Moth and Rust | Page 9

were thrown into high relief by the strong superficial resemblance of feature between them.
Janet was sitting motionless and embarrassed before the tea-table, waiting for the tea to become of brandied strength. Mrs. Trefusis, possibly mindful of Anne's appeal, had evidently asked her future daughter-in-law to pour out tea for her. And Janet, to the instant annoyance of the elder woman, had carefully poured cream into each empty cup as a preliminary measure.
George was standing in sullen silence by the tea-table, vaguely aware that something was wrong, and wishing that Fred had not called.
The strain relaxed as Anne entered.
Anne came in quickly, with a gentle expectancy of pleasure in her grave face. She gave the impression of one who has hastened back to congenial society.
If this be hypocrisy, Anne was certainly a hypocrite. There are some natures simple and patient, who quickly perceive and gladly meet the small occasions of life. Anne had come into the world willing to serve, and she did not mind whom she served. She did gracefully, even gaily, the things that others did not think worth while. This was, of course, no credit to her. She was made so. Just as some of us are so fastidiously, so artistically constituted as to make the poor souls who have to live with us old before their time.
Mrs. Trefusis's face became less knotted. Janet gave a sigh of relief. George said "Hi, Ponto! How are ye?" and affably stirred up his sleeping retriever with his foot.
Anne sat down by Janet, advised her that Mrs. Trefusis did not like cream, and then, while she swallowed a cup of tea sweetened to nausea, devoted herself to Fred.
His nervous laugh became less strident, his conversation less pendulous between a paralysed constraint and a galvanised familiarity. Anne loved horses, but she did not talk of them to Fred, though, from his appearance, it seemed as if no other subject had ever occupied his attention.
Why is it that a passion for horses writes itself as plainly as a craving for alcohol on the faces of the men and women who live for them?
Anne spoke of the Boer war in its most obvious aspects, mentioned a few of its best-known incidents, of which even he could not be ignorant. Janet glanced with fond pride at her brother, as he declaimed against the Government for its refusal to buy thousands of hypothetical Kaffir ponies, and as he posted Anne in the private workings of the mind of her cousin, the Prime Minister. Fred had even heard of certain scandals respecting the hospitals for the wounded, and opined with decision that war could not be conducted on rose-water principles, with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne at each man's pillow.
"Fine woman, that!" said Fred to Janet afterwards, as she walked a few steps with him on his homeward way. "Woman of the world. Knows her way about. And how she holds herself! A little thin perhaps, and not much colour, but shows her breeding. Who is she?"
"Lady Varney."
"Married?
"N-no."
"H'm! Look here, Janet. You suck up to her. And you look how she does things, and notice the way she talks. She reads the papers, takes an interest--in politics. That's what a man likes. You do the same. And don't you knock under to that old bag of bones too much. Hold your own. We are as good as she is."
"Oh, no, Fred; we're not."
"Oh! it's all rot about family. It's not worth a rush. We are just the same as them. A gentleman's a gentleman whether he lives in a large house or a small one, and the real snobs are the people who think different. Does it make you less of a lady because you live in an unpretentious way? Not a bit of it. Don't talk to me."
Janet remained silent. She felt there was some hitch in her brother's reasoning, which, until to-day, had appeared to her irrefutable, but she could not see where the hitch lay.
"You must stand up to the old woman, I tell you. I don't want you to be rude, but you let her know that she is the dowager. Don't give way. Didn't you see how I tackled her?"
"I'm not clever like you."
"Well, you are a long sight prettier," said her brother proudly. "And I've' brought some money with me for the trousseau. You go to the Brands tomorrow, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, don't pay for anything you can help. Tell them to put it down. Get this Lady Varney or Mrs. Brand to recommend the shops and dressmakers, and then they will not dun us for money."
"Oh, Fred! Are you so hard up?"
"Hard up!" said Fred, his face becoming suddenly pinched and old. "Hard up!" He drew in his breath. "Oh! I'm all right. At least, yes, just for the moment I'm a