The Sound Sense of Lady Cannon

Lady Cannon had never been seen after half-past seven except in evening dress, generally a velvet dress of some dark crimson or bottle-green, so tightly-fitting as to give her an appearance of being rather upholstered than clothed. Her cloaks were always like well-hung curtains, her trains like heavy carpets; one might fancy that she got her gowns from Gillows. Her pearl dog-collar, her diamond ear-rings, her dark red fringe and the other details of her toilette were put on with the same precision when she dined alone with Sir Charles as if she were going to a ceremonious reception. She was a very tall, fine-looking woman. In Paris, where she sometimes went to see Ella at school, she attracted much public attention as une femme superbe. Frenchmen were heard to remark to one another that her husband ne devrait pas s'embÊter (which, as a matter of fact, was precisely what he did—to extinction); and even in the streets when she walked out the gamins used to exclaim, 'VoilÀ l'Arc de Triomphe qui se promÈne!'—to her intense fury and gratification. She was still handsome, with hard, wide-open blue eyes, and straight features. She always held her head as if she were being photographed in a tiara en profil perdu. It was in this attitude that she had often been photographed and was now most usually seen; and it seemed so characteristic that even her husband, if he accidentally caught a glimpse of her full-face, hastily altered his position to one whence he could behold her at right angles.

As she grew older, the profile in the photographs had become more and more perdu; the last one showed chiefly the back of her head, besides a basket of flowers, and a double staircase, leading (one hoped) at least to one of the upper rooms in Buckingham Palace.

Lady Cannon had a very exalted opinion of her own charms, virtues, brilliant gifts, and, above all, of her sound sense. Fortunately for her, she had married a man of extraordinary amiability, who had always taken every possible precaution to prevent her discovering that in this opinion she was practically alone in the world.

Having become engaged to her through a slight misunderstanding in a country house, Sir Charles had not had the courage to explain away the mistake. He decided to make the best of it, and did so the more easily as it was one of those so-called suitable matches that the friends and acquaintances of both parties approve of and desire far more than the parties concerned. A sensible woman was surely required at Redlands and in the London house, especially as Sir Charles had been left guardian and trustee to a pretty little heiress.

It had taken him a very short time to find out that the reputation for sound sense was, like most traditions, founded on a myth, and that if his wife's vanity was only equalled by her egotism, her most remarkable characteristic was her excessive silliness. But she loved him, and he kept his discovery to himself.

'Twenty-five minutes to eight!' she exclaimed, holding out a little jewelled watch, as Sir Charles came in after his visit to Hyacinth. 'And we have a new cook, and I specially, most specially told her to have dinner ready punctually at half-past seven! This world is indeed a place of trial!'

Sir Charles's natural air of command seemed to disappear in the presence of Lady Cannon. He murmured a graceful apology, saying he would not dress. Nothing annoyed, even shocked her more than to see her husband dining opposite her in a frock-coat. However, of two evils she chose the less. They went in to dinner.

'I haven't had the opportunity yet of telling you my opinion of the play this afternoon,' she said. 'I found it interesting, and I wonder I hadn't seen it before.'

'You sent back our stalls for the first night,' remarked Sir Charles.

'Certainly I did. I dislike seeing a play until I have seen in the papers whether it is a success or not.'

'Those newspaper fellows aren't always right,' said Sir Charles.

'Perhaps not, but at least they can tell you whether the thing is a success. I should be very sorry to be seen at a failure. Very sorry indeed.'

She paused, and then went on—

'James Wade's Trouble has been performed three hundred times, so it must be clever. In my opinion, it must have done an immense amount of harm—good, I mean. A play like that, so full of noble sentiments and high principles, is—to me—as good as a sermon!'

'Oh, is it? I'm sorry I couldn't go,' said Sir Charles, feeling very glad.

'I suppose it was the club, as usual, that made you late. Do you know, I have a great objection to clubs.'

He nodded sympathetically.

'That is to say, I thoroughly approve of your belonging to several. I'm quite aware that in your position it's the right thing to do, but I can't understand why you should ever go to them, having two houses of your own. And that reminds me, we are going down to Redlands tomorrow, are we not? I've had a little' (she lowered her voice) 'lumbago; a mere passing touch, that's all—and the change will cure me. I think you neglect Redlands, Charles. You seem to me to regard your responsibilities as a landowner with indifference bordering on aversion. You never seem amused down there—unless we have friends.'

'We'll go tomorrow if you like,' said he.

'That's satisfactory.'

'I can easily put off the Duke,' he said thoughtfully, as he poured out more wine.

She sprang up like a startled hare.

'Put off the … what are you talking about?'

'Oh, nothing. The Duke of St Leonard's is giving a dinner at the club tomorrow, and I was going. But I can arrange to get out of it.'

'Charles! I never heard of anything so absurd! You must certainly go to the dinner. How like you! How casual of you! For a mere trifle to offend the man who might be of the greatest use to you—politically.'

'Politically! What do you mean? And it isn't a trifle when you've set your mind on going away tomorrow. I know you hate to change your plans, my dear.'

'Certainly I do, but I shall not change my plans. I shall go down tomorrow, and you can join me on Friday.'

'Oh, I don't think I'll do that,' said Sir Charles, rather half-heartedly. 'Why should you take the journey alone?'

'But I shall not be alone. I shall have Danvers with me. You need have no anxiety. I beg of you, I insist, that you stay, and go to this dinner.'

'Well, of course, if you make a point of it—'

She smiled, well pleased at having got her own way, as she supposed.

'That's right, Charles. Then you'll come down on Friday.'

'By the early train,' said Sir Charles.

'No, I should suggest your coming by the later train. It's more convenient to meet you at the station.'

'Very well—as you like,' said he, inwardly a little astonished, as always, at the easy working of the simple old plan, suggesting what one does not wish to do in order to be persuaded into what one does.

'And, by the way, I haven't heard you speak of Hyacinth lately. You had better go and see her. A little while ago you were always wasting your time about her, and I spoke to you about it, Charles—I think?'

'I think you did,' said he.

'But, though at one time I was growing simply tired of her name, I didn't mean that you need not look after her at all. Go and see her, and explain to her I can't possibly accompany you. Tell her I've got chronic lumbago very badly indeed, and I'm obliged to go to the country, but I shall certainly make a point of calling on her when I return. You won't forget, Charles?'

'Certainly not.'

'I should go oftener,' she continued apologetically, 'but I have such a great dislike to that companion of hers. I think Miss Yeo a most unpleasant person.'

'She isn't really,' said Sir Charles.

'I do wish we could get Hyacinth married,' said Lady Cannon. 'I know what a relief it would be to you, and it seems to me such an unheard-of thing for a young girl like that to be living practically alone!'

'We've been through that before, Janet. Remember, there was nothing else to do unless she continued to live with us. And as your nerves can't even stand Ella—'

Lady Cannon dropped the point.

'Well, we must get her married,' she said again. 'What a good thing Ella is still so young! Girls are a dreadful responsibility,' and she swept graciously from the dining-room.

Sir Charles took out an irritating little notebook of red leather, the sort of thing that is advertised when lost as 'of no value to anyone but the owner.' It was full of mysterious little marks and unintelligible little notes. He put down, in cabalistic signs, 'Hyacinth's dinner, eight o'clock.' He enjoyed writing her name, even in hieroglyphics.