A Valiant Ignorance (Vol. 1-3). Victorian Romance
finger-tips in knowledge of her world—were sure to be. Mrs. Romayne arranged a series of weekly dinner-parties in the little house at Chelsea, which promised to be, in a small way, one of the features of the season. They were very small, very select, and very cheery; no better hostess was to be found in London, and there was a touch of sentiment about the relation between the hostess and the pleasant young host, which was by no means without charm for the guests.
Mrs. Halse’s bazaar, too, which was affording far more entertainment to its promoters than it seemed at all likely to afford to its supporters, served to bring Julian into special prominence. He was not clever, but there is a great deal to be done in connection with a bazaar on which intellect would be thrown away, and Julian proved himself what Mrs. Halse described effusively as “a most useful dear!” an expression by which she probably meant to convey the fact that he was always ready to toil for the ladies’ committee, without too close an investigation into the end to be attained by the said toiling. He was quite an important person at all the meetings connected with the bazaar, and the fact gave him a standing with the innumerable “smart” people concerned which he would otherwise hardly have attained so soon.
His introduction to Lord Garstin resulted, about a fortnight after it took place, in an invitation to a bachelor dinner. An invitation to one of Lord Garstin’s dinners was, in its way, about as desirable a thing as a young man “in Society” could receive; and the pleased, repressed importance on Julian’s face as he came into the drawing-room to his mother before he started to keep the engagement, was like a faint reflection of the satisfaction with which Mrs. Romayne’s expression was transfused.
“You’re going?” she said brightly. “Well, I shall be at the Ponsonbys’ by half-past eleven, and I shall expect you there some time before twelve. Enjoy yourself, sir!”
He kissed her with careless affection, and she patted him on the shoulder for a conceited boy as he hoped, lightly, that she would not find her solitary evening dull; she had refused to dine out without him, saying laughingly that she should enjoy a holiday; and then he went off, whistling gaily and arranging his buttonhole.
It wanted a few minutes only to the dinner-hour when he arrived at the club where the dinner was to be given. Three of his fellow guests were already assembled, and to two of these—well-known young men about town—he had already been introduced.
“You know these two fellows, I think,” said Lord Garstin lightly, “but”—turning to the third man—“Loring tells me that you and he have not yet been introduced. I’m delighted to perform the ceremony! Mr. Julian Romayne—Mr. Marston Loring!”
Julian held out his hand with a frank exclamation of pleasure. He had recognised in Mr. Marston Loring a young man whom he had seen about incessantly during the past month, and who had excited a good deal of secret and boyish admiration in him by reason of a certain assumption of blasé cynicism with which an excellent society manner was just sufficiently seasoned to give it character. It was conventional character enough, but it was not to be expected that Julian should understand that.
“I’m awfully glad to meet you,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve known you by sight for ages!”
“And I you!” was the answer, spoken with a slight smile and a touch of cordiality which delighted Julian. “The pleasure is distinctly mutual.”
Marston Loring was not a good-looking young man; his features, indeed, would have been insignificant but for the presence of that spurious air of refinement which life in society usually produces; and for something more genuine, namely, a strength and resolution about the mould of his chin and the set of his thin lips which had won him a reputation for being “clever-looking” among the superficial observers of the social world. He was nine-and-twenty, but his face might have been the face of a man twenty years older—so entirely destitute was it of any of the gracious possibilities which should characterise early manhood. It was pale and lined, and worn with very ugly suggestiveness; and there were stories told about him, whispered and laughed at in many of the houses where he was received, which accounted amply for those lines. The pose, too, which it pleased him to adopt was that of elderly superiority to all the illusions and credulities of youth. Marston Loring was a man of whom it was vaguely but universally said that he had “got on so well!” Reduced to facts, this statement meant, primarily, that with no particular rights in that direction he had gradually worked his way into a position in society—a position the insecurity and unreality of which was known only to himself; and, secondarily, that by dint of influence, hard work—hard work was also part of his pose—and a certain amount of unscrupulousness, he was making money at the bar when most men dependent on their profession would have starved at it.
He had brown eyes, dull and curiously shallow-looking, but very keen and calculating, and they were even keener than usual as they gave Julian one quick look.
“I think we belong to the same profession?” he said with easy friendliness. “You are reading with Allardyce, are you not? A good man, Allardyce.”
“So they tell me,” answered Julian, not a little impressed by the critical and experienced tone of the approbation. “I can’t say I’ve done much with him yet. One doesn’t do much at this time of year, you know.”
Loring smiled rather sardonically.
“That’s what it is to be a gentleman of independent fortune,” he said. “Some people have to burn the candle at both ends.”
The five minutes’ chat which ensued before the arrival of the fifth guest—a certain Lord Hesseltine, known only by sight to Julian—and the announcement of dinner, was just enough to create a regret in Julian’s mind when he found that he and his new acquaintance were seated on opposite sides of the table. Loring’s contribution to the general conversation throughout dinner, witty, cynical, and assured, completed his conquest, and when, on the subsequent adjournment of the party to the smoking-room, Loring strolled up to him, cigar in hand, the prospect of a tête-à-tête was greatly to Julian’s satisfaction.
“What an odd thing it is that we should never have been introduced before!” he began, lighting his own cigar and scanning the other man with youthful, admiring eyes.
“It is odd,” returned Loring placidly, throwing himself into an arm-chair as he spoke, and signing an invitation to Julian to establish himself in another. “Especially as, like every one else, I’ve been an immense admirer of your mother all this year. I wonder whether you recognise what a lucky fellow you are, Romayne?”
Julian’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at the easy familiarity of the address, and he crossed his legs with careless self-importance, as he answered, with the lightness of youth:
“I ought to, oughtn’t I? I say, I know my mother would be awfully pleased to know you. You must let me introduce you to her. Are you coming on to the Ponsonbys’ to-night?”
“I shall be only too delighted,” answered Loring, watching the smoke from his cigar with his dull, brown eyes, and answering the first part of Julian’s speech. “No, unfortunately I’ve got an affair in Chelsea to-night, and another in Kensington. But we shall meet to-morrow night at the Bracondales’, I suppose?”
“Of course,” assented Julian eagerly. “That will be capital!”
There was a moment’s pause, broken by Loring with a reference to a political opinion formulated by one of the other men at dinner; and a talk about politics ensued, eager on Julian’s part, cynical and effectively reserved on Loring’s. A political discussion, when the discussers hold the same political faith, has much the same effect in promoting rapid intimacy between men, granted a predisposition towards intimacy on either side, as a discussion of the reigning fashion in dress has with a certain class of women. When Lord Garstin’s dinner-party began to break up, and Loring and Julian rose to take their departure, they parted with a hand-clasp which would have befitted an acquaintanceship three months, rather than three hours old.
“Good night,” said Julian. “Awfully pleased to have met you, Loring. See you to-morrow night. My mother will be delighted.”
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