Part 5

"Don't marry out of a sense of it," retorted Plant. "I just want to be loved. I'm going around feeling I want to be loved. I've never been loved properly all my life, and I begin to hanker after it wildly. And, if you do marry me, Lady Penelope, I want you to understand right here and now that I don't want you to do your duty by me. If you begin to do that, I'll take a Colt's forty-five and scatter my brains out. I want love, that's what I want. I want it straight, without water in it."

"I see what you mean," said Penelope. "I think you are a very noble-hearted man, Mr. Plant."

And away went poor Plant to draw up a scheme for a university.

"I think I could almost love him," said the pensive Penelope. "I could--almost--"

Her contemplations were interrupted by Captain Goby. He was a little paler than usual, and perhaps a trifle more intelligent. And he was more in love than ever.

"I've done everything you told me," he said, as he sat down and eyed her wistfully. "I've gone into poetry like a bull at a hedge, Lady Penelope. I begin to see what it means. Old Austin (poor old josser) has taken the deuce's own pains over me. He's read 'The Lady of the Garden' to me seventeen times. He wrote it ten years ago. He says he wonders how he did it, and so do I. I've been trying to write poetry to you, do you know. That showed me there must be some special gift in it, for I never did anything worth the horrid trouble. And I've been worrying the War Office like a bulldog. They say they'll think of me, and haven't gone any further, and talking of bulldogs, Bob's bulldog bit Austin de Vere, and he swore like a man. I was surprised. But if I were you, I'd tell Bob to stop sending him more dogs. He's very kind to them, but they worry him. Bob's prices are very high, too. How is Bob? Oh, by the way, I'm living on ten pounds a week. Need I reckon tailor's bills in, do you think? Oh, yes, this bulge is the Golden Treasury. I take it out and read a lyric between meals. The chaps at the Rag chaff me like blazes, but I don't mind so long as I improve. I want to improve so as to be worthy of your intellect, Lady Penelope."

"The poor dear," said Pen, when he was gone, "I think I could almost love him!"

As luck would have it, Bob and Austin de Vere came in almost at the same minute. For now Titania couldn't keep Bob away. For the matter of that, she did not want to. Bob was to be Penelope's safeguard. He was much better than Chloe Cadwallader, said Titania.

However, De Vere came in first. He held Penelope's hand no longer than a poet should, as poets naturally hold girls' hands rather longer than other people.

"You are looking really well, Mr. de Vere," said Penelope, when she was free.

"I am well," said the poet, "exceedingly well in a way. My dear lady of the beautiful garden, I owe all that to you. At first I was afraid of Captain Goby. I told Lord Bradstock so the other day. I'm afraid I left him under a false impression as to my feelings to Goby, by the way. I'm quite proud of Goby. He says I am really a powerful man, and he made me row till I was worn out. And then he insisted that I should use Sandow's exerciser. I own I did it with reluctance. I pointed out to Goby that I did not wish to look like Mr. Sandow. Goby always stopped by the posters in which Mr. Sandow is lifting ten tons or so, and pointed out certain muscles to me as ideals. I was recalcitrant, for, although I admire Mr. Sandow immensely, I think muscle can be overdone. However, I used the machine, which is ingenious and elastic, and only dangerous if the hook comes out of the wall, and I've found I rather like it. I should miss it now. I think it imparts a certain vigour to verse, if not overdone. Oh--"

For in came Bob. He rushed at Pen and kissed her hair, and then bounced at the poet.

"I say is it true the bulldog bit you? I saw Goby yesterday in the park, and he said so," asked Bob, in great excitement.

"It is true," said the poet.

Penelope shook her head at the late owner of the dog.

"Oh, Bob! Mr. de Vere, I'm very sorry."

"So was I," said De Vere.

"Where did he bite you?" asked Bob, anxiously. "Was it the arm or the leg? And did he hang on like a proper bulldog? Baker says that if a bulldog once gets hold, you have to use a red-hot poker to make him let go. Did you use a red-hot poker?"

"He only snapped and fetched blood," said De Vere.

"Ah!" cried Bob, "I always thought he wasn't a real good bulldog."

"At any rate, he bit the Irish terrier," said the poet. "I mean the one you sold to me for three pounds."

