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LADY PENELOPE

Lady Penelope

Morley Roberts

Published February, 1905

LEOPOLD NORFOLK GORDON Some said his real name was Isaac Levi.

AUSTIN DE VERE He wrote poetry, and abhorred bulldogs and motor-cars.

THE MARQUIS DE RIVAULX Anti-Semite to his manicured finger-tips.

RUFUS Q. PLANT Born in Virginia.

CARTERET WILLIAMS, WAR CORRESPONDENT He wrote with a red picturesqueness which was horribly attractive.

JIMMY CAREW, A.R.A. He was the best looking of the whole "horde"

THE EARL OF PULBOROUGH Clever; but indolent.

All the absurd birthday celebrations were over, and Penelope was twenty-one.

She declared that her whole life was to be devoted to reform. She meant to reform society, to make it good and useful and straightforward, and simple and utterly delightful.

"We ought all to do something; to be something," said Lady Penelope Brading.

It was an amazing statement, a shocking statement, and clean against all class tradition when she interpreted it to the alarmed. Was it not to be something if one was rich, let us say? Was it not to do something if one spent one's money on horses and sport and dress and bridge? Heaven defend us all if anything more is asked of man or woman than killing time and killing beasts! Hands went up to heaven when Penelope preached.

Not that she preached at length. Her sermons lasted five seconds by any clock, save at the times when she warmed her ankles by the fire with some pet friend of hers, and took into consideration how she was to use her power for the regeneration of the world which was hers. Now she was with Ethel Mytton, a remote relative of the celebrated Mytton who drank eight bottles of port a day, and was a sportsman of the character which makes all Englishmen prouder of sport than of their history. Ten thousand on a football field would put him higher than Sir Richard Grenville. Sidney was a fool to him. Her father was a cabinet minister.

But Ethel was meek and mild, and followed Penelope at a humble distance, modelling herself on that sweet mould of revolution. So might a penny candle imitate an arc-light; so a glowworm worship the big moon.

"But you'll get married, dear," said Ethel, "of course you'll get married."

Penelope was pensive.

"There are other things than marriage," said Penelope.

"Oh, are there?" sighed Ethel. She did not think so, for she was in love. Penelope loved theories best.

"Which of them will you marry?" asked Ethel.

"Which what?"

"Silly, them," said Ethel. "What the duchess calls your 'horde.'"

"I don't know," replied Penelope. "I'm like Diogenes, and I'm looking for an honest man."

"Oh, honesty,--yes, of course, I know what you mean. But there are plenty of them, Pen dear.

"Boo!" said Pen; "so the other Greeks said to the man in the tub."

Ethel sighed.

"What Greeks and what man in what tub?" she inquired, plaintively.

And Penelope did not enlighten her darkness, for in came the Duchess of Goring, her aunt, whose Christian name was Titania. She weighed sixteen stone in glittering bead armour, and had a voice exactly like Rose Le Clerc's in "The Duchess of Bayswater." She rarely stopped talking, and was ridiculously moral and conventional, and, except for her voice, she might have been a shopkeeper's wife in any suburb.

"My dear Penelope," said Titania, "I'm glad to see you again. You look positively sweet, my darling, after all these parties and carryings-on, and what not, and now at last you are quite grown up and yourself and your own and twenty-one. I wish I was. I was nine stone then exactly,--not a pound more. Oh, and it's you, Ethel. I hope your dear papa is not overworking himself, now he's a cabinet minister. Cabinet ministers will overwork themselves. I've known them die of it. Tell him what I say, will you? But of course he will pay no attention, and in time will die like the rest. It's no use advising men to be sensible. I've given it up. Ah, here at last is Lord Bradstock."

Titania flowed on wonderfully; she flowed exactly like the twisting piece of glass in a mechanical clock which mimics a jet of water. She turned round and never advanced. But Augustin, Lord Bradstock, was as calm as a mill-pond, as a mere in the mountains. He was tall and thin and ruddy and white-haired at fifty. He had been twice a widower.

