Last of all, twenty minutes late, came Abinger Vennard.He made a fine stage entrance, walking swiftly with a lowering brow to his hostess, and then glaring fiercely round the room as if to challenge criticism.I have heard Deloraine, in a moment of irritation, describe him as a "Pre-Raphaelite attorney," but there could be no denying his good looks.He had a bad, loose figure, and a quantity of studiously neglected hair, but his face was the face of a young Greek.A certain kind of political success gives a man the manners of an actor, and both Vennard and Cargill bristled with self-consciousness.You could see it in the way they patted their hair, squared their shoulders, and shifted their feet to positions loved by sculptors.
"Well, Vennard, what's the news from the House?" Caerlaverock asked.
"Simpson is talking," said Vennard wearily."He attacks me, of course.He says he has lived forty years in India--as if that mattered! When will people recognise that the truths of democratic policy are independent of time and space? Liberalism is a category, an eternal mode of thought, which cannot be overthrown by any trivial happenings.I am sick of the word 'facts.' I long for truths."Miss Barriton's eyes brightened, and Cargill said, "Excellent."Lord Mulross, who was a little deaf, and in any case did not understand the language, said loudly to my aunt that he wished there was a close time for legislation.
"The open season for grouse should be the close season for politicians."And then we went down to dinner.
Miss Barriton sat on my left hand, between Deloraine and me, and it was clear she was discontented with her position.Her eyes wandered down the table to Vennard, who had taken in an American duchess, and seemed to be amused at her prattle.She looked with disfavour at Deloraine, and turned to me as the lesser of two evils.
I was tactless enough to say that I thought there was a good deal in Lord Mulross's view."Oh, how can you?" she cried."Is there a close season for the wants of the people? It sounds to me perfectly horrible the way you talk of government, as if it were a game for idle men of the upper classes.I want professional politicians, men who give their whole heart and soul to the service of the State.I know the kind of member you and Lord Deloraine like--a rich young man who eats and drinks too much, and thinks the real business of life is killing little birds.He travels abroad and shoots some big game, and then comes home and vapours about the Empire.He knows nothing about realities, and will go down before the men who take the world seriously."I am afraid I laughed, but Deloraine, who had been listening, was in no mood to be amused.
"I don't think you are quite fair to us, Miss Claudia," he said slowly."We take things seriously enough, the things we know about.We can't be expected to know about everything, and the misfortune is that the things I care about don't interest you.
But they are important enough for all that.""Hush," said the lady rudely."I want to hear what Mr.
Vennard is saying."
Mr.Vennard was addressing the dinner-table as if it were a large public meeting.It was a habit he had, for he had no mind to confine the pearls of his wisdom to his immediate neighbours.
His words were directed to Caerlaverock at the far end.
"In my opinion this craze for the scientific stand-point is not merely overdone--it is radically vicious.Human destinies cannot be treated as if they were inert objects under the microscope.
The cold-blooded logical way of treating a problem is in almost every case the wrong way.Heart and imagination to me are more vital than intellect.I have the courage to be illogical, to defy facts for the sake of an ideal, in the certainty that in time facts will fall into conformity.My Creed may be put in the words of Newman's favourite quotation: Non in dialectica complacuit Deo salvum facere populum suum--Not in cold logic is it God's will that His people should find salvation.""It is profoundly true," sighed Mr.Cargill, and Miss Claudia's beaming eyes proved her assent.The moment of destiny, though Idid not know it, had arrived.The entree course had begun, and of the two entrees one was the famous Caerlaverock curry.Now on a hot July evening in London there are more attractive foods than curry seven times heated, MORE INDICO.I doubt if any guest would have touched it, had not our host in his viceregal voice called the attention of the three ministers to its merits, while explaining that under doctor's orders he was compelled to refrain for a season.The result was that Mulross, Cargill, and Vennard alone of the men partook of it.Miss Claudia, alone of the women, followed suit in the fervour of her hero-worship.She ate a mouthful, and then drank rapidly two glasses of water.
My narrative of the events which followed is based rather on what I should have seen than on what I saw.I had not the key, and missed much which otherwise would have been plain to me.For example, if I had known the secret, I must have seen Miss Claudia's gaze cease to rest upon Vennard and the adoration die out of her eyes.I must have noticed her face soften to the unhappy Deloraine.As it was, I did not remark her behaviour, till I heard her say to her neighbour--"Can't you get hold of Mr.Vennard and forcibly cut his hair?"Deloraine looked round with a start.Miss Barriton's tone was intimate and her face friendly.
"Some people think it picturesque," he said in serious bewilderment.
"Oh, yes, picturesque--like a hair-dresser's young man!" she shrugged her shoulders.He looks as if he had never been out of doors in his life."Now, whatever the faults of Tommy's appearance, he had a wholesome sunburnt face, and he knew it.This speech of Miss Barriton's cheered him enormously, for he argued that if she had fallen out of love with Vennard's looks she might fall in love with his own.Being a philosopher in his way, he was content to take what the gods gave, and ask for no explanations.