"I'm glad he did, sir. That Irish terrier, though he's splendidly bred, Baker says, has an awful temper and is very troublesome. Does Rollo, the retriever, howl much at night, sir?"

"Oh, not so very much," said De Vere. "It's only when the moon is near the full that he does his best."

"I never thought of that," said Bob, "but now I remember that it was very moony when I sent him over to you. Baker said you'd like him. His kennel is next to Baker's house."

"I'm much obliged to Baker," said De Vere. "But the tail of the Borzois is still bald, Bob."

Bob opened his eyes wide.

"Oh, dear, I thought you would have cured him by now; and how about his bronchitis?"

"That's better, I hope and trust," said the poet. And Penelope, who was very greatly touched by his kindness to all these dogs, sent Bob into the library.

"It's so good of you to be kind to Bob," she said. "Bob's a dear, and he adores me. He says that he's going to live with me always, even when I'm married."

"Oh!" gasped De Vere. "We were talking about Goby, I think, when dear Bob came in. You'll find him much improved, I'm sure, my dear Lady Penelope. He has read a great deal of Shelley and Keats and Browning with me. He was especially struck with 'Sordello.' I read it to him and he sat with his hand to his forehead taking it all in. And every now and again he said, 'Great Scott!' which is his way of expressing wonderment and admiration. I do not know its origin. I've written to Doctor Murray to ask him if he knows. And Goby, oh, yes, you'll find him improved. I've done my best with him, and I've really struggled hard. Any improvement you notice is, I really believe, under you and Providence, due to me."

And when he went, Penelope sat thinking.

"The poor dear, how nicely he took the bulldog bites and the howling of the retriever. I think--I think I could almost love him!"

And that afternoon and evening she saw Bramber and Carteret Williams and Jimmy Carew and Gordon, and they were all most marvellously improved. Bramber was alert and bright, and began to show that he had some ambition in him, and, if he did not tell Penelope his exact mind about Plant, he did show some little appreciation of the American's qualities.

"Associating with him has done you good," said Pen. "I see it has. You lived far too much for yourself, Lord Bramber. I cannot endure selfishness."

"I'm not selfish any more, I think," said Bramber. "I rather like Plant. He seems a man, take him all around. He is abrupt, perhaps, and brutal. I own I've found him trying, and he says things one finds it hard to forgive."

"Yes, he told me," said Pen, delightedly. "Oh, he told me he said you ought to be beaten severely, and he said you took it very nicely. Did you?"

Bramber bit his lip.

"I did."

"That's right," said Pen. "Oh, I'm improving you all so much. You've no idea how much improved you are. Mr. Mytton said he'd make something out of you, Lord Bramber."

"Did he really?"

"Oh, yes. He said he made fair successes out of very much worse material.

"He's quite a dear," she sighed, when he was gone, but, before she could add that she might almost love him, Carew and Williams came in together. And before she could greet them, Gordon came, too. Williams eyed him with strange ferocity, for he was by nature a hater of Hebrews, and wanted to dust the floor with him. Pen, who was as quick as lightning, caught his glances and said to him, sweetly:

"I think you would get on nicely with Mr. Gordon."

And Williams blenched visibly.

"Oh, I couldn't leave Carew," he said. "I'm deep in art, very deep; I adore it. Carew has introduced me to several Academicians, and I have bought a box of paints. One Academician took me home with him and showed me his pictures. He doesn't agree with Jimmy altogether, and he says Jimmy will alter his opinions presently. His idea is that when a man is an A.R.A., he is only beginning, you see. He also explained to me the attitude of the R.A. with regard to the Chantrey Bequest. He says that if they found a good picture not by an Academician, they would buy it, which is interesting, isn't it? He was painting a picture called 'War,' and wanted my opinion. I said I'd ask Jimmy, because I didn't know anything about war except what I'd seen. I don't know why he was chuffy about it. I find artists get chuffy and huffy very quick, and I don't know what for. Do you think there will be war soon?"

Penelope didn't know, and said she wanted eternal peace and happiness for every one, and meant having it if it could be got by any legitimate influence.

"War is horrible!"

"It is," said Carew, who joined in just here, after getting away from Gordon, who told him to buy Hittites at 3-1/8. "War is horrid. Williams is always talking of it."

"I'm not," said Williams, angrily. "I want peace, eternal peace and happiness for every one."

