A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (ebook reader web .TXT) 📕

as about entrees.

'When you have had a larger experience of them, dear, you will find that there is usually a reason, or at least a primitive instinct of some sort, at the root of their actions. But, seriously, we must really concentrate our attention upon the poet, for my other engagement will call me away at four, which only leaves me ten minutes to reach Maybury.'

Mrs. Beecher and Maude settled down with anxious attention upon their faces.

'Do please go on!' they cried.

'Here is "The Pied Piper of Hamelin."'

'Now that interests me more than I can tell,' cried Maude, with her eyes shining with pleasure. 'Do please read us everything there is about that dear piper.'

'Why so?' asked her two companions.

'Well, the fact is,' said Maude, 'Frank--my husband, you know--came to a fancy-dress at St. Albans as the Pied Piper. I had no idea that it came from Browning.'

'How did he dress for it?' asked Mrs. Beecher. 'We are invited to the Aston's dress ball, and I want something suitable for George.'

'It was a most charming dress. Red and black all over, something like Mephistopheles, you know, and a peaked hat with a bell at the top. Then he had a flute, of course, and a thin wire from his waist with a stuffed rat at the end of it.'

'A rat! How horrid!'

'Well, that was the story, you know. The rats all followed the Pied Piper, and so this rat followed Frank. He put it in his pocket when he danced, but once he forgot, and so it got stood upon, and the sawdust came out all over the floor.'

Mrs. Hunt Mortimer was also invited to the dress ball, and her thoughts flew away from the book in front of her.

'How did you go, Mrs. Crosse?' she asked.

'I went as "Night."'

'What! you with your brown hair!'

'Well, father said that I was not a very dark night. I was in black, you know, just my ordinary black silk dinner-dress. Then I had a silver half-moon over my head, and black veils round my hair, and stars all over my bodice and skirt, with a long comet right across the front. Father upset a cup of milk over me at supper, and said afterwards that it was the milky way.'

'It is simply maddening how men WILL make jokes about the most important subjects,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. 'But I have no doubt, dear, that your dress was an exceedingly effective one. Now, for my own part, I had some idea of going as the "Duchess of Devonshire."'

'Charming!' cried Mrs. Beecher and Maude.

'It is not a very difficult costume, you know. I have some old Point d'Alencon lace which has been in the family for a century. I make it the starting-point of my costume. The gown need not be very elaborate--'

'Silk?' asked Mrs. Beecher.

'Well, I thought that perhaps a white-flowered brocade--'

'Oh yes, with pearl trimming.'

'No, no, dear, with my lace for trimming.'

'Of course. You said so.'

'And then a muslin fichu coming over here.'

'How perfectly sweet!' cried Maude.

'And the waist cut high, and ruffles at the sleeves. And, of course, a picture hat--you know what I mean--with a curling ostrich feather.'

'Powdered hair, of course?' said Mrs. Beecher.

'Powdered in ringlets.'

'It will suit you admirably--beautifully. You are tall enough to carry it off, and you have the figure also. How I wish I was equally certain about my own!'

'What had you thought of, dear?'

'Well, I had some idea about "Ophelia." Do you think that it would do?'

'Certainly. Had you worked it out at all?'

'Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Beecher, relapsing into her pleasant confidential manner. 'I had some views, but, of course, I should be so glad to have your opinion about it. I only saw Hamlet once, and the lady was dressed in white, with a gauzy light nun's-veiling over it. I thought that with white pongee silk as an under-dress, and then some sort of delicate--'

'Crepe de Chine,' Maude suggested.

'But in Ophelia's day such a thing had never been heard of,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. 'A net of silver thread--'

'Exactly,' cried Mrs. Beecher, 'with some sort of jewelling upon it. That was just what I had imagined. Of course it should be cut classically and draped--my dressmaker is such a treasure--and I should have a gold embroidery upon the white silk.'

'Crewel work,' said Maude.

'Or a plain cross-stitch pattern. Then a tiara of pearls on the head. Shakespeare--'

At the name of the poet their three consciences pricked simultaneously. They looked at each other and then at the clock with dismay.

'We must--we really MUST go on with our reading,' cried Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. 'How did we get talking about these dresses?'

'It was my fault,' said Mrs. Beecher, looking contrite.

'No, dear, it was mine,' said Maude. 'You remember it all came from my saying that Frank had gone to the ball as the Pied Piper.'

'I am going to read the very first poem that I open,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer remorselessly. 'I am afraid that it is almost time that I started, but we may still be able to skim over a few pages. Now then! There! Setebos! What a funny name!'

'What DOES it mean?' asked Maude.

