The blank of amaze of your haughty gaze, The cold surprise of patrician eyes.Lewis Morris But the paucity of Christians is astonishing, considering the number of them.Leigh Hunt.
The irritation, or, at any rate, the novelty of the luxury in the Fane-Smith's household wore off after Erica had spent a few days at Greyshot.She became accustomed to the great rooms, and being artistic by nature and the reverse by education, she began very much to enjoy the pictures, the charming variety of foreign treasures, and particularly all the lovely things of Indian workmanship with which the drawing room was crowded.The long, formal meals she learned to endure.The absurdly large retinue of servants ceased to oppress her; she used to amuse herself by speculating as to the political views of the men-servants! while the luxury of a daily drive with her aunt she very much appreciated.
But, though the mere externals were soon familiar enough, she found that every day increased the difficulty she felt in becoming accustomed to the atmosphere of this family.She had lived all her life with people who were overwhelmed with work, and in a home where recreation was only the rare concession to actual health.
Here recreation seemed to be the business of life, while work for the public was merely tacked on as a sort of ornamental fringe.
Mr.Fane-Smith had, indeed, a few committee meetings to attend;Mrs.Fane-Smith visited her district once a fortnight, and distributed tracts, and kind words, and soup tickets, and blanket tickets, besides the most lavish gifts from her own purse.Rose, to please her mother, taught a class of little girls on Sunday afternoon that is to say, she did NOT teach them, but she sat in a chair and heard them say collects, and enforced orderly behavior upon them, and read them a good little story book.But these were merely rather tiresome duties which came in very often as provoking interruptions to the great business of life, namely eating, drinking, dining out, giving dinners, or attending the endless succession of at-homes, dances, musical evenings, amateur theatricals, by which Greyshot people tried to kill time.
As to taking any intelligent interest in the political world, no one seemed to dream of such a thing, except Mr.Fane-Smith, who read the paper at breakfast, and hurled anathemas at all the statesmen whom Erica had learned to love and revere.It taxed her patience to the utmost to sit through the daily diatribe against Sir Michael Cunningham, her hero of heroes.But even the violent opposition seemed preferable to the want of interest shown by the others.Mrs.Fane-Smith had time to fritter away at least half an hour after breakfast in the most desultory conversation, the most fruitless discussions with Rose as to some detail of dress; but she always made the excuse that she "had no time" to read the papers, and amused Erica not a little by asking her husband if "anything particular had been happening lately," when they were just starting for a dinner party.Out of his little rechauffe of the week's news she probably extracted enough information to enable her to display that well-bred interest, that vague and superficial acquaintance with the subject which will pass muster in society, and which probably explains alike the very vapid talk and the wildly false accusations which form the staple of ordinary conversation.
Rose was even more perplexing.She was not only ignorant, but she boasted of her ignorance.Again and again Erica heard her deprecate the introduction of any public question.
"Oh, don't begin to talk of that!" she would exclaim."I know nothing about it, and never mean to know anything."Or there would be an imploring appeal.
"Why do you waste your time in talking politics when you have never told me a word about so-and-so's wedding?"She occasionally read the "Court Circular," and was rather fond of one or two of the "society" papers from which she used to glean choice little paragraphs of personal gossip.
Once one of these papers gave Erica an uncomfortable experience.
The elders of the party being out for the evening, Rose and Erica had the drawing room to themselves, and Erica was really enjoying the rare novelty of talking with a girl of her own age.Rose, although the most arrant little flirt, was fond, too, of her girl friends, and she really liked Erica, and enjoyed the fun of initiating her into all the mysteries and delights of society.
"How did you get your name?" she asked, suddenly."It is so pretty and so uncommon.""Oh," said Erica, without thinking, "I was called after my father's friend, Eric Haeberlein.""Eric Haeberlein?" exclaimed Rose."Why, I was reading something about him this afternoon.Here it is look!" And after searching the columns of her favorite "society" paper, she pointed to the following paragraph:
"It is now known as a positive fact that the notorious Eric Haeberlein was actually in London last week in connection with the disgraceful Kellner business.ON DIT that he escaped detection through the instrumentality of one of the fair sex, whose audacity outweighed her modesty."Erica could hardly have restrained her indignation had not two real dangers drawn off her attention from her own wounded feelings.Her father was there any hateful hint that he was mixed up with Herr Kellner? She glanced anxiously down the page.No, at least that falsehood had not been promulgated.She breathed more freely, but there was danger still, for Rose was watching her, and feminine curiosity is hard to baffle.
"Did you know about it?" she asked.
Erica did not reply for a moment, but read on, to gain time; then she threw down the paper with an exclamation of disgust.
"How can you read such stuff?"
