I’m sure of it.
It has so far, anyway.”
He kissed her gently, and with great comfort to himself, and then went in to speak to Mrs. Carter, whom he found sitting near an open window, reading a novel by Marie Corelli.
She was obviously dressed and coiffed for his coming, and bent on him a most optimistic smile.
Nevertheless, he sensed a nervous speculation on her part as to the practicability and danger of all that he and Berenice were doing.
In fact, he thought he saw strain and depression in her eyes.
So after making a few remarks on the prospects for a pleasant spring in England for all of them, he quite casually, and yet most directly, added:
“And I wouldn’t worry about anything, Hattie, if I were you.
Bevy and I understand each other perfectly.
And I think she understands herself.
She is brilliant and beautiful, and I love her.
If any trouble comes, I think we can manage it.
Try and have a good time.
I’m likely to be very busy and so not able to see as much of you as I would like, but I’ll be on guard.
And so will she.
Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I haven’t been worrying, Frank,” she said, almost apologetically.
“Of course, I know how resourceful and determined Bevy is, and how much you have her interests at heart.
And I do hope things go the way you want them.
She’s just the person for you, Frank; so gifted and charming.
I wish you could have seen her on the boat, how cleverly she managed to meet and entertain people.
And yet, how she made them keep their place, too.
Are you staying a while now?
I’m glad.
I’m slightly indisposed myself, but I’ll see you later, I hope.”
She walked to the door with him, her manner that of a hostess entertaining a distinguished guest, as indeed she felt him to be.
Once he had gone, and the door was closed, she went over to her mirror, and after gazing into it quite mournfully and dabbing her cheeks with a little rouge—in case Berenice should come in—she took out a brandy bottle which she kept in a locked traveling bag, and poured herself a small drink.
Chapter 25
The following week end found both of the Cowperwoods in the midst of an interesting group as Lord Haddonfield’s guests at Beriton Manor.
This was, in truth, a distinguished pile of sixteenth century English architecture, at the southeast corner of Hardown Heath, and the center of a well-preserved patrimony.
Approaching it from the northwest was the bleak, almost sea-like heath itself, with its rolling green expanses which remained, after hundreds of years, historically defiant of the plow, the sower, and the builder.
Its chief value, to the rich as well as the poor, was the free range it provided for the hare, the deer, and other game, and the hunting parties, with their mounts and hounds and red-coated riders.
To the southwest, in which direction the manor faced, were wooded slopes and fields, in the center of which lay Little Beriton, a small thatched market town, giving the impression of a hospitable countryside.
Haddonfield, who met the Cowperwoods at Beriton Station, was the same sophisticated, cheerful individual of five years before.
Because of pleasant memories, he was delighted to see them, and while showing the really impressive lawns and courtyards, he remarked to Aileen:
“I’ve been thinking, Mrs. Cowperwood, the heath is likely to prove a sober outlook for you and your husband.
So I’m giving you rooms overlooking the garden.
There’s tea now in the drawing room, if you’re tired after the journey.”
In spite of her splendid mansion and many servants in New York, and the really much inferior wealth of this man, Aileen, for the moment, at least, was convinced that this was much more desirable.
Oh, to have such a place as this, with the social security and connections of this man!
Not to have to struggle any more. Forever to be at peace.
On the other hand, while Cowperwood’s mood welcomed a scene such as this, he was not overawed or even impressed by either title or unearned increment.
He had created wealth and fame for himself.
The guests of Lord Haddonfield for this week end were varied, but distinguished.
From London, the day before, had come Sir Charles Stoneledge, an actor of position and fame in the London theatrical world, but a stagey and affected individual who seized every opportunity to visit aristocratic friends or acquaintances.
He had brought with him Miss Constance Hathaway, an actress then playing in the popular success, Sentiment.
By way of contrast, there were Lord and Lady Ettinge, he rather prominent in railway and shipping interests—a large, florid, dictatorial man, inclined to drink heavily and, when sufficiently in his cups, genial in a limited way. When cold sober, he was given to sharp obiter dicta rather than to facile argument.
Lady Ettinge, on the other hand, was extremely diplomatic, and on this occasion had been invited by Lord Haddonfield to act as hostess.
Well aware of her husband’s moods and habits, and bearing with them tolerantly, she in no way submerged her own personality.
She was tall and heavily built, blue veined, red cheeked, and having rather hard blue eyes.