LADY BARBARINA
I
It is well known that there are few sights in the world more brilliant than the main avenues of Hyde Park of a fine afternoon in June. This was quite the opinion of two persons who on a beautiful day at the beginning of that month, four years ago, had established themselves under the great trees in a couple of iron chairsthe big ones with arms, for which, if I mistake not, you pay twopenceand sat there with the slow procession of the Drive behind them while their faces were turned to the more vivid agitation of the Row. Lost in the multitude of observers they belonged, superficially at least, to that class of persons who, wherever they may be, rank rather with the spectators than with the spectacle. They were quiet simple elderly, of aspect somewhat neutral; you would have liked them extremely but would scarcely have noticed them. It is to them, obscure in all that shining host, that we must nevertheless give our attention. On which the reader is begged to have confidence; he is not asked to make vain concessions. It was indicated touchingly in the faces of our friends that they were growing old together and were fond enough of each others company not to objectsince it was a conditioneven to that. The reader will have guessed that they were husband and wife; and perhaps while he is about it will further have guessed that they were of that nationality for which Hyde Park at the height of the season is most completely illustrative. They were native aliens, so to speak, and people at once so initiated and so detached could only be Americans. This reflexion indeed you would have made only after some delay; for it must be allowed that they bristled with none of those modern signs that carry out the tradition of the old indigenous war-paint and feathers. They had the American turn of mind, but that was very secret; and to your eyeif your eye had cared about itthey might have been either intimately British or more remotely foreign. It was as if they studied, for convenience, to be superficially colourless; their colour was all in their talk. They were not in the least verdant; they were grey rather, of monotonous hue. If they were interested in the riders, the horses, the walkers, the great exhibition of English wealth and health, beauty, luxury and leisure, it was because all this referred itself to other impressions, because they had the key to almost everything that needed an answerbecause, in a word, they were able to compare. They had not arrived, they had only returned; and recognition much more than surprise was expressed in their quiet eyes. Dexter Freer and his wife belonged in fine to that great company of Americans who are constantly passing through London. Enjoyers of a fortune of which, from any standpoint, the limits were plainly visible, they were unable to treat themselves to that commonest form of ease, the ease of living at home. They found it much more possible to economise at Dresden or Florence than at Buffalo or Minneapolis. The saving was greater and the strain was less. From Dresden, from Florence, moreover, they constantly made excursions that wouldnt have been possible with an excess of territory; and it is even to be feared they practised some eccentricities of thrift. They came to London to buy their portmanteaus, their toothbrushes, their writing-paper; they occasionally even recrossed the Atlantic westward to assure themselves that westward prices were still the same. They were eminently a social pair; their interests were mainly personal. Their curiosity was so invidiously human that they were supposed to be too addicted to gossip, and they certainly kept up their acquaintance with the affairs of other people. They had friends in every country, in every town; and it was not their fault if people told them their secrets. Dexter Freer was a tall lean man, with an interested eye and a nose that rather drooped than aspired, yet was salient withal. He brushed his hair, which was streaked with white, forward over his ears and into those locks represented in the portraits of clean-shaven gentlemen who flourished fifty years ago and wore an old-fashioned neckcloth and gaiters. His wife, a small plump person, rather polished than naturally fresh, with a white face and hair still evenly black, smiled perpetually, but had never laughed since the death of a son whom she had lost ten years after her marriage. Her husband, on the other hand, who was usually quite grave, indulged on great occasions in resounding mirth. People confided in her less than in him, but that mattered little, as she confided much in herself. Her dress, which was always black or dark grey, was so harmoniously simple that you could see she was fond of it; it was never smart by accident or by fear. She was full of intentions of the most judicious sort and, though perpetually moving about the world, had the air of waiting for every one else to pass. She was celebrated for the promptitude with which she made her sitting-room at an inn, where she might be spending a night or two, appear a real temple of memory. With books, flowers, photographs, draperies, rapidly distributedshe had even a way, for the most part, of not failing of a pianothe place seemed almost hereditary. The pair were just back from America, where they had spent three months, and now were able to face the world with something of the elation of people who have been justified of a stiff conviction. They had found their native land quite ruinous.
There he is again! said Mr. Freer, following with his eyes a young man who passed along the Row, riding slowly. Thats a beautiful thoroughbred!
Mrs. Freer asked idle questions only when she wanted time to think. At present she had simply to look and see who it was her husband meant. The horse is too big, she remarked in a moment.
You mean the riders too small, her husband returned. Hes mounted on his millions.
Is it really millions?
Seven or eight, they tell me.
How disgusting! It was so that Mrs. Freer usually spoke of the large fortunes of the day. I wish hed see us, she added.
He does see us, but he doesnt like to look at us. Hes too conscious. He isnt easy.
Too conscious of his big horse?
Yes and of his big fortune. Hes rather ashamed of that.
This is an odd place to hang ones head in, said Mrs. Freer.
Im not so sure. Hell find people here richer than himself, and other big horses in plenty, and that will cheer him up. Perhaps too hes looking for that girl.
The one we heard about? He cant be such a fool.
He isnt a fool, said Dexter Freer. If hes thinking of her he has some good reason.
I wonder what Mary Lemon would say, his wife pursued.
Shed say it was all right if he should do it. She thinks he can do no wrong. Hes immensely fond of her.
I shant be sure of that, said Mrs. Freer, if he takes home a wife wholl despise her.
Why should the girl despise her? Shes a delightful woman.
The girl will never know itand if she should it would make no difference: shell despise everything.
I dont believe it, my dear; shell like some things very much. Every one will be very nice to her.
Shell despise them all the more. But were speaking as if it were all arranged. I dont believe in it at all, said Mrs. Freer.
Well, something of the sortin this case or in some otheris sure to happen sooner or later, her husband replied, turning round a little toward the back-water, as it were, formed, near the entrance to the Park, by the confluence of the two great vistas of the Drive and the Row.