The Heart of a Woman

  CHAPTER VI

  JUST A DISAGREEABLE OLD MAN

  The luncheons at Grosvenor Square were always rather dull and formal,but Louisa did not mind that very much. She was used to dull andformal affairs: they were part and parcel of her daily life. Londonsociety is full of it. The dull and formal dominate; theothers--vulgar if more lively--were not worth cultivating.

  Then, she almost liked Lord Radclyffe, because he was so fond of Luke.And even then "almost" was a big word. No one--except Luke--couldreally like the old man. He was very bad tempered, very dictatorial, aperfect tyrant in his own household. His opinions no one daredcontradict, no one cared to argue with him, and his advanced Toryviews were so rabid that he almost made perverts from the cause, ofall those whom he desired to convince.

  And even these were few, for Lord Radclyffe had no friends and veryfew acquaintances. He had a strange and absolute dislike for hisfellow men. He did not like seeing people, he hated to exchangegreetings, to talk or to mingle with any crowd that was purely onpleasure bent. He went up to the House and made speeches--political,philanthropic, economic speeches--which Luke prepared for him, andwhich he spoke without enthusiasm or any desire to please. This hedid, not because he liked it or took any interest in things political,philanthropic or economic, but only because he considered that a manin his position owed certain duties to the State--duties which itwould be cowardly to shirk.

  But he really cared nothing for the thoughts of others, for theiropinions, their joys, or their sorrows. He had schooled himself not tocare, to call philanthropy empty sentiment, politics senselessambition, economics grasping avarice.

  His was a life entirely wrapped up in itself. In youth he had beenvery shy: a shyness caused at first by a serious defect of speechwhich, though cured in later years, always left an unconquerablediffidence, an almost morbid fear of ridicule in its train.

  Because of this, I think, he had never been a sportsman--or, rather,had never been an athlete, for he was splendid with a gun and thefinest revolver shot in England, so I've been told, and anacknowledged master of fence, but with bat, ball, or racquet he wasinvariably clumsy.

  He had always hated to be laughed at, and therefore had never gonethrough the rough mill of a tyro in athletics or in games. Arthur, oneof his brothers, had been a blue at Oxford; the other one, James--youremember James de Mountford? was the celebrated cricketer; but he, theeldest, always seemed to remain outside that magic circle of sport,the great ring of many links which unites Englishmen one to another ina way that no other conformity of tastes, of breeding, or of religioncan ever do.

  Because of this diffidence too, no doubt, he had never married. I wastold once by an intimate friend of his, that old Rad--as he wasuniversally called--had never mustered up sufficient courage topropose to any woman. And as he saw one by one the covetedmatrimonial prizes--the pretty girls whom at different times he hadadmired sufficiently to desire for wife--snapped up by moreenterprising wooers, his dour moroseness grew into positive chronicill-humour.

  He liked no one and no one liked him: and during sixty years of lifehe had succeeded in eliminating from his entire being every feeling ofsentiment save one. He had to all appearances an absolutely callousheart: he cared neither for dog nor horse--he ordered a splendid mareto be shot without the slightest compunction after she had carried himin the hunting field and in the park faithfully and beautifully forover eight years, just because she had shied at a motor-car and nearlythrown him. He was not cruel, you know, just callous in all respectssave one: void of all sentiment--he called it sentimentality--save inhis affection for Luke.

  Luke had been--ever since he was a growing lad--the buffer in theestablishment between the irascible master and the many subordinates.From Mr. Warren--the highly paid and greatly snubbed secretary--downto the maids below stairs, one and all brought troubles, complaints,worries to Mr. Luke. No one dared approach his lordship. A word out ofseason brought instant dismissal, and no one thought of leaving aplace where, besides excellent wages, there was the pleasure ofwaiting on Mr. Luke. Never Mr. de Mountford, you notice, always Mr.Luke. He had grown up amongst the household; Winston, the oldcoachman, had taught him to ride; Mary, now housekeeper, then a nurse,had bathed him in a wash-hand basin when he was less than eighteeninches long.

  Therefore the atmosphere of the gloomy old house pleased LouisaHarris. With the perfect and unconscious selfishness of a woman inlove, she gauged everything in life just as it affected Luke. She evencontrived to like Lord Radclyffe. He trod on every one of her moraland spiritual corns, it is true; he had that lofty contempt for theentire feminine sex which pertains to the Oriental, more than to themore civilized Western races; he combated her opinions, both religiousand political, without any pretence at deference; he smoked verystrong cigars in every room in the house, without the slightest regardfor the feelings of his lady visitors; he did or left undone a greatmany other things which would tend to irritate and even to offend awoman accustomed to the conventional courtesies of daily social life;but when Luke entered a room, where, but a moment ago, Lord Radclyffehad been venting his chronic ill-humour on an offending or innocentsubordinate, the old man's dour face would become transfigured,irradiated with a look of pride and of joy at sight of the man on whomhe had lavished all the affection of which his strong nature wascapable.

  Luke could do no wrong. Luke was always right. He could argue with hislordship, contradict him, obtain anything he liked from him. Eternalcontradictions of human nature: the childless man in perfect adorationbefore a brother's son; the callous, hard-hearted misanthrope soft aswax in the hands of one man.