the chaperon-第6章

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softer　black　dress；　leaned　alone　against　the　wall　of　the　vestibule　at
Covent　Garden　while；　a　few　paces　off；　an　old　gentleman　engaged　her
mother　in　conversation。　　Madame　Patti　had　been　singing；　and　they　were
all　waiting　for　their　carriages。　　To　their　ears　at　present　came　a
vociferation　of　names　and　a　rattle　of　wheels。　　The　air；　through
banging　doors；　entered　in　damp；　warm　gusts；　heavy　with　the　stale；
slightly　sweet　taste　of　the　London　season　when　the　London　season　is
overripe　and　spoiling。

Guy　Mangler　had　only　three　minutes　to　reestablish　an　interrupted
acquaintance　with　our　young　lady。　　He　reminded　her　that　he　had　danced
with　her　the　year　before；　and　he　mentioned　that　he　knew　her　brother。
His　mother　had　lately　been　to　see　old　Mrs。　Tramore；　but　this　he　did
not　mention；　not　being　aware　of　it。　　That　visit　had　produced；　on　Lady
Maresfield's　part；　a　private　crisis；　engendered　ideas。　　One　of　them
was　that　the　grandmother　in　Hill　Street　had　really　forgiven　the
wilful　girl　much　more　than　she　admitted。　　Another　was　that　there
would　still　be　some　money　for　Rose　when　the　others　should　come　into
theirs。　　Still　another　was　that　the　others　would　come　into　theirs　at
no　distant　date；　the　old　lady　was　so　visibly　going　to　pieces。　　There
were　several　more　besides；　as　for　instance　that　Rose　had　already
fifteen　hundred　a　year　from　her　father。　　The　figure　had　been　betrayed
in　Hill　Street；　it　was　part　of　the　proof　of　Mrs。　Tramore's
decrepitude。　　Then　there　was　an　equal　amount　that　her　mother　had　to
dispose　of　and　on　which　the　girl　could　absolutely　count；　though　of
course　it　might　involve　much　waiting；　as　the　mother；　a　person　of
gross　insensibility；　evidently　wouldn't　die　of　cold…shouldering。
Equally　definite；　to　do　it　justice；　was　the　conception　that　Rose　was
in　truth　remarkably　good　looking；　and　that　what　she　had　undertaken　to
do　showed；　and　would　show　even　should　it　fail；　cleverness　of　the
right　sort。　　Cleverness　of　the　right　sort　was　exactly　the　quality
that　Lady　Maresfield　prefigured　as　indispensable　in　a　young　lady　to
whom　she　should　marry　her　second　son；　over　whose　own　deficiencies　she
flung　the　veil　of　a　maternal　theory　that　HIS　cleverness　was　of　a　sort
that　was　wrong。　　Those　who　knew　him　less　well　were　content　to　wish
that　he　might　not　conceal　it　for　such　a　scruple。　　This　enumeration　of
his　mother's　views　does　not　exhaust　the　list；　and　it　was　in　obedience
to　one　too　profound　to　be　uttered　even　by　the　historian　that；　after　a
very　brief　delay；　she　decided　to　move　across　the　crowded　lobby。　　Her
daughter　Bessie　was　the　only　one　with　her；　Maggie　was　dining　with　the
Vaughan…Veseys；　and　Fanny　was　not　of　an　age。　　Mrs。　Tramore　the
younger　showed　only　an　admirable　backher　face　was　to　her　old
gentlemanand　Bessie　had　drifted　to　some　other　people；　so　that　it
was　comparatively　easy　for　Lady　Maresfield　to　say　to　Rose；　in　a
moment：　　〃My　dear　child；　are　you　never　coming　to　see　us？〃

〃We　shall　be　delighted　to　come　if　you'll　ask　us；〃　Rose　smiled。

Lady　Maresfield　had　been　prepared　for　the　plural　number；　and　she　was
a　woman　whom　it　took　many　plurals　to　disconcert。　　〃I'm　sure　Guy　is
longing　for　another　dance　with　you；〃　she　rejoined；　with　the　most
unblinking　irrelevance。

〃I'm　afraid　we're　not　dancing　again　quite　yet；〃　said　Rose；　glancing
at　her　mother's　exposed　shoulders；　but　speaking　as　if　they　were
muffled　in　crape。

Lady　Maresfield　leaned　her　head　on　one　side　and　seemed　almost
wistful。　　〃Not　even　at　my　sister's　ball？　　She's　to　have　something
next　week。　　She'll　write　to　you。〃

Rose　Tramore；　on　the　spot；　looking　bright　but　vague；　turned　three　or
four　things　over　in　her　mind。　　She　remembered　that　the　sister　of　her
interlocutress　was　the　proverbially　rich　Mrs。　Bray；　a　bankeress　or　a
breweress　or　a　builderess；　who　had　so　big　a　house　that　she　couldn't
fill　it　unless　she　opened　her　doors；　or　her　mouth；　very　wide。　　Rose
had　learnt　more　about　London　society　during　these　lonely　months　with
her　mother　than　she　had　ever　picked　up　in　Hill　Street。　　The　younger
Mrs。　Tramore　was　a　mine　of　commerages；　and　she　had　no　need　to　go　out
to　bring　home　the　latest　intelligence。　　At　any　rate　Mrs。　Bray　might
serve　as　the　end　of　a　wedge。　　〃Oh；　I　dare　say　we　might　think　of
that；〃　Rose　said。　　〃It　would　be　very　kind　of　your　sister。〃

