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Love at Second Sight

<h3 id="id00115" style="margin-top: 3em">CHAPTER III</h3> 'Madame Frabelle's in her own room. She stays there a good deal, you know. I fancy she does it out of tactfulness.' Edith spoke thoughtfully. 'What does she do there?' Bruce asked with low-toned curiosity, as he stood up and looked in the glass. 'She says she goes there to read. She thinks it bores people to see a visitor sitting reading about the house; she says it makes them get tired of the sight of her.' 'But she can't be reading all those hours, surely?' and Bruce sat down, satisfied with his appearance. 'One would think not. I used to think she was probably lying on the sofa with cold cream on her face, or something of that sort. But she doesn't. Once I went in,' Edith smiled, 'and found her doing Swedish exercises.' 'Good heavens! What a wonderful woman she is! Do you mean to say she's learning Swedish, as well as all the other languages she knows?' 'No, no. I mean physical exercises. But go on, Bruce. I'm getting so impatient.' Bruce settled himself down comfortably, blew a ring of smoke, and then began slowly: 'I never dreamt, Edith—' 'Oh, Bruce, are you going to tell me everything you never dreamt? We shall take weeks getting to the point.' 'Don't be absurd. I'll get to the point at once then. Look here; I think we ought to give a dinner for Madame Frabelle!' 'Oh, is that all? Of course! I've been wondering that you didn't wish to do it long before now.' 'Have you? I'll tell you why. Thinking Madame Frabelle was a pal, er—a friend—of the Conroys, it stood to reason, don't you see, that she knew everyone in London; or could, if she liked—everyone worth knowing, I mean. Under these circumstances there was no point in—well—in showing off our friends to her. But I found out, only last night'—he lowered his voice—'what do you think? She isn't an intimate friend of Lady Conroy's at all! She only made her acquaintance in the drawing-room of the Royal Hotel two days before she came to London!' Edith laughed. 'How delightful! Then why on earth did Lady Conroy send her to us with a letter of introduction? Why just us?' 'Because she likes you. Besides, it's just like her, isn't it? And she never said she had known her all her life. We jumped to that conclusion. It was our own idea.' 'And how did you find it out?' 'Why, when you went up to the children and left me alone with Madame Frabelle yesterday evening, she told me herself; perfectly frankly, in her usual way. She's always like that, so frank and open. Besides, she hadn't the slightest idea we didn't know it.' 'I hope you didn't let her think—' Edith began. 'Edith! As if I would! Well, that being so'—he lit another cigarette—'and under the circumstances, I want to ask some people to meet her. See?' 'She seems very happy with us alone, doesn't she? Not as if she cared much for going out.' 'Yes, I know; that's all very well. But I don't want her to think we don't know anyone. And it seems a bit selfish, too, keeping her all to ourselves like this.' 'Who do you want her to meet, dear?' 'I want her to meet the Mitchells,' said Bruce. 'It's only a chance, of course, that she hasn't met them already here, and I've told Mitchell at the Foreign Office a good deal about her. He's very keen to know her. Very keen indeed,' he added thoughtfully. 'And then the Mitchells will ask her to their house, of course?' 'I know they will,' said Bruce, rather jealously. 'Well, I shan't mind her going there—once or twice—it's a very pleasant house, you know, Edith. And she likes celebrities, and clever people, and that sort of thing.' 'Mrs Mitchell will count her as one, no doubt.' 'I daresay! What does that matter? So she is.' 'I know she is, in a way; but, Bruce, don't you wonder why she stays here so long? I mean, there's no question of its not being for—well, for, say, interested reasons. I happen to know for a fact that she has a far larger income for herself alone than we have altogether. She showed me her bank-book one day.' 'Why?' 'I don't know. She's so confidential, and perhaps she wanted me to know how she was placed. And—she's not that sort of person—she's generous and liberal, rather extravagant I should say.' 'Quite so. Still, it's comfortable here, and saves trouble—and she likes us.' Bruce again looked up toward the mirror, though he couldn't see it now. 'Well, I don't mind her being here; it's a nice change, but it seems odd she hasn't said a word about going. Well, about the dinner. Who else shall we have, Edith? Let it be a small, intimate, distinguished sort of dinner. She hates stiffness and ceremony. She likes to have a chance to talk.' 'She does, indeed. All right, you can leave it to me, Bruce. I'll make it all right. We'll have about eight people, shall we?' 'She must sit next to me, on my left,' Bruce observed. 'And not lilies of the valley—she doesn't like the scent.' Madame Frabelle was usually designated between them by the personal pronoun only. 'All right. But what was the delicate, difficult matter that someone consulted you about, Bruce?' 'Ah, I was just coining to that…. Hush!' The door opened. Madame Frabelle came in, dressed in a violet tea-gown. 'Tea?' said Edith, holding out a cup. 'Yes, indeed! I'm always ready for tea, and you have such delightful tea, Edith dear!' (They had already reached the point of Christian names, though Edith always found Eglantine a little difficult to say.) 'It's nice to see you back so early, Mr Ottley.' 'Wouldn't you like a slice of lemon?' said Bruce. To offer her a slice of lemon with tea was, from Bruce, a tribute to the lady's talents. 'Oh no! Cream and sugar, please.' Madame Frabelle was looking very pleasant and very much at her ease as she sat down comfortably, taking the largest chair. 'I'm afraid that Archie has been bothering you today,' Edith said, as she poured out tea. 