"Ah, so do I," put in Gordon. "My idea is to have a peaceful life, far from the roar of London, in a deep green vale, where I shall hear no one talking of shares, and where mines are unknown, and there are no Chinese or crushing reports. Why is it that most reports from mines are crushing? I wish I knew."

"Ah, how sweet it would all be," said beautiful Penelope. "You could keep cows, Mr. Gordon."

"I adore them," said Gordon. "There is a breed without horns, isn't there?"

"They look incomplete," said Jimmy.

"What are you painting now?" asked Pen.

"I'm not really painting, I'm modelling in clay, as you told me," said the obsequious lover. "Don't you remember saying I was to model in clay? I'm doing Williams in clay. He looks very well in it. I'm also doing a bull going at a gate. When I get tired of Williams, I do the bull, and when I'm fatigued by the bull I go back to Williams."

"And are they like?" asked Penelope.

"Oh, exactly," replied Carew.

And the interesting conversation was interrupted by Chloe and Ethel. But Penelope said to herself that they were all dears.

"Mr. Williams is greatly improved," she murmured happily. "And Mr. Carew looks more healthy and less engrossed in himself. I was awfully glad to hear Mr. Gordon speak like that about a peaceful life."

And Williams slipped Carew on the door-step and went to his club. He roared of war till two o'clock in the morning, and then got three out-of-work war correspondents in the corner and told them the great story of his love. But Jimmy went down to Chelsea, and damned modelling in clay to other impressionist painters, and had a real good time. As for Gordon of the "deep green vale," he went home and found a clerk waiting with a bundle of cables from all quarters of the mining globe. He sent a wire to Bramber to be let off an engagement to hear a debate on drains.

On the whole, every one was tolerably happy, if we do not include Titania and the retriever who howled at nights.

*CHAPTER VII.*

It is possible that Penelope never enjoyed herself so much as she did at this period. She was so busy that she had no time to worry; her team took all her time. She was young, she was beautiful, she was adored, she was popular, she was even notorious. A dozen reporters dogged her footsteps, and when they lost her they followed her lovers. They haunted her door-step armed with kodaks; they invented paragraphs; they hunted her men and her maids. They made love to the girls, and seduced the men into neighbouring bars. One newspaper man, who belonged to the _Mayfair Daily_, got into her establishment as a footman, and was discovered by the butler drawing Penelope at dinner when he should have been drawing corks. A search in his clothes revealed some pencils and a note-book and another book of drawings. They were of such a character that the reporter was put outside into the street. The butler could have forgiven the sketch of his mistress: there was one of himself that no man could forgive.

The great desire of all these men was to spot the winner. Penelope's maid, Harriet Weekes, who was more or less engaged to Timothy Bunting, the groom (a sad _mesalliance_, by the way), found it impossible to go out without being accosted respectfully by a new admirer, who tried to lead the conversation around to her mistress.

"If you please, my lady, another of them spoke to me to-day. I hope, my lady, you don't think it my fault," said Weekes.

"What do they say?" asked Penelope, curiously. She took great interest in the manners and customs of other classes, perhaps with a view of altering them when she got time.

"Oh, my lady, they always say the same thing. I think men are very much the same all over the world. They say 'It's a fine day,' even if it's raining, and of course it is, and they say they want to walk a little way with me (begging your pardon), and that I am very beautiful, and that they have long loved me, if you please, my lady, and have been trying to speak about it for years. And I tell 'em I don't want 'em, and I don't, to be sure, though one (he's on the _Piccadilly Circus Gazette_) is a very handsome man with a heagle's glance, dressed in gray tweeds. And they won't be put off, I assure you, my lady. Men on newspapers are hextremely persevering with a fine flow of language. And if, being persuaded to take a little walk, for they are difficult to put off by trade, I do take one, they begin to ask, begging your pardon, I'm sure, my lady, if I am your sister, and I'm sure I'm as like you as a butterfly is to a beetle, as Mr. Bunting says, though he adores the ground I walk on, if he's to be believed, which I'm not sure of yet, and the butler is very angry with me about the whole affair. And one, who said he was the editor of the _Times_, which I don't believe in the least, because it doesn't seem likely, does it, my lady, that the editor of the _Times_ would do such things himself? said he wanted to marry me and put me on the staff as his lovely bride. I must say he spoke most beautifully, and he said he knew Captain Goby, and also Mr. Gordon, and he said they were getting thin he thought. And another, quite the gentleman, though by his trousers poor and careful, said he owned most of the _Daily Telegraph_. And I couldn't help looking at his clothes. He was very quick, and said that was owing to the competition of the half-penny papers. Would I save the _Daily Telegraph_ from himpending ruin by telling him which it would be, he said. And I said flatly that I wouldn't. I never saw such wicked impudence. Oh, yes, my lady, your hair's done now, and it's as lovely as a dream."

