," said I.

"It's all very well for you——"

"But there's no one here—except those two—and they're not thinking of us," and I smiled most knowingly.

"Aren't they?" she asked, with a little laugh. "Well, perhaps not, Mr. Vansittart."

"They won't notice," I urged. Somehow, I wanted to do it.

"Well," she said, "we—we'll chance it— but be quick. No, not just now, wait till I say 'Now.’"

I held my hand in readiness. Mrs. Duncan's eyes travelled round the room; they rested, alert, for a moment on the couple opposite; swiftly they were back on mine, and she cried "Now!"

I pulled.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Duncan, in a little shriek that was half a laugh.

The curl stood the ordeal. I looked round. Confusion! The tall man was glaring straight at us.

"How beastly unlucky!" I exclaimed to Mrs. Duncan's fan—for her face was entirely hidden.

I got no answer, unless the gentlest mirthful gurgle were to count as one.

"Did it hurt?" I asked.

"Not much," said Mrs. Duncan, displaying one eye round the side of the fan.

Suddenly there was a movement opposite. Our friends rose; the man gave his arm; they walked to the door.

"That's the way to the conservatory," I observed. "I say, he's looking awfully riled. She must have sat on him."

"Do you think so?" asked Mrs. Duncan, looking up at me, and seeming much amused. "Suppose we go after them and look on again?"

"I'd just as soon stay here," said I.

"Would you? Oh, but everybody will be here directly, Mr. Vansittart!"

I nodded with understanding. "That's true," said I, offering my arm.

"I think you'll do, you know—some day," said Mrs. Duncan, as we went.

I thought myself that it was not bad—for a beginning. I daresay my look told my thought; for she laughed again.

"I'm much obliged for my lesson," said I, with a very significant glance.

"It was no trouble," she answered, with a demureness that hardly pretended to hide mischief.

"There they are!" I whispered, as we reached the conservatory.

"Yes, there they are!"

The tall man and the girl were standing in the middle of the conservatory talking. They did not appear now so engrossed in one another; indeed, their conversation seemed intermittent.

Mrs. Duncan and I sat down.

"They're not amusing any longer," I observed.

"No," said Mrs. Duncan, absently.

Then a strange thing happened. The tall man stepped swiftly across, and said to Mrs. Duncan—

"Have you been to supper, Mrs. Duncan?"

"Well, no," said she, with a smile of mockery.

"Then, perhaps, you'll permit me——?"

"It's so late now."

"Not too late?" said the tall man, with a touch of entreaty in his tone.

"Well—not quite, perhaps."

She rose. "Good night, Mr. Vansittart. I hope we shall meet again."

She gave me her hand. I said nothing. They were gone! The girl stood, blank and alone. I stood opposite her. Then I heard from the door, in Mrs. Duncan's voice—

"It was your own fault. Why did you talk to that child instead of me?"

There was a pause. Music began in the ball-room. The "child" looked desolate. Maybe I felt desolate. We had not been introduced, but——

"May I have the pleasure of this with you?" I asked.

She started.

"Oh, yes, if you like," she said.

"Who was that fellow?" I asked.

"Mr. Templeman. Mrs. Duncan and he are—are great friends, you know."

"Great friends?"

"Yes; he's supposed to be going to marry her."

"And she?"

"Oh, she's ready enough," said the girl, scornfully. Then she looked at me; and she smiled. She said nothing; she smiled. I wished myself a thousand miles away; and still she smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" I asked, in desperation.

"I saw it all the time," said she. "If you're going to dance, come along."

I did not ask her what she had seen. I suppose she meant—the lesson.