Noblesse Oblige

by E. F. Benson

NOBLESSE
OBLIGE

By E. F. BENSON

MRS. COPLESTONE was chiefly remarkable for her large stores of opulent reminiscences, which bore no very close resemblance to the facts on which they were so insecurely founded. She lacked the fearless irresponsibility of the more magnificent sort of liar, and when you blew off the copious froth of her memories, there was always some minute sediment of truth at the bottom of the glass, which did not fly into the air like the rainbowed bubbles which overlay it. She did not lie for material profit; she never reaped one pennyworth's pecuniary advantage from her great histories, nor did she hurt anyone by them, for she was as good-natured as she was inventive. She just wanted to be grand, to present a noble and enviable appearance to the world in general, and in pursuit of this innocent desire she often talked very richly in trains, offering a sandwich or a morning paper to break the ice, so that she might shine forth to strangers who would be duly impressed with her splendours.

To-day, as she travelled down, after a fortnight in London, to Hatchings, that quaint, huddled, red-roofed little city where her husband, a retired solicitor, lived out the contented afternoon of his blameless days, she was in excellent form, for she had exactly the audience she liked. She was in a second-class compartment, and her companion was a poor and meek relative of Mr. Coplestone's, whom with the utmost tenderness of heart she had asked to spend a fortnight's holiday in her comfortable home. Opposite, the only other occupant of the carriage was a remarkably distinguished-looking woman, with marvellous red hair and that cream-pale complexion which unaided Nature often bestows on those whom she has already gifted with the Titian hue. The train moved smoothly and softly, Mrs. Coplestone's voice was of carrying quality, and she had no doubt that the stranger opposite, who exhibited a studied attention to the book of which the page remained so long unturned, was drinking in with reverence and awe the grand things which Mrs. Coplestone so much enjoyed saying to her husband's poor relation. All further information as to the exact social station to which she belonged may be summed up in the fact that she invariably alluded to her husband as Mr. Coplestone. When, on rare occasions, Mr. Coplestone annoyed her, she addressed him personally as such.

"And here we are, quite close to our dear old Hatchings again," she said. "We shall be there in ten minutes. Oh, look, my dear Blanche, look quickly out of the window! You will see the towers of Hatchings Castle quite plainly over the river. Dear old Castle! What a lot of delightful memories swarm into my mind when I see it!"

She pointed a finger to guide Blanche's reverential eye.

"Yes, and there is the lake," she said. "Such a delicious lake, and it is even older than the Castle itself, which is of immense antiquity. How much Mr. Coplestone and I miss our visits there! I cannot remember the time when I did not remember Hatchings Castle."

"And don't you go there now?" asked Blanche.

Mrs. Coplestone kissed her hand in the direction of the lake.

"No, it has been shut up for the last ten years," she said, "ever since the late Lord Hatchings' death. What fun we used to have there-picnics, luncheon parties, dinner parties, fishing parties on the lake! It was a perpetual round of delightful hospitalities. We were such friends. Yes, I shall never again have such a friend as dear Lady Hatchings."

"And won't it ever be opened again?" asked Blanche, straining her pale eyes to catch the last glimpse of the lake and castle of many memories.

"It is odd you should ask that, for Mr. Coplestone wrote to me only last week to say that the new Lord Hatchings had just come down there, and intends to stay the summer. I am afraid I shall feel him to be a sad parvenu. The Death Duties were enormous—quite colossal, in fact—for the succession passed to a distant cousin. The College of Heralds, or whoever manage those things, had to go all the way up to Queen Elizabeth, and all the way down again, till they found out who it was. I dare say he is a most agreeable man, but it will never be dear old Hatchings Castle to me again. My dear Lady Hatchings is still alive, but I despair of seeing her any more in the old home. Tempora mutantur, as Mr. Coplestone says in his Latin. Yes, and here is the station for the Castle—Castle Halt, as it is called. We seldom went by train. You may be sure there was always a carriage to take us in and out."

As the train slowed up, the Titian-haired stranger took a rather old mackintosh from the rack above her head. Outside the bleak little station there was standing a dog-cart, and Mrs. Coplestone's quick eye caught sight of a coronet on the pony's blinkers.

