"That, my dear," replied Lady Ingleby, "is a little joke of the duchess's.This concert is arranged for the amusement of her house party, and for the gratification and glorification of local celebrities.The whole neighbourhood is invited.None of you are asked to perform, but local celebrities are.In fact they furnish the entire programme, to their own delight, the satisfaction of their friends and relatives, and our entertainment, particularly afterwards when the duchess takes us through every item, with original notes, comments, and impersonations.Oh, Dal! Do you remember when she tucked a sheet of white writing-paper into her tea-gown for a dog collar, and took off the high-church curate nervously singing a comic song? Then at the very end, you see--and really some of it is quite good for amateurs--she trots out Velma, or some equally perfect artiste, to show them how it really can be done; and suddenly the place is full of music, and a great hush falls on the audience, and the poor complacent amateurs realise that the noise they have been making was, after all, not music; and they go dumbly home.But they have forgotten all about it by the following year; or a fresh contingent of willing performers steps into the breach.The duchess's little joke always comes off.""The Honourable Jane does not approve of it," said young Ronald Ingram; "therefore she is generally given marching orders and departs to her next visit before the event.But no one can accompany Madame Velma so perfectly, so this time she is commanded to stay.
But I doubt if the 'surprise packet' will come off with quite such a shock as usual, and I am certain the fun won't be so good afterwards.The Honourable Jane has been known to jump on the duchess for that sort of thing.She is safe to get the worst of it at the time, but it has a restraining effect afterwards.""I think Miss Champion is quite right," said a bright-faced American girl, bravely, holding a gold spoon poised for a moment over the strawberry ice-cream with which Garth Dalmain had supplied her.
"In my country we should call it real mean to laugh, at people who had been our guests and performed in our houses.""In your country, my dear," said Myra Ingleby, "you have no duchesses.""Well, we supply you with quite a good few, "replied the American girl calmly, and went on with her ice.
A general laugh followed; and the latest Anglo-American match came up for discussion.
"Where is the Honourable Jane?" inquired someone presently.
"Golfing with Billy," said Ronald Ingram."Ah, here they come."Jane's tall figure was seen, walking along the terrace, accompanied by Billy Cathcart, talking eagerly.They put their clubs away in the lower hall; then came down the lawn together to the tea-tables.
Jane wore a tailor-made coat and skirt of grey tweed, a blue and white cambric shirt, starched linen collar and cuffs, a silk tie, and a soft felt hat with a few black quills in it.She walked with the freedom of movement and swing of limb which indicate great strength and a body well under control.Her appearance was extraordinarily unlike that of all the pretty and graceful women grouped beneath the cedar tree.And yet it was in no sense masculine--or, to use a more appropriate word, mannish; for everything strong is masculine; but a woman who apes an appearance of strength which she does not possess, is mannish;--rather was it so truly feminine that she could afford to adopt a severe simplicity of attire, which suited admirably the decided plainness of her features, and the almost massive proportions of her figure.
She stepped into the circle beneath the cedar, and took one of the half-dozen places immediately vacated by the men, with the complete absence of self-consciousness which always characterised her.
"What did you go round in, Miss Champion?" inquired one of the men.
"My ordinary clothes," replied Jane; quoting Punch, and evading the question.
But Billy burst out: "She went round in--""Oh, be quiet, Billy," interposed Jane."You and I are practically the only golf maniacs present.Most of these dear people are even ignorant as to who 'bogie' is, or why we should be so proud of beating him.Where is my aunt? Poor Simmons was toddling all over the place when we went in to put away our clubs, searching for her with a telegram.""Why didn't you open it?" asked Myra.
"Because my aunt never allows her telegrams to be opened.She loves shocks; and there is always the possibility of a telegram containing startling news.She says it completely spoils it if some one else knows it first, and breaks it to her gently.""Here comes the duchess," said Garth Dalmain, who was sitting where he could see the little gate into the rose-garden.
"Do not mention the telegram," cautioned Jane."It would not please her that I should even know of its arrival.It would be a shame to take any of the bloom off the unexpected delight of a wire on this hot day, when nothing unusual seemed likely to happen."They turned and looked towards the duchess as she bustled across the lawn; this quaint old figure, who had called them together; who owned the lovely place where they were spending such delightful days; and whose odd whimsicalities had been so freely discussed while they drank her tea and feasted off her strawberries.The men rose as she approached, but not quite so spontaneously as they had done for her niece.
The duchess carried a large wooden basket filled to overflowing with exquisite roses.Every bloom was perfect, and each had been cut at exactly the right moment.
