The Pool in the Desert [43]
WOULD dear Mr. Harris please write to Dora himself, as Mrs. Poulton was beginning to feel so responsible?
I saw the letter; Harris showed it to me when he sat down to breakfast with the long face of a man in a domestic difficulty, and we settled together whom we should ask to put his daughter up in Calcutta. It should be the wife of a man in his own department of course; it is to one's Deputy Secretary that one looks for succour at times like this; and naturally one never looks in vain. Mrs. Symons would be delighted. I conjured up Dora's rage on receipt of the telegram. She loathed the Symonses.
She came, but not at the jerk of a wire; she arrived a week later, with a face of great propriety and a smile of great unconcern. Harris, having got her effectually out of harm's way, shirked further insistence, and I have reason to believe that Armour was never even mentioned between them.
Dora applied herself to the gaieties of the season with the zest of a debutante; she seemed really refreshed, revitalized. She had never looked better, happier. I met her again for the first time at one of the Thursday dances at Government House. In the glance she gave me I was glad to detect no suspicion of collusion. She plainly could not dream that Edward Harris in his nefarious exercise of parental authority had acted upon any hint from me. It was rather sweet.
Out in the veranda, away from the blare of the Viceroy's band, she told me very delicately and with the most charming ellipses how Armour had been filling her life in Agra, how it had all been, for these two, a dream and a vision. There is a place below the bridge there, where the cattle come down from the waste pastures across the yellow sands to drink and stand in the low water of the Jumna, to stand and switch their tails while their herdsmen on the bank coax them back with 'Ari!' 'Ari!' 'Ari!' long and high, faint and musical; and the minarets of Akbar's fort rise beyond against the throbbing sky and the sun fills it all. This place I shall never see more distinctly than I saw it that night on the veranda at Government House, Calcutta, with the conviction, like a margin for the picture, that its foreground had been very often occupied by the woman I profoundly worshiped and Ingersoll Armour. She told me that he had sent me a sketch of it, and I very much wished he hadn't. One felt that the gift would carry a trifle of irony.
'He has told me,' she said once brusquely, 'how good you have been to him.'
'Is he coming to Simla again?' I asked.
'Oh yes! And please take it from me that this time he will conquer the place. He has undertaken to do it.'
'At your request?'
'At my persuasion--at my long entreaty. They must recognize him-- they must be taught. I have set my heart on it.'
'Does he himself very much care?' I asked remembering the night of the thirty-first of October.
'Yes, he does care. He despises it, of course, but in a way he cares. I've been trying to make him care more. A human being isn't an orchid; he must draw something from the soil he grows in.'
'If he were stable,' I mused; 'if he had a fixed ambition somewhere in the firmament. But his purpose is a will-o'-the-wisp.'
'I think he has an ambition,' said Miss Harris, into the dark.
'Ah! Then we must continue,' I said--'continue to push from behind.'
Dora did not reply. She is a person of energy and determination, and might have been expected to offer to cooperate gladly. But she didn't.
'He is painting a large picture for next season's exhibition,' she informed me. 'I was not allowed to see it or to know anything about it, but he declares it will bring Simla down.'
'I hope not,' I said, piously.
'Oh, I hope so. I have told him,' Dora continued, slowly, 'that a great deal depends on it.'
'Here is Mrs. Symons,' I was able to return, 'and I am afraid she is looking for you.'
March came, and the city lay white under its own dust. The electric fans began to purr in the Club, and Lent brought the flagging season to a full stop. I had to
I saw the letter; Harris showed it to me when he sat down to breakfast with the long face of a man in a domestic difficulty, and we settled together whom we should ask to put his daughter up in Calcutta. It should be the wife of a man in his own department of course; it is to one's Deputy Secretary that one looks for succour at times like this; and naturally one never looks in vain. Mrs. Symons would be delighted. I conjured up Dora's rage on receipt of the telegram. She loathed the Symonses.
She came, but not at the jerk of a wire; she arrived a week later, with a face of great propriety and a smile of great unconcern. Harris, having got her effectually out of harm's way, shirked further insistence, and I have reason to believe that Armour was never even mentioned between them.
Dora applied herself to the gaieties of the season with the zest of a debutante; she seemed really refreshed, revitalized. She had never looked better, happier. I met her again for the first time at one of the Thursday dances at Government House. In the glance she gave me I was glad to detect no suspicion of collusion. She plainly could not dream that Edward Harris in his nefarious exercise of parental authority had acted upon any hint from me. It was rather sweet.
Out in the veranda, away from the blare of the Viceroy's band, she told me very delicately and with the most charming ellipses how Armour had been filling her life in Agra, how it had all been, for these two, a dream and a vision. There is a place below the bridge there, where the cattle come down from the waste pastures across the yellow sands to drink and stand in the low water of the Jumna, to stand and switch their tails while their herdsmen on the bank coax them back with 'Ari!' 'Ari!' 'Ari!' long and high, faint and musical; and the minarets of Akbar's fort rise beyond against the throbbing sky and the sun fills it all. This place I shall never see more distinctly than I saw it that night on the veranda at Government House, Calcutta, with the conviction, like a margin for the picture, that its foreground had been very often occupied by the woman I profoundly worshiped and Ingersoll Armour. She told me that he had sent me a sketch of it, and I very much wished he hadn't. One felt that the gift would carry a trifle of irony.
'He has told me,' she said once brusquely, 'how good you have been to him.'
'Is he coming to Simla again?' I asked.
'Oh yes! And please take it from me that this time he will conquer the place. He has undertaken to do it.'
'At your request?'
'At my persuasion--at my long entreaty. They must recognize him-- they must be taught. I have set my heart on it.'
'Does he himself very much care?' I asked remembering the night of the thirty-first of October.
'Yes, he does care. He despises it, of course, but in a way he cares. I've been trying to make him care more. A human being isn't an orchid; he must draw something from the soil he grows in.'
'If he were stable,' I mused; 'if he had a fixed ambition somewhere in the firmament. But his purpose is a will-o'-the-wisp.'
'I think he has an ambition,' said Miss Harris, into the dark.
'Ah! Then we must continue,' I said--'continue to push from behind.'
Dora did not reply. She is a person of energy and determination, and might have been expected to offer to cooperate gladly. But she didn't.
'He is painting a large picture for next season's exhibition,' she informed me. 'I was not allowed to see it or to know anything about it, but he declares it will bring Simla down.'
'I hope not,' I said, piously.
'Oh, I hope so. I have told him,' Dora continued, slowly, 'that a great deal depends on it.'
'Here is Mrs. Symons,' I was able to return, 'and I am afraid she is looking for you.'
March came, and the city lay white under its own dust. The electric fans began to purr in the Club, and Lent brought the flagging season to a full stop. I had to