And, as Miss Weekes finished, she wondered, quite as much as any of the newspaper men, who it was to be.

"It's my belief," she said to Timothy, a little later, "that my lady is beginning to incline to one of 'em. I've noticed she's quieter like and more gentle. And there's a soft sadness in her eye and a colour that comes and goes."

"There ain't one of the biling worthy of her," said Timothy, bitterly. "But there, Miss Weekes, there ain't no man worthy of a real beautiful, good lidy. A fair wonder how I dares to hope that some day far off, when motor-cars has killed every 'orse, you'll be Mrs. Bunting."

"It's a great come down, Tim," said Harriet. "Mr. Gubbles says he wonders, too."

"If he wasn't the butler, and old, I'd plug 'im," said Timothy, crossly. "It's all right for me to wonder, but he ain't in it."

"Ah, but class distinctions is hard to get over, Mr. Bunting," said Harriet. "You must pardon a butler's feelings. Even Mr. Gubbles has his feelings. And he agrees with you that there's no one but a duke ought to marry our dear lady. And she demeaning herself (if I dare say so) with Academicians and war correspondencies and Jew men; not but what Mr. Gordon is very gentlemanly and generous. Only yesterday, Mr. Bunting, he says to me when he met me outside, 'Do you read?' And I says, 'Yes, sir,' being some flustered, and he says, 'You read that.' And it was a five-pound note. And he adds something about 'your vote and hinfluence.' But I can't do it, Mr. Bunting, I can't. If it was Captain Goby, I might, and if it was young Lord Bramber I might more so, and even if it was Mr. de Vere, with a duke remote in his family, but for a Jewish man I can't. So I said, 'Thank you, sir,' and he went off. But some one is beginnin' to rise up in my lady's mind, I saw it plainly when I was dressing her. It would be worth more than five pounds to know who is risin'."

"Yes," said Timothy. "'Ow much would it run to, do you think?"

"I believe it would be worth a public 'ouse."

"Beer and spirits?" asked Timothy, eagerly.

"And a corner 'ouse at that," replied Harriet, nodding her head.

"Oh, 'Arriet," said Timothy, with a gasp, "you fairly dazzle me."

The newspaper men had dazzled Harriet.

But indeed what she said seemed true to her. And it seemed true to Lord Bradstock, who had, like the man of the _Circus Gazette_, an eagle's glance.

"She has been playing fair," said Bradstock, "but one of them is drawing ahead, Titania."

"Good heavens, who is he, and how do you know?" asked Titania.

"It's intuition," said Bradstock, "intuition combined with, or founded on, a little observation. She's different, Titania. She takes no interest in the London County Council."

"You don't say so!" cried the duchess, in alarm.

Bradstock nodded.

"It's a fact. I asked her if she had read the last debate, and she hadn't, and when I mentioned the Deceased Wife's Sister she yawned."

"That looks bad," said Titania, "for only a week ago she raved about her, and Goring said he'd vote for her if she insisted on it. And she did insist, and tears came in her eyes about the poor thing."

"Well, I told you so," said Bradstock, "and I do hope it isn't Williams. I'm afraid of Williams. He's capable of knocking her down and carrying her off on his shoulder. Do you remember with what joy she read us the account of the savage tribe somewhere (was it the east of London?) where they do that?"

"It made me shiver with apprehension," said Titania. "Oh, if she was only married safely to a good duke, one not like Goring! Is there a good duke, Augustin?"

"Several, so I'm informed," replied Bradstock, "and there are quite a number of good earls, some quite admirable. But I wish you'd get hold of Chloe Cadwallader, and find out something."

Titania bristled like a porcupine.

"There is no need to find out anything about Mrs. Cadwallader," she said. "If Penelope wasn't too dangerously innocent to be single, she would not have anything to do with her."