'What!' exclaimed Bruce, with a start of horror. 'Oh no, no, no! Not the least in the world, Mr Ottley! He's a most delightful boy. We were only having some fun together—about my mandolin; that was all!' (Edith thought of the sounds she had heard on the stairs.) 'I'm afraid I got a little cross. A thing I very seldom do.' Madame Frabelle looked apologetically at Edith. 'But we've quite made it up now! Oh, and by the way, I want to speak to you both rather seriously about your boy,' she went on earnestly. She had a rather powerful, clear, penetrating voice, and spoke with authority, decision, and the sort of voluble fluency generally known as not letting anyone else get a word in edgeways. 'About our boy?' said Bruce, handing the toast to her invitingly, while Edith put a cushion behind her back, for which Madame Frabelle gave a little gracious smile. 'About your boy. Do you know, I have a very curious gift, Mr Ottley. I can always see in children what they're going to make a success of in life. Without boasting, I know you, Edith, are kind enough to believe that I'm an extraordinary judge of character. Oh, I've always been like that. I can't help it. I'll tell you now what you must make of your boy,' she pursued. 'He is a born musician!' 'A musician!' exclaimed both his parents at once, in great astonishment. Madame Frabelle nodded. 'That boy is a born composer! He has genius for music. Look at his broad forehead! Those grey eyes, so wide apart! I know, just at first one thinks too much from the worldly point of view of the success of one's son in life. But why go against nature? The boy's a genius!' 'But,' ventured Edith, 'Archie hasn't the slightest ear for music!' 'He dislikes music intensely,' said Bruce. 'Simply loathes it.' 'He cried so much over his piano lessons that we were obliged to let him give them up. It used to make him quite ill—and his music mistress too,' Edith said. 'I remember she left the last time in hysterics.' 'Yes, by Jove, I remember too. Pretty girl she was. She had a nervous breakdown afterwards,' said Bruce rather proudly. 'No, dear; you're thinking of the other one—the woman who began to teach him the violin.' 'Oh, am I?' Madame Frabelle nodded her head with a smile. 'Nothing on earth to do with it, my dear! The boy's a born composer all the same. With that face he must be a musician!' 'Really! Funny he hates it so,' said Bruce thoughtfully. 'But still, I have no doubt—' 'Believe me, you can't go by his not liking his lessons,' assured Madame Frabelle, as she ate a muffin. 'That has nothing to do with it at all. The young Mozart—' 'Mozart? I thought he played the piano when he was only three?' 'Handel, I mean—or was it Meyerbeer? At any rate you'll see I'm right.' 'You really think we ought to force him against his will to study music seriously, with the idea of his being a composer when he grows up, though he detests it?' asked his mother. Madame Frabelle turned to Edith. 'Won't you feel proud when you see your son conducting his own opera, to the applause of thousands? Won't it be something to be the mother of the greatest English composer of the twentieth century?' 'It would be rather fun.' 'We shan't hear quite so much about Strauss, Elgar, Debussy and all those people when Archie Ottley grows up,' declared Madame Frabelle. 'I hear very little about them now,' said Bruce. 'Well, how should you at the Foreign Office, or the golf-links, or the club?' asked Edith. Bruce ignored Edith, and went on: 'Perhaps he'll turn out to be a Lionel Monckton or a Paul Rubens. Perhaps he'll write comic opera revues or musical comedies.' 'Oh dear, no,' said their guest, shaking her head decidedly. 'It will be the very highest class, the top of the tree! The real thing!' 'Madame Frabelle may be right, you know,' said Bruce. She leant back, smiling. 'I know I'm right! There's simply no question about it.' 'Well, what do you think we ought to do about it?' said Edith. 'He goes to a preparatory school now where they don't have any music lessons at all.' 'All the better,' she answered. 'The sort of lessons he would get at a school would be no use to him.' 'So I should think,' murmured Edith. 'Leave it, say, for the moment, and when he comes back for his next holidays put him under a good teacher—a really great man. And you'll see!' 'I daresay we shall,' said Bruce, considerably relieved at the postponement. 'Funny though, isn't it, his not knowing one tune from another, when he's a born musician?' It flashed across Edith what an immense bond of sympathy it was between Bruce and Madame Frabelle that neither of them was burdened with the slightest sense of humour. When he presently went out (each of them preferred talking to Her alone, and She also enjoyed a tête-à-tête most) Madame Frabelle drew up her chair nearer to Edith and said: 'My dear, I'm going to tell you something. Don't be angry with me, or think me impertinent, but you've been very kind to me, and I look upon you as a real friend.' 'It's very sweet of you,' said Edith, feeling hypnotised, and as if she would gladly devote her life to Madame Frabelle. 'Well, I can see something. You are not quite happy.' 'Not happy!' exclaimed Edith. 'No. You have a trouble, and I'd give anything to take it away.' Madame Frabelle looked at her with sympathy, pressed her hand, then looked away. Edith knew she was looking away out of delicacy. Delicacy about what? It was an effort not to laugh; but, oddly enough, it was also an effort not to feel secretly miserable. She wondered, though, what she was unhappy about. She need not have troubled, for Madame Frabelle was quite willing to tell her. She was, indeed, willing to tell anyone anything. Perhaps that was the secret of her charm. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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