Some Do Not . . ._ A Novel - Ford Madox Ford [27]
The furniture of the room was, as to its woodwork, brown, old, with the rich softnesses of much polishing with beeswax. What pictures there were Macmaster recognized at once as being by Simeon Solomon, one of the weaker and more frail aesthetes--aureoled, palish heads of ladies carrying lilies that were not very like lilies. They were in the tradition--but not the best of the tradition. Macmaster understood--and later Mrs Duchemin confirmed him in the idea--that Mr Duchemin kept his more precious specimens of work in a sanctum, leaving to the relatively public room, good-humouredly and with slight contempt, these weaker specimens. That seemed to stamp Mr Duchemin at once as being of the elect.
Mr Duchemin in person was, however, not present; and there seemed to be a good deal of difficulty in arranging a meeting between the two men. Mr Duchemin, his wife said, was much occupied at the week-ends. She added, with a faint and rather absent smile, the word, 'Naturally.' Macmaster at once saw that it was natural for a clergyman to be much occupied during the week-ends. With a little hesitation Mrs Duchemin suggested that Mr Macmaster and his friend might come to lunch on the next day--Saturday. But Macmaster had made an engagement to play the foursome with General Campion--half the round from twelve till one-thirty: half the round from three to half-past four. And, as their then present arrangements stood, Macmaster and Tietjens were to take the 6.30 train to Hythe; that ruled out either tea or dinner next day.
With sufficient, but not too extravagant regret, Mrs Duchemin raised her voice to say:
'Oh dear! Oh dear! But you must see my husband and the pictures after you have come so far.'
A rather considerable volume of harsh sound was coming through the end wall of the room--the barking of dogs, apparently the hurried removal of pieces of furniture or perhaps of packing cases, guttural ejaculations. Mrs Duchemin said, with her far-away air and deep voice:
'They are making a good deal of noise. Let us go into the garden and look at my husband's roses, if you've a moment more to give us.'
Macmaster quoted to himself:
'"I looked and saw your eyes in the shadow of your hair..."'
There was no doubt that Mrs Duchemin's eyes, which were of a dark, pebble blue, were actually in the shadow of her blue-black, very regularly waved hair. The hair came down on the square, low forehead. It was a phenomenon that Macmaster had never before really seen, and, he congratulated himself, this was one more confirmation--if confirmation were needed!--of the powers of observation of the subject of his monograph!
Mrs Duchemin bore the sunlight! Her dark complexion was clear; there was, over the cheekbones, a delicate suffusion of light carmine. Her jawbone was singularly clear-cut, to the pointed chin--like an alabaster, mediaeval saint's.
She said:
'Of course you're Scotch. I'm from Auld Reekie myself.' Macmaster would have known it. He said he was from the Port of Leith. He could not imagine hiding anything from Mrs Duchemin. Mrs Duchemin said with renewed insistence:
'Oh, but of course you must see my husband and the pictures. Let me see...We must think...Would breakfast now...?'
Macmaster said that he and his friend were Government servants and up to rising early. He had a great desire to breakfast in that house. She said:
'At a quarter to ten, then, our car will be at the bottom of your street. It's a matter of ten minutes only, so you won't go hungry long!'
She said, gradually gaining animation, that of course Macmaster would bring his friend. He could tell Tietjens that he should meet a very charming girl. She stopped and added suddenly: 'Probably, at any rate.' She said the name which Macmaster caught as Wanstead.' And possibly another girl. And Mr Horsted, or