'We shall find out, no doubt, as we proceed,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. 'We shall take it line by line and draw the full meaning from it. The first line is -

'Will sprawl now that the heat of day is best--'

'Who will?' asked Mrs. Beecher.

'I don't know. That's what it says.'

'The next line will explain, no doubt.'

'Flat on his--'

'Dear me, I had no idea that Browning was like this!'

'Do read it, dear.'

'I couldn't possibly think of doing so. With your permission we will pass on to the next paragraph.'

'But we vowed not to skip.'

'But why read what cannot instruct or elevate us. Let us begin this next stanza, and hope for something better. The first line is--I wonder if it really can be as it is written.'

'Do please read it!'

'Setebos and Setebos and Setebos.'

The three students looked sadly at each other. 'This is worse than anything I could have imagined,' said the reader.

'We mast skip that line.'

'But we are skipping everything.'

'It's a person's name,' said Mrs. Beecher.

'Or three persons.'

'No, only one, I think.'

'But why should he repeat it three times?'

'For emphasis!'

'Perhaps,' said Mrs. Beecher, 'it was Mr. Setebos, and Mrs. Setebos, and a little Setebos.'

'Now, if you are going to make fun, I won't read. But I think we were wrong to say that we would take it line by line. It would be easier sentence by sentence.'

'Quite so.'

'Then we will include the next line, which finishes the sentence. It is, "thinketh he dwelleth in the cold of the moon."'

'Then it WAS only one Setebos!' cried Maude.

'So it appears. It is easy to understand if one will only put it into ordinary language. This person Setebos was under the impression that his life was spent in the moonlight.'

'But what nonsense it is!' cried Mrs. Beecher. Mrs. Hunt Mortimer looked at her reproachfully. 'It is very easy to call everything which we do not understand "nonsense,"' said she. 'I have no doubt that Browning had a profound meaning in this.'

'What was it, then?'

Mrs. Hunt Mortimer looked at the clock.

'I am very sorry to have to go,' said she, 'but really I have no choice in the matter. Just as we were getting on so nicely--it is really most vexatious. You'll come to my house next Wednesday, Mrs. Crosse, won't you? And you also, Mrs. Beecher. Good-bye, and thanks for SUCH a pleasant afternoon!'

But her skirts had hardly ceased to rustle in the passage before the Browning Society had been dissolved by a two-thirds' vote of the total membership.

'What is the use?' cried Mrs. Beecher. 'Two lines have positively made my head ache, and there are two volumes.'

'We must change our poet.'

'His verbosity!' cried Mrs. Beecher.

'His Setebosity!' cried Maude.

'And dear Mrs. Hunt Mortimer pretending to like him! Shall we propose Tennyson next week?'

'It would be far better.'

'But Tennyson is quite simple, is he not?'

'Perfectly.'

'Then why should we meet to discuss him if there is nothing to discuss?'

'You mean that we might as well each read him for herself.'

'I think it would be easier.'

'Why, of course it would.'

And so after one hour of precarious life, Mrs. Hunt Mortimer's Mutual Improvement Society for the elucidation of Browning came to an untimely end.


CHAPTER XVII--AN INVESTMENT


'I want your advice, Maude.'

She was looking very sweet and fresh in the morning sunlight. She wore a flowered, French print blouse--little sprigs of roses on a white background--and a lace frill round her pretty, white, smooth throat. The buckle of her brown leather belt just gleamed over the edge of the table-cloth. In front of her were a litter of correspondence, a white cup of coffee, and two empty eggshells--for she was a perfectly healthy young animal with an excellent appetite.

'Well, dear, what is it?'

'I shall take the later train. Then I need not hurry, and can walk down at my ease.'

'How nice of you!'

'I am not sure that Dinton will think so.'

'Only one little hour of difference--what can it matter?'

'They don't run offices on those lines. An hour means a good deal in the City of London.'

'Oh, I do hate the City of London! It is the only thing which ever comes between us.'

'I suppose that it separates a good many loving couples every morning.'

He had come across and an egg-cup had been upset. Then he had been scolded, and they sat together laughing upon the sofa. When he had finished admiring her little, shining, patent-leather, Louis shoes and the two charming curves of open-work black stocking, she reminded him that he had asked for her advice.

'Yes, dear, what was it?' She knitted her brows and tried to look as her father did when he considered a matter of business. But then her father was not hampered by having a young man's arm round his neck. It is so hard to be business-like when any one is curling one's hair round his finger.

'I have some money to invest.'

'O Frank, how clever of you!'

'It is only fifty pounds.'

'Never mind, dear, it is a beginning.'

'That is what I feel. It is the foundation-stone of our fortunes. And so I want Her Majesty to lay it--mustn't wrinkle your brow though--that is not allowed.'

'But