These conversations would go on morning after morning until there was scarcely an impoverished young viscount whose grandeurs and miseries had not undergone the reverent investigation of Mrs. Purvis’s anguished and encyclopaedic care. But always at the end—after the whole huge hierarchy of saints, angels, captains of the host, guardians of the inner gate, and chief lieutenants of the right hand had been tenderly inspected down to the minutest multicoloured feather that blazed in their heraldic wings—silence would fall. It was as if some great and unseen presence had entered the room. Then Mrs. Purvis would rattle her crisp paper, clear her throat, and with holy quietness pronounce the sainted name of “‘E”.
Sometimes this moment would come as a sequel to her fascinated discussion of America and the Moddun Tempo, as, after enlarging for the hundredth time upon the shocking and unfortunate lot of the female population in the United States, she would add:
“I must say, though,” tactfully, after a brief pause, “that the American ladies are very smart, aren’t they, sir? They’re all so well-turned out. You can always tell one when you see one. And then they’re very clever, aren’t they, sir? I mean, quite a number of ‘em ‘ave been received at court, ‘aven’t they, sir? And some of ‘em ‘ave married into the nobility, too. And of course”—her voice would fall to just the subtlest shade of unction, and George would know what was coming—“of course, sir, ‘E…”
Ah, there it was! Immortal “‘E”, who lived and moved and loved and had his being there at the centre of Daisy Purvis’s heaven! Immortal “‘E”, the idol of all the Purvises everywhere, who, for their uses, their devotions, had no other name and needed none but “‘E”.
“Of course, sir,” Mrs. Purvis said, “‘E likes ‘em, doesn’t ‘E? I’m told ‘E’s very fond of ‘em. The American ladies must be very clever