The popularity of Captain Palliser's story of the "Ladies" had been great at the outset, but with the passage of time it had oddly waned.
This had resulted from the story's ceasing to develop itself, as the simplest intelligence might have anticipated, by means of the only person capable of its proper development.The person in question was of course T.Tembarom.Expectations, amusing expectations, of him had been raised, and he had singularly failed in the fulfilling of them.
The neighborhood had, so to speak, stood upon tiptoe,--the feminine portion of it, at least,--looking over shoulders to get the first glimpses of what would inevitably take place.
As weeks flew by, the standing on tiptoe became a thing of the past.
The whole thing flattened out most disappointingly.No attack whatever was made upon the "Ladies." That the Duke of Stone had immensely taken up Mr.Temple Barholm had of course resulted in his being accepted in such a manner as gave him many opportunities to encounter one and all.
He appeared at dinners, teas, and garden parties.Miss Alicia, whom he had in some occult manner impressed upon people until they found themselves actually paying a sort of court to her, was always his companion.
"One realizes one cannot possibly leave her out of anything," had been said."He has somehow established her as if she were his mother or his aunt--or his interpreter.And such clothes, my dear, one doesn't behold.Worth and Paquin and Doucet must go sleepless for weeks to invent them.They are without a flaw in shade or line or texture."Which was true, because Mrs.Mellish of the Bond Street shop had become quite obsessed by her idea and committed extravagances Miss Alicia offered up contrite prayer to atone for, while Tembarom, simply chortling in his glee, signed checks to pay for their exquisite embodiment.That he was not reluctant to avail himself of social opportunities was made manifest by the fact that he never refused an invitation.He appeared upon any spot to which hospitality bade him, and unashamedly placed himself on record as a neophyte upon almost all occasions.His well-cut clothes began in time to wear more the air of garments belonging to him, but his hat made itself remarked by its trick of getting pushed back on his head or tilted on side, and his New York voice and accent rang out sharp and finely nasal in the midst of low-pitched, throaty, or mellow English enunciations.He talked a good deal at times because he found himself talked to by people who either wanted to draw him out or genuinely wished to hear the things he would be likely to say.
That the hero of Palliser's story should so comport himself as to provide either diversion or cause for haughty displeasure would have been only a natural outcome of his ambitions.In a brief period of time, however, every young woman who might have expected to find herself an object of such ambitions realized that his methods of approach and attack were not marked by the usual characteristics of aspirants of his class.He evidently desired to see and be seen.He presented himself, as it were, for inspection and consideration, but while he was attentive, he did not press attentions upon any one.He did not make advances in the ordinary sense of the word.He never essayed flattering or even admiring remarks.He said queer things at which one often could not help but laugh, but he somehow wore no air of saying them with the intention of offering them as witticisms which might be regarded as allurements.He did not ogle, he did not simper or shuffle about nervously and turn red or pale, as eager and awkward youths have a habit of doing under the stress of unrequited admiration.In the presence of a certain slightingness of treatment, which he at the outset met with not infrequently, he conducted himself with a detached good nature which seemed to take but small account of attitudes less unoffending than his own.When the slightingness disappeared from sheer lack of anything to slight, he did not change his manner in any degree.
"He is not in the least forward," Beatrice Talchester said, the time arriving when she and her sisters occasionally talked him over with their special friends, the Granthams, "and he is not forever under one's feet, as the pushing sort usually is.Do you remember those rich people from the place they called Troy--the ones who took Burnaby for a year--and the awful eldest son who perpetually invented excuses for calling, bringing books and ridiculous things?""This one never makes an excuse," Amabel Grantham put in.
"But he never declines an invitation.There is no doubt that he wants to see people," said Lady Honora, with the pretty little nose and the dimples.She had ceased to turn up the pretty little nose, and she showed a dimple as she added: "Gwynedd is tremendously taken with him.
She is teaching him to play croquet.They spend hours together.""He's beginning to play a pretty good game," said Gwynedd."He's not stupid, at all events.""I believe you are the first choice, if he is really choosing," Amabel Grantham decided."I should like to ask you a question.""Ask it, by all means," said Gwynedd.
"Does he ever ask you to show him how to hold his mallet, and then do idiotic things, such as managing to touch your hand?""Never," was Gwynedd's answer."The young man from Troy used to do it, and then beg pardon and turn red.""I don't understand him, or I don't understand Captain Palliser's story," Amabel Grantham argued."Lucy and I are quite out of the running, but I honestly believe that he takes as much notice of us as he does of any of you.If he has intentions, he 'doesn't act the part,' which is pure New York of the first water.""He said, however, that the things that mattered were not only titles, but looks.He asked how many of us were 'lookers.' Don't be modest, Amabel.Neither you nor Lucy are out of the running," Beatrice amiably suggested.
