The Quiet Gentleman

She did not rise, but she extended her hand to him. “Well, and so you have come at last, St. Erth! I am happy to see you here, though, to be sure, I scarcely expected ever to do so! I do not know why you could not have come before, but you were always a strange, whimsical creature, and I daresay I shall not find that you have changed.”

“Dear ma’am, believe me, it is the greatest satisfaction to me to be able to perceive, at a glance, that you have not changed — not by so much as a hairsbreadth!” Gervase responded, bowing over her hand.

So sweetly were the words uttered, that everyone, except the Dowager, was left in doubt of their exact significance. The Dowager, who would have found it hard to believe that she could be the object of satire, was unmoved. “No, I fancy I do not alter,” she said complacently. “No doubt, however, you see a great change in your brother.”

“A great change,” agreed Gervase, holding out his hand to Martin, and scanning him out of his smiling, blue eyes. “Can you be my little brother? It seems so unlikely! I should not have recognized you.” He turned, offering hand and smile to the Chaplain. “But Mr. Clowne I must certainly have known anywhere! How do you do?”

The Chaplain, who, from the moment of the Earl’s handing his hat to Abney, had stood staring at him as though he could not drag his eyes from his face, seemed to be a trifle shaken, and answered with much less than his usual urbanity: “And I you, my lord! For one moment it was as though — Your lordship must forgive me! Memory serves one some strange tricks.”

“You mean, I think, that I am very like my mother,” said Gervase. “I am glad — though it is a resemblance which has brought upon me in the past much that I wish to forget.”

“It has frequently been remarked,” stated the Dowager, “that Martin is the very likeness of all the Frants.”

“You are too severe, ma’am,” said Gervase gently.

“Let me tell you, St. Erth, that if I favour the Frants I am devilish glad to hear it!” said Martin.

“Tell me anything you wish, my dear Martin!” said Gervase encouragingly.

His young relative was not unnaturally smitten to silence, and stood glaring at him. The Dowager said in a voice of displeasure: “I have the greatest dislike of such trifling talk as this. I shall make you known to Miss Morville, St. Erth.”

Bows were exchanged; the Earl murmured that he was happy to make Miss Morville’s acquaintance; and Miss Morville, accepting the civility with equanimity, pointed out to him, in a helpful spirit, that Abney was still waiting to relieve him of his driving-coat.

“Of course — yes!” said Gervase, allowing the butler to help him out of his coat, and standing revealed in all the fashionable elegance of dove-coloured pantaloons, and a silver-buttoned coat of blue superfine. A quizzing-glass hung on a black riband round his neck, and he raised this to one eye, seeming to observe, for the first time, the knee-breeches worn by his brother and his cousin, and the glory of his stepmother’s low-cut gown of purple satin. “Oh, I am afraid I have kept you waiting for me!” he said apologetically. “Now what is to be done? Will you permit me, ma’am, to sit down to dinner in all my dirt, or shall I change my clothes while your dinner spoils?”

“It would take you an hour, I daresay!” Martin remarked, with a curling lip.

“Oh, more than that!” replied Gervase gravely.

“I am not, in general, an advocate for a man’s sitting down to dine in his walking-dress,” announced the Dowager. “I consider such a practice slovenly, and slovenliness I abhor! In certain cases it may be thought, however, to be allowable. We will dine immediately, Abney.”

The Earl, taking up a position before the fire, beside his brother, drew a Sevres snuff-box from his pocket, and, opening it with a dexterous flick of his thumb, took a pinch of the mixture it contained, and raised it to one nostril. An unusual signet-ring, which he wore, and which seemed, at one moment, dull and dark, and at another, when he moved his hand so that the ring caught the light, to glow with green fire, attracted his stepmother’s attention. “What is that ring you have upon your finger, St. Erth?” she demanded. “It appears to me to be a signet!”

“Why, so it is, ma’am!” he replied, raising his brows in mild surprise.

“How comes this about? Your father’s ring was delivered to you by your cousin’s hand I do not know how many months ago! All the Earls of St. Erth have worn it, for five generations — I daresay more!”

“Yes, I prefer my own,” said the Earl tranquilly.

“Upon my word!” the Dowager ejaculated, her bosom swelling. “I have not misunderstood you, I suppose! You prefer a trumpery ring of your own to an heirloom!”

“I wonder,” mused the Earl, pensively regarding his ring, “whether some Earl of St. Erth as yet unborn — my great-great-grandson, perhaps — will be told the same, when he does not choose to wear this ring of mine?”