The Pool in the Desert [47]
not to be absolutely taken for granted. 'Fry was a man of fifty-six,' I said.
'I am thirty.' He certainly did not look it, but years often fall lightly upon a temperament.
'It's a vile climate.'
'I know. Is it too vile, do you think,' he said anxiously, 'to ask a lady to share?'
'Lots of ladies do share it,' I replied, with amazing calmness; 'but I must decline absolutely to enter into that.'
My frown was so forbidding that he couldn't and didn't dare to go on. He looked dashed and disappointed; he was really a fool of an applicant, quite ready to retire from the siege on the first intimation that the gates were not to be thrown open at his approach.
'Do you think you would like teaching?' I asked.
'I can teach. Miss--my only pupil here has made capital progress.'
'I am afraid you must not measure the Bengali art student by the standard of Miss Harris,' I replied coldly. He WAS a fool. We talked of other things. I led him on to betray his ludicrous lack of knowledge of the world in various directions. At other times it had irritated me, that night it gave me purest pleasure. I agreed with him about everything.
As he selected his smoke to go home with I said, 'Send your application in to the Director of Public Instruction, Bengal--Lamb will tell you how--and I'll see what I can do.'
They were only too thankful to get him. As a student it seemed he had been diligent both in London and Paris; he possessed diplomas or some such things bearing names which were bound to have weight with a Department of Public Instruction anywhere. I felt particularly thankful for this, for I was committed to him if he had not a rag to show.
The matter was settled in three weeks, during which Armour became more and more the fashion in Simla. He was given every opportunity of experiment in the society of which he was about to become a permanent item. He dined out four or five times a week, and learned exactly what to talk about. He surprised me one day with a piece of news of my own department, which was a liberty of a very serious kind, but I forgave him upon finding that it was not true. He rode Lamb's weight-carriers, to cross which his short legs were barely adequate, and apart from this disadvantage he did not ride them badly. Only one thing marred the completeness of the transformation--he didn't dismiss the dog. The dog, fundamentally, was still and ever his companion. It was a suspicious circumstance if we had known; but we saw in it only a kind heart, and ignored it.
I saw little of Dora Harris at this time. Making no doubt that she was enjoying her triumph as she deserved, I took the liberty of supposing that she would hardly wish to share so intimate a source of satisfaction. I met them both several times at people's houses-- certain things had apparently been taken for granted--but I was only one of the little circle that wondered how soon it might venture upon open congratulations. The rest of us knew as much, it seemed, as Edward Harris did. Lady Pilkey asked him point-blank, and he said what his daughter found to like in the fellow the Lord only knew, and he was glad to say that at present he had no announcement to make. Lady Pilkey told me she thought it very romantic--like marrying a newspaper correspondent--but I pointed to a lifelong task, with a pension attached, of teaching fat young Bengalis to draw, and asked her if she saw extravagant romance in that.
They wrote up from Calcutta that they would like to have a look at Armour before making the final recommendation, and he left us, I remember, by the mail tonga of the third of June. He dropped into my office to say goodbye, but I was busy with the Member and could see nobody, so he left a card with 'P.P.C.' on it. I kept the card by accident, and I keep it still by design, for the sake of that inscription.
Strobo had given up his hotel in Simla to start one in Calcutta. It never occurred to me that Armour might go to Strobo's; but it was, of course, the natural thing for him to do, especially as Strobo happened
'I am thirty.' He certainly did not look it, but years often fall lightly upon a temperament.
'It's a vile climate.'
'I know. Is it too vile, do you think,' he said anxiously, 'to ask a lady to share?'
'Lots of ladies do share it,' I replied, with amazing calmness; 'but I must decline absolutely to enter into that.'
My frown was so forbidding that he couldn't and didn't dare to go on. He looked dashed and disappointed; he was really a fool of an applicant, quite ready to retire from the siege on the first intimation that the gates were not to be thrown open at his approach.
'Do you think you would like teaching?' I asked.
'I can teach. Miss--my only pupil here has made capital progress.'
'I am afraid you must not measure the Bengali art student by the standard of Miss Harris,' I replied coldly. He WAS a fool. We talked of other things. I led him on to betray his ludicrous lack of knowledge of the world in various directions. At other times it had irritated me, that night it gave me purest pleasure. I agreed with him about everything.
As he selected his smoke to go home with I said, 'Send your application in to the Director of Public Instruction, Bengal--Lamb will tell you how--and I'll see what I can do.'
They were only too thankful to get him. As a student it seemed he had been diligent both in London and Paris; he possessed diplomas or some such things bearing names which were bound to have weight with a Department of Public Instruction anywhere. I felt particularly thankful for this, for I was committed to him if he had not a rag to show.
The matter was settled in three weeks, during which Armour became more and more the fashion in Simla. He was given every opportunity of experiment in the society of which he was about to become a permanent item. He dined out four or five times a week, and learned exactly what to talk about. He surprised me one day with a piece of news of my own department, which was a liberty of a very serious kind, but I forgave him upon finding that it was not true. He rode Lamb's weight-carriers, to cross which his short legs were barely adequate, and apart from this disadvantage he did not ride them badly. Only one thing marred the completeness of the transformation--he didn't dismiss the dog. The dog, fundamentally, was still and ever his companion. It was a suspicious circumstance if we had known; but we saw in it only a kind heart, and ignored it.
I saw little of Dora Harris at this time. Making no doubt that she was enjoying her triumph as she deserved, I took the liberty of supposing that she would hardly wish to share so intimate a source of satisfaction. I met them both several times at people's houses-- certain things had apparently been taken for granted--but I was only one of the little circle that wondered how soon it might venture upon open congratulations. The rest of us knew as much, it seemed, as Edward Harris did. Lady Pilkey asked him point-blank, and he said what his daughter found to like in the fellow the Lord only knew, and he was glad to say that at present he had no announcement to make. Lady Pilkey told me she thought it very romantic--like marrying a newspaper correspondent--but I pointed to a lifelong task, with a pension attached, of teaching fat young Bengalis to draw, and asked her if she saw extravagant romance in that.
They wrote up from Calcutta that they would like to have a look at Armour before making the final recommendation, and he left us, I remember, by the mail tonga of the third of June. He dropped into my office to say goodbye, but I was busy with the Member and could see nobody, so he left a card with 'P.P.C.' on it. I kept the card by accident, and I keep it still by design, for the sake of that inscription.
Strobo had given up his hotel in Simla to start one in Calcutta. It never occurred to me that Armour might go to Strobo's; but it was, of course, the natural thing for him to do, especially as Strobo happened