"I'm sure the poor woman was only silly," said Bradstock. "Haven't we all been silly in our time, Titania? Didn't I marry twice? And you married once."

"I'll speak to her," said the duchess, hastily. "If we can only find out who it is, we can, I'm sure, prevent her doing as she says and making a secret marriage of it. The scandal would be horrid. Oh, Augustin, suppose she did it, and had a large family suddenly. I should die of it."

"Good heavens," said Bradstock, "you alarm me, Titania, you are so gloomy. She would surely acknowledge her marriage then?"

Titania threw up her hands.

"Augustin, I'm sure of nothing with Penelope. I cannot answer for her. She will bring my gray hairs with sorrow--"

"To cremation," said Bradstock. "She has invested money in a crematorium."

"I thought it was dairy-farming," cried Titania. "Oh, but think, Augustin, of the horror of the situation as it might be! What would her Royal Highness say to me? Imagine her marrying and keeping it dark, and having, as I say, a large family suddenly without a husband producible on the moment to answer natural inquiries! Imagine her saying _then_ that her marriage was her own business, and her certificate of marriage firmly withheld by a young and obstinate mother in a safe! She has a safe. She has a safe, Augustin, with many keys. I wish I could get at it, and find things out that are in it. I wish I knew a burglar, a good honest and reliable burglar, married and trustworthy, that I could send in to break it open. Most girls have a desk with an ordinary key, easy to open, but Penelope has a Lord Milner's safe with patent things to keep it shut. It's not natural, it's wicked. Oh, I did hope, when I found out what the duke was like and what his ways were, that I knew the extent of my troubles, but there is no end to them, and Penelope begins where Goring leaves off."

"Is it as bad as that?" asked Bradstock.

"And then there's Bob--"

"By Jove," said Augustin, "I believe Bob's the key to the safe! Titania, he's more likely to find something out than any one."

Titania nodded solemnly.

"Augustin, you are right. I'll speak to Bob."

"Let me do it."

"No, no, Augustin. He is very quick and suspicious, and he loves her, he adores her. This requires a feminine intelligence. I will work upon him quietly."

And she went away to work upon Bob quietly.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

Now Titania believed that she was very smart and very clever, and that she would do things subtly and do them better than Bradstock or a barrister, even if he was a K.C. And as it is the most invariably weak point in people that they think young people fools, or at any rate easily hoodwinked, she really believed that Bob, her dearly beloved young scoundrel of a grandson, would be as easy to work on as butter. And yet she had the sense to see that Bob adored Penelope.

"I am very greatly troubled about Penelope, Bob," she said to him, as soon as she got him alone.

"Don't you worry about Pen, granny," replied Bob, cheerfully, "she can take care of herself. Why, she can drive a motor-car now up to about thirty miles an hour, and Geordie Smith says she's all there. And so does old Guth. He had long talks with her, and he says she has brains. I tell you old Guth knows 'em when he sees 'em."

Titania nodded.

"Oh, I know she is clever, dear, but her ideas are so extraordinary."

"Ain't they?" said Bob. "I do wonder which of 'em she'll marry, don't you?"

"Indeed I do," replied his grandmother. "Have you any idea, Bob, which she likes best?"

Bob shook his head.

"Not me. I wish it was Goby; old Goby is a ripping good sort. He knows what's what, does old Goby."

Goby tipped him freely and frequently, and Bob sold him a spavined pony, aged fifteen years.

"He's a bit of a fool, of course," said Bob, thoughtfully. "Do you know, granny, he isn't the judge of horses you'd think he is?"

"Does Penelope ever confide in you, Bob?" asked Titania.

There was a touch of anxiety in her voice that the boy felt at once. He put his head on one side and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't answer the question.

"I say, granny, don't you think I can have a bigger allowance now? I find mine much too little. If I had ten shillings a week more, I could get on for a bit."

"You shall have it," said Titania. "Does she ever confide in you, Bob?"

"Some," said Bob, carelessly.

"Which do you think she likes best?" asked Titania.

"I don't know," said Bob, "but I dare say I could find out. I say, should you be very angry if it was Gordon?"

Titania uttered a little scream.

"Great heavens, Bob, I should die of it!"

Bob sat down and looked at her.