"Why at last, Titania?" he yawned, as he stood with Penelope's hand in his. He was still her guardian in his heart, though she was out of tutelage.

"I say at last, Augustin, because you were not here before me," cried Titania. "And I expected you to be here before me from what you said this morning. I told you I meant to come in and speak quietly and seriously to Penelope, and you said you would come, too."

Penelope's eyes thanked her guardian, and they smiled at him half-secretly, saying as plain as any words: "What a dear you are to come in and dilute aunty for me!"

"Yes," said Bradstock, "I think I said I would prepare her."

"I've not had a single chance lately to say a word for her good," cried Titania, "what with this person and that person and the horde. I think it is time now, Penelope, that you reorganized your amazing circle of acquaintances, mostly men, by the way. While Augustin was responsible for you, of course you were obstinate, but now you are in a position of greater freedom you will see the advisability of being guided by your aunt. I'm sure, I'm positive of it."

Now the real sore point with the duchess was this matter of the "horde." It was the only picturesque phrase she ever invented in her life, and without any doubt it did characterize in some measure the remarkable collection of men who were pretenders to Penelope's hand and fortune.

"Out of the entire, the entire--"

"Caboodle," said Bradstock, suggestively.

The duchess shook her head like a horse in fly-time.

"No, Augustin, not caboodle; pray, what is caboodle? Out of the entire--lot, Penelope, there are hardly three who belong to your class. I entreat you to go through them and dismiss those of whom we can't approve, I and Lord Bradstock."

"Don't drag me in," said Bradstock. "They are all very good fellows; I approve of them all."

"Tut, tut," said Titania, "is this the way you help, Augustin? You are a hindrance. I believe it is entirely owing to you that Penelope has these strange and alarming ideas. Yes, my dear, I'm afraid it is. He is not the kind of man who should have been your guardian. I ought to have been consulted. I knew a bishop who would have been admirable, most admirable. He's dead, dear man, and the present one is a scandal to the Protestant Church, what with incense and processions and candles and confession-boxes. But, as I was saying, I do hope you will dismiss some of these men. And I hope you will be sensible and not say shocking things. No one should say shocking things till they are married, and even then with discretion. Socialism and reform and marriage! Dear me, you really must not talk about marriage, but you must get married to a suitable person. I'm sure, Augustin, we should have no insuperable objection to, let us say, young Bramber. He'll be an earl by and by. And you mustn't talk about reforming society, my dear love. It is quite impossible to reform society without abolishing it, my pet. Ethel darling, many cabinet ministers have owned as much to me with much alarm, almost with tears. It's no use trying. Tell your dear father so, Ethel. I forgot to mention it the other day when we discussed the London County Council and its terrible extravagance compared with the economy of the government. We talked, too, about the War Office, and I told him that it couldn't be reformed without abolishing it, which was not to be thought of for an instant. What should we do without a War Office, as we are always fighting? He sighed deeply, poor man. Dr. Lumsden Griff says sighing is cardiac in its origin, and I wish your father would see him, Ethel. He's the first doctor in London for the ventricles of the heart. So every one says. But about your ideas, Penelope--"

"Good heavens, aunty, I haven't any left," said Penelope. This was not in the least surprising, for Titania reduced any ordinary gathering to idiocy at the shortest notice.

"Oh, but you have," said Titania, "and society cannot endure ideas, my love. Anything but ideas, darling."

"Well, well," sighed Bradstock, "what is the use of talking to her, Titania? Pen is Pen, and there's an end of it."

"I wish there was," cried the duchess. "But she rails against marriage. And she's only twenty-one. Dear, dear me!"

"She pays too much attention to you married women," said Bradstock. "How's the duke, by the way?"

As the duke was engaged in running two theatres at the same time, not wholly in the interests of art or finance, Bradstock might have asked after his health at some other juncture. Titania ignored him.

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