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She asked me to tell her who everybody was. She asked who was the tall, dark man, over there. I told her it was Stephen Braxton. She said they had promised to introduce her to him. She added that he looked rather wonderful. "Oh, he is, very," I assured her. She turned to me with a sudden appeal: "DO you think, if I took my courage in both hands and asked him, he'd care to come to Keeb?"
Literature's Ambassador at Keeb.... I rose gingerly from my chair, and caught sight of my face, of my Braxtonised cheek, in the mirror. I heard the twittering of birds in distant trees. I saw through my window the elaborate landscape of the Duke's grounds, all soft in the grey bloom of early morning. I think I was nearer to tears than I had ever been since I was a child. But the weakness passed.
In the daily lists of guests at dinners, receptions, dances, balls, the name of Maltby figured never. Maltby had not caught on. Presently I heard that he, too, had left town. I gathered that he had gone quite early in June quite soon after Keeb. Nobody seemed to know where he was. My own theory was that he had taken a delightful bungalow on the west coast, to balance Braxton.
There my grand new silk pyjamas were, yet I felt no desire to go to bed... none while it was still possible for me to go. The little writing-table at the foot of my bed seemed to invite me. I had brought with me in my portmanteau a sheaf of letters, letters that I had purposely left unanswered in order that I might answer them on KEEB HALL note-paper.
"Democrat!" shouted the chestnut vender triumphantly. "No, sir! Yoost politigs," replied the unpartisan Bertha. "You keeb oud politigs." "Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Ogostine, Ogostine! Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Nees coma ross."
"Keeb avay off, ur I vos goin' to bulverize you britty queek right avay soon!" "You pulverize, an' be hanged! All I want is to git holt of ye." Hans began to scramble out of the way. "Holt on! holt on!" he cried. "Dot don'd peen no fair to sdrike a man mit haluf uf his heat plown off!" "Your head's all right, only one side of it is plastered over with some yaller stuff.
On the first Monday in June I saw that which drew from me a hoarse ejaculation. Let me explain that always on Monday mornings at this time of year, when I opened my daily paper, I looked with respectful interest to see what bevy of the great world had been entertained since Saturday at Keeb Hall. The list was always august and inspiring.
'I gazed at the squalid outskirts of London as they flew by. I doubted, as I listened to my fellow-passengers, whether I should be able to shine at Keeb. I rather wished I were going to spend the week-end at one of those little houses with back-gardens beneath the railway-line. I was filled with fears. 'For shame! thought I. Was I nobody? Was the author of "Ariel in Mayfair" nobody?
Are you quite sure you never heard anything? I assured Maltby that all I had known was the great bare fact of his having stayed at Keeb Hall. 'It's curious, he reflected. 'It's a fine illustration of the loyalty of those people to one another. I suppose there was a general agreement for the Duchess' sake that nothing should be said about her queer guest.
It was only an hour-and-a-quarter from Victoria. On Saturday there were always compartments reserved for people coming to Keeb by the 3.30. She hoped I would bring my bicycle with me. She hoped I wouldn't find it very dull. She hoped I wouldn't forget to come. She said how lovely it must be to spend one's life among clever people. She supposed I knew everybody here to-night.
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