〃Guy'll　think　of　it；　won't　you；　Guy？〃　asked　Lady　Maresfield。

〃Rather！〃　Guy　responded；　with　an　intonation　as　fine　as　if　he　had
learnt　it　at　a　music　hall；　while　at　the　same　moment　the　name　of　his
mother's　carriage　was　bawled　through　the　place。　　Mrs。　Tramore　had
parted　with　her　old　gentleman；　she　turned　again　to　her　daughter。
Nothing　occurred　but　what　always　occurred；　which　was　exactly　this
absence　of　everythinga　universal　lapse。　　She　didn't　exist；　even　for
a　second；　to　any　recognising　eye。　　The　people　who　looked　at　herof
course　there　were　plenty　of　thosewere　only　the　people　who　didn't
exist　for　hers。　　Lady　Maresfield　surged　away　on　her　son's　arm。

It　was　this　noble　matron　herself　who　wrote；　the　next　day；　inclosing　a
card　of　invitation　from　Mrs。　Bray　and　expressing　the　hope　that　Rose
would　come　and　dine　and　let　her　ladyship　take　her。　　She　should　have
only　one　of　her　own　girls；　Gwendolen　Vesey　was　to　take　the　other。
Rose　handed　both　the　note　and　the　card　in　silence　to　her　mother；　the
latter　exhibited　only　the　name　of　Miss　Tramore。　　〃You　had　much　better
go；　dear；〃　her　mother　said；　in　answer　to　which　Miss　Tramore　slowly
tore　up　the　documents；　looking　with　clear；　meditative　eyes　out　of　the
window。　　Her　mother　always　said　〃You　had　better　go〃there　had　been
other　incidentsand　Rose　had　never　even　once　taken　account　of　the
observation。　　She　would　make　no　first　advances；　only　plenty　of　second
ones；　and；　condoning　no　discrimination；　would　treat　no　omission　as
venial。　　She　would　keep　all　concessions　till　afterwards；　then　she
would　make　them　one　by　one。　　Fighting　society　was　quite　as　hard　as
her　grandmother　had　said　it　would　be；　but　there　was　a　tension　in　it
which　made　the　dreariness　vibratethe　dreariness　of　such　a　winter　as
she　had　just　passed。　　Her　companion　had　cried　at　the　end　of　it；　and
she　had　cried　all　through；　only　her　tears　had　been　private；　while　her
mother's　had　fallen　once　for　all；　at　luncheon　on　the　bleak　Easter
Mondayproduced　by　the　way　a　silent　survey　of　the　deadly　square
brought　home　to　her　that　every　creature　but　themselves　was　out　of
town　and　having　tremendous　fun。　　Rose　felt　that　it　was　useless　to
attempt　to　explain　simply　by　her　mourning　this　severity　of　solitude；
for　if　people　didn't　go　to　parties　（at　least　a　few　didn't）　for　six
months　after　their　father　died；　this　was　the　very　time　other　people
took　for　coming　to　see　them。　　It　was　not　too　much　to　say　that　during
this　first　winter　of　Rose's　period　with　her　mother　she　had　no
communication　whatever　with　the　world。　　It　had　the　effect　of　making
her　take　to　reading　the　new　American　books：　　she　wanted　to　see　how
girls　got　on　by　themselves。　　She　had　never　read　so　much　before；　and
there　was　a　legitimate　indifference　in　it　when　topics　failed　with　her
mother。　　They　often　failed　after　the　first　days；　and　then；　while　she
bent　over　instructive　volumes；　this　lady；　dressed　as　if　for　an
impending　function；　sat　on　the　sofa　and　watched　her。　　Rose　was　not
embarrassed　by　such　an　appearance；　for　she　could　reflect　that；　a
little　before；　her　companion　had　not　even　a　girl　who　had　taken　refuge
in　queer　researches　to　look　at。　　She　was　moreover　used　to　her
mother's　attitude　by　this　time。　　She　had　her　own　description　of　it：
it　was　the　attitude　of　waiting　for　the　carriage。　　If　they　didn't　go
out　it　was　not　that　Mrs。　Tramore　was　not　ready　in　time；　and　Rose　had
even　an　alarmed　prevision　of　their　some　day　always　arriving　first。
Mrs。　Tramore's　conversation　at　such　moments　was　abrupt；　inconsequent
and　personal。　　She　sat　on　the　edge　of　sofas　and　chairs　and　glanced
occasionally　at　the　fit　of　her　gloves　（she　was　perpetually　gloved；
and　the　fit　was　a　thing　it　was　melancholy　to　see　wasted）；　as　people
do　who　are　expecting　guests　to　dinner。　　Rose　used　almost　to　fancy
herself　at　times　a　perfunctory　husband　on　the　other　side　of　the　fire。

What　she　was　not　yet　used　tothere　was　still　a　charm　in　itwas　her
mother's　extraordina