Jones Susan Morrow - A Girl of the North. A Story of London and Canada стр 9.

She is a type, he answered vacantly.

She is an imitation. Show me some one who is brave who has or knows life.

Would you like Mrs. Phillips to come and see you? She is Sir John Blomfields daughter, a widow and young. She wants to know you.

I am doubtful, not whether she will like me, with sublime conceit, but whether I shall like her.

You must try her, he laughed.

His daughter amused him with her odd ideas.

However, when Mrs. Phillips did come, Launa approved of her.

All this time Launa was learning. She was filled with a desire to know and see more; people and life were so interesting. It was like a new play. She noticed how differently her father, herself, and the others were affected by it, and the noise was soothing, even at times deadening.

Launa found Mrs. Phillips entertaining. She explained some of the parts in this vast human drama. She found Miss Archer absurdly young in many of her notions, and absurdly old in others.

I want to see everything, said Launa, and to live myself. It is terrible to feel oneself growing old. It will soon be over, and I havent done what I meant to do.

Mrs. Phillips laughed.

Go on. What did you mean to do?

I should like, said Launa, to be happy.

So should we all. Tell me more.

I want to play a little first, and then to make the world a little brighter for someone.

If I were you, I would simply play myself and leave the others alone. Playing is real and not difficult. Once you begin to mix other people in your life, with your or their happiness depending on you, you will probably be very miserable.

The admiration of one woman for another is sincere when it is felt when with her, and not merely expressed to a man.

Mrs. Phillips admired Launa for her youth, for her length of limb, and for her slight, graceful body and her warm brown skin. Launas mind was attractive. She made friends quickly; she seemed very adaptable; everyone interested her. Some men adored her as they had done at Musquodobit. To others, with a taste for sensuality, she was an indefinite slight girl, while to the few she was wholly desirable madly desirable. Of course to the crowd she was just a girl.

Music exercised all its old fascination for her. She practised with diligence, and she listened greedily. It transported her to Solitude, to the wild sea there, to the rivers and lakes, the life which she loved and missed, which life and Paul she strove every day to forget. And in music she was with him. It was a dream life she lived in it. Paul was dead to her, but for all that he existed sometimes. She was stared at in her canoe on the river, her paddling was so strong and vigorous, her body so lithe, her arms so round and firm as she took long, almost masculine, strokes, and nowhere did she miss Paul so much as she did there.

CHAPTER VI

The Cardens both went to dinner.

Captain Carden was a nondescript. He might have been attractive if he had ever appeared interested. He was tall, fair, with grey eyes, and very ugly hands, which were forced into notice because of his constant endeavour to hide them. Launa regarded mother and son with curiosity, for they were English and new, and reminded her of the characters in Trollopes novels. Neither Charlie Carden nor his mother appeared to have found much to interest them in this world. They were ignorant as well as superior, and gloried in knowing nothing, unlike Mrs. Phillipss friends, who were anxious to know everything, and to impress outsiders with their knowledge.

The Archers talked first about the opera. Mrs. Cardens ideas of it were limited to Pinafore as new and Martha as old. German opera and Wagner were nothing to her, nor did she care about books.

Captain Carden talked about horses to Launa, who gathered that he fancied his own opinion as well as his own horses and prowess.

Mrs. Carden thought George should ask her to take the head of the table; she considered Launa too young. She was disappointed when she found the table was round.

Mrs. Phillips and Mr. Herbert were the other guests. Mr. Herbert was an ugly, short man, with a square face, and a stubbly black moustache. He was a journalist besides which he was clever. Shortly he was going to Canada to write articles for some papers on the country and its resources.

You are going to write to me, too, said Mrs. Phillips.

Yes, he replied, with a glance, full of what?

Launa saw it; here was a man and a woman who clearly were of moment to each other. Launa was so absolutely ignorant of men; she knew only one man, and she tried to forget him. She had believed in them all as a class, and in their chivalrous respect for women indefinite women and in their everlasting love for one particular woman at last, but her belief was tottering.

That all men were brave she believed, too, it was part, an essential part, of her idea of a man, as all women are lovely and good. Of course she knew women existed with protruding teeth, who have no attraction, but men do not love them. Mrs. Carden she classed among them.

Captain Carden talked to her with assiduity. He told her he found London dull.

I hate the people; they are so difficult to know. I have called over and over again on the Huntingdons. You know who he is? Lord Huntingdon in the War Office. And I go often to the club for billiards, but no one is friendly, and society is very difficult to get into.

But do you not go in for something? Dont you ride, or row, or play golf? I think all men should care for things of that sort, even for making love.

I never make love; that means marriage, and I have no money.

Do you ride? she asked, feeling perfectly indifferent as to his reply. All soldiers do.

This conversation was so profoundly insipid.

Sometimes; but I hate it. I am always afraid of falling off. I go in for it because the regiment would not think much of me if I didnt. But I hope I have not bored you, with a sudden change of tone. We are cousins, you know, and it is so funny how intimate I can be with you; there are so few women I like, or with whom I can be confidential.

Launa ate an almond with deliberation.

Perhaps some day you will come for a drive with me. I might hire a safe horse.

Oh, no, thank you. Please do not trouble, I do not like safe horses.

Mr. Archer turned to Captain Carden and asked about Malta, and Launa watched Mrs. Phillips, who was talking very little, while Mr. Herberts conversation was incessant. His air was persuasive, his eyes eager, ardent, full of desire.

At ten the Cardens departed. Charley Carden had time to assure Launa again that she was the only woman with whom he could be confidential. Mrs. Phillips was to stay the night. Launa and she had bedrooms adjoining, with a door of communication. They both put on dressing-gowns, and Lily Phillips went into Launas room.

You are not sleepy, are you? Shall we talk?

Sit here, said Launa, in this comfortable chair.

There was a small fire.

I am always cold, said Launa. I love a fire.

What do you think of Mr. Herbert?

I think him clever, and he evidently likes you.

Yes, he is clever. But tell me, Launa, are you modern?

In what way?

Would you ask a man who loved you if he had a past? Would you object to it if he had?

If a past were a present I would object. Cant men be without past? Is there always a woman they have loved first?

She seemed to hear the wailing of a child and the rustling of the trees, and to feel the fresh breeze. She shuddered. Mrs. Phillips observed the shudder and the look.