"Ah, there is a dog-cart for the Castle," she said, "and I should not in the least wonder if that lady who has just got out is the governess of Lord Hatchings' children. There she is again, with a porter wheeling her bicycle. Now she is talking to another lady. What a foreign-looking person! I should say she was French. She is getting into the dog-cart, and our travelling companion is mounting her bicycle. Probably the foreign-looking lady is a guest at the Castle, and the other is her maid. That must be it. Mr. Coplestone always tells me that I am quite a Sherlock Holmes, and that I know who everybody is, and what he has done, the moment I set eyes on him. I am convinced that our travelling companion was the French lady's maid. That is why she travelled second-class. Those maids are so high in their notions. But second-class is quite good enough for me, and if a lady's maid does sit opposite me, she is quite well behaved, and I have no quarrel with her. My dear Lady Hatchings always had a carriage reserved for her, and no wonder, even on the shortest journeys. My sweet Mabel!"

•••••

About half an hour after, the red-haired lady was sitting at lunch with a grey-haired lady at the Castle.

"It was really rather embarrassing, Cousin Mabel," she said. "I didn't know what to do. I couldn't have interrupted her and told her I was Charlie's wife. I wish you could guess who it was. Can't you remember a great, pompous woman who used to be so intimate with you? She talked about Mr. Coplestone, too, in the sort of way that suggested that he was her husband."

"My dear, why didn't you say that sooner, and save me the trouble of thinking?" asked Cousin Mabel. "Now I do remember. We had a fishing competition once on a Bank Holiday, and there was a Mrs. Coplestone who caught a pike. We shall soon know, for Charlie has sent out garden-party cards to absolutely every inhabitant of Hatchings, for the day after to-morrow, to celebrate the opening of the house. My bosom friend will be sure to come, and we will identify her."

"Charlie told me he was going to. But Mrs. Coplestone—what are we to do about Mrs. Coplestone? She will see me here, receiving our guests. She will have an awful shock."

"Serve her right!" said Mrs. Coplestone's "sweet Mabel."

"I know. But she will be our guest. You can't let your guest have an uncomfortable moment if you can help it. She will see you, too. Really, it will be horrid for her. What can we do?"

"My dear Daisy, you are too amiable to live. You make me anxious."

Daisy Hatchings laughed.

"Don't be anxious," she said; "I don't propose to die. But we must save the poor thing's feelings somehow. I think you will have to be tremendously cordial, and say what ages it seems since you and she met."

"I couldn't—I should choke," said the other.

"Oh, don't! You see, she can't fail to remember all she said in the train this morning. She was talking at me all the time, impressing me, showing me how great and good she was. It would be awful for her if in front of my very face you gave her a vacant look."

"It's all your fault for travelling second-class," said Mabel Hatchings. "And I won't promise to be cordial. She's a pushing, swaggering thing, this Mrs. Coplestone of yours. She deserves a vacant look. A carriage to meet her, indeed, for her picnics and luncheon parties and dinner parties!"

"Oh, Cousin Mabel, do be amiable! Besides, if you will be cordial and affectionate, and talk about old times, she will understand very well. There will be an irony about it. You will have done all that could be done to make her comfortable, and yet afterwards she will wonder."

Mabel Hatchings sighed.

"That's true," she said. "If I can remember to think of that, I may be able to manage it."

Mrs. Coplestone duly found the card inviting her husband and herself to the garden-party, and was rather grand about whether she should go or not, for it would mean—for Blanche's edification—the tearing open of an old wound. But as she had no reason to suppose that her "sweet Mabel" would be there, and she was devoured by curiosity to see the new Lady Hatchings, she consented to have the old wound torn open, and drove out rather magnificently with her husband in a hired motor-landau. Guests were already assembled in large numbers, and they were conducted along the terrace to where, just within the great yew hedge that separated it from the lawn, their hostess stood with her husband and Cousin Mabel to receive them. Thus Mrs. Coplestone heard her name sonorously announced before she saw her hosts at all.

Then she came round the corner of the yew hedge, and lo, one yard from her, was the lady of the Titian hair Worse than that, there was standing quite close to her her "sweet Mabel." Mrs. Coplestone was sure it was she. Her "sweet Mabel" had given her a prize long ago for catching a pike.

Lady Hatchings moved a step forward as the name was announced, and gave her a delicious smile of welcome.

"How nice of you to come, Mrs. Coplestone!" she said. "And my cousin will be so charmed to see you. Cousin Mabel, here is a very old friend of yours. How-de-do, Mr. Coplestone? Yes, are we not lucky to have such a fine day?"

"You were admirable, Cousin Mabel," said Daisy Hatchings, a moment afterwards. "But I knew you would be a dear."

Mrs. Coplestone was so staggered by her welcome that she began to think that she must have been very intimate, after all. But she was a little shy about saying so, which was exactly what Daisy Hatchings had intended.