The Doctor [52]
"he is a friend of mine, a very dear friend, and, I assure you, very sane." As she spoke she waved her hand to Barney, but there was no answering sign.
"Your friend, is he?" said Mrs. Duff Charrington. "Then doubtless very sane. Does he want you, Miss Lane? Shall we go back for him?"
"No, he doesn't want me," said Iola.
"Mrs. Charrington," said Dr. Bulling, "he has a grudge against me because of a fancied insult."
"Ah," said Mrs. Duff Charrington, "I understand. What do you say, Miss Lane? We can easily go back."
"Oh, let us not talk about it, Mrs. Charrington," said Iola hurriedly; "he is gone."
"As you wish, my dear. Daisy, take Dr. Bulling down to the cabin. I declare he looks as if he needed bracing up. I shall take the wheel."
"Mrs. Charrington," said Iola in a low voice, as Bulling disappeared down the companionway, "that was Mr. Boyle, my friend, and I want you to think him a man of the highest honour. But he doesn't like Dr. Bulling. He doesn't trust him."
"My dear, my dear," said Mrs. Charrington brusquely, "don't trouble yourself about him. I haven't lived fifty years for nothing. Oh! these men, these men! They take themselves too seriously, the dear creatures. But they are just like ourselves, with a little more conceit and considerably less wit. And they are not really worth all the trouble we take for them. I must get to know your medallist, my dear. That was a strong face and an honest face. I have heard John rave about him. John is my young son, first year in medicine. His judgment, I confess, is not altogether reliable-- worships brawn, and there are traditions afloat as to that young man's doings when they were initiating him. But I have no doubt that, however sane on other subjects, he is quite mad about you, and, hang me! if I can wonder. If I were a young man I'd get my arms round you as soon as possible."
As she chattered along, Iola found her heart warm to Mrs. Duff Charrington, who, with all her sporty manners and masculine ways, was an honest soul, with a shrewd wit and a kindly heart.
"I'm glad now I came," said Iola gratefully; "I was afraid you weren't--" She paused abruptly in confusion.
"Oh, I'm not so bad as I'm painted, I assure you."
"Oh, dear Mrs. Charrington, it was not you I was afraid of, it was what Dr. Bulling--" Again Iola hesitated.
"Don't bother telling me," said Mrs. Duff Charrington, observing her confusion. "No doubt Bulling gave you to understand that he worked me to invite you. Confess now." There was a shrewd twinkle in her keen grey eye. "Bulling is a liar, a terrible liar, with large possibilities of self-appreciation. But he had nothing to do with this invitation, though he flatters himself he had. He's not without ability, but he can't teach his grandmother to suck eggs. I'll tell you why you are here. I pride myself upon having an eye for a winner, and I pick you as one, and that's why you are to sing in the Philharmonic. Evelyn Redd has a pretty voice. She is a niece of a very dear friend, and for a time I thought she might do. But she has no soul, no passion, and music, like a man, must have passion. Music without passion is a crime against art. So I just told Duff, he's chairman, you know, of the Board of Directors, that she was impossible and that we must have you. I have heard you sing, my dear, and I know the singer's face and the singer's throat and eye. You have them all. You have the voice and the temperament and the passion. You'll be great some day, much greater than I, and, with the hope of sharing your glory, I have decided to put my money on you."
Iola murmured some words of thanks, not knowing just what to say, but Mrs. Duff Charrington waved them aside.
"Purely selfish," she said, "purely selfish, my dear. Now don't let Bulling worry you. I pick him for a winner, too. He has force. He'll be a power in the country. Inclines to politics. He's a kind of brute, of course, but he'll succeed, for he has wealth and social prestige, neither to be sniffed at, my child. But, especially,
"Your friend, is he?" said Mrs. Duff Charrington. "Then doubtless very sane. Does he want you, Miss Lane? Shall we go back for him?"
"No, he doesn't want me," said Iola.
"Mrs. Charrington," said Dr. Bulling, "he has a grudge against me because of a fancied insult."
"Ah," said Mrs. Duff Charrington, "I understand. What do you say, Miss Lane? We can easily go back."
"Oh, let us not talk about it, Mrs. Charrington," said Iola hurriedly; "he is gone."
"As you wish, my dear. Daisy, take Dr. Bulling down to the cabin. I declare he looks as if he needed bracing up. I shall take the wheel."
"Mrs. Charrington," said Iola in a low voice, as Bulling disappeared down the companionway, "that was Mr. Boyle, my friend, and I want you to think him a man of the highest honour. But he doesn't like Dr. Bulling. He doesn't trust him."
"My dear, my dear," said Mrs. Charrington brusquely, "don't trouble yourself about him. I haven't lived fifty years for nothing. Oh! these men, these men! They take themselves too seriously, the dear creatures. But they are just like ourselves, with a little more conceit and considerably less wit. And they are not really worth all the trouble we take for them. I must get to know your medallist, my dear. That was a strong face and an honest face. I have heard John rave about him. John is my young son, first year in medicine. His judgment, I confess, is not altogether reliable-- worships brawn, and there are traditions afloat as to that young man's doings when they were initiating him. But I have no doubt that, however sane on other subjects, he is quite mad about you, and, hang me! if I can wonder. If I were a young man I'd get my arms round you as soon as possible."
As she chattered along, Iola found her heart warm to Mrs. Duff Charrington, who, with all her sporty manners and masculine ways, was an honest soul, with a shrewd wit and a kindly heart.
"I'm glad now I came," said Iola gratefully; "I was afraid you weren't--" She paused abruptly in confusion.
"Oh, I'm not so bad as I'm painted, I assure you."
"Oh, dear Mrs. Charrington, it was not you I was afraid of, it was what Dr. Bulling--" Again Iola hesitated.
"Don't bother telling me," said Mrs. Duff Charrington, observing her confusion. "No doubt Bulling gave you to understand that he worked me to invite you. Confess now." There was a shrewd twinkle in her keen grey eye. "Bulling is a liar, a terrible liar, with large possibilities of self-appreciation. But he had nothing to do with this invitation, though he flatters himself he had. He's not without ability, but he can't teach his grandmother to suck eggs. I'll tell you why you are here. I pride myself upon having an eye for a winner, and I pick you as one, and that's why you are to sing in the Philharmonic. Evelyn Redd has a pretty voice. She is a niece of a very dear friend, and for a time I thought she might do. But she has no soul, no passion, and music, like a man, must have passion. Music without passion is a crime against art. So I just told Duff, he's chairman, you know, of the Board of Directors, that she was impossible and that we must have you. I have heard you sing, my dear, and I know the singer's face and the singer's throat and eye. You have them all. You have the voice and the temperament and the passion. You'll be great some day, much greater than I, and, with the hope of sharing your glory, I have decided to put my money on you."
Iola murmured some words of thanks, not knowing just what to say, but Mrs. Duff Charrington waved them aside.
"Purely selfish," she said, "purely selfish, my dear. Now don't let Bulling worry you. I pick him for a winner, too. He has force. He'll be a power in the country. Inclines to politics. He's a kind of brute, of course, but he'll succeed, for he has wealth and social prestige, neither to be sniffed at, my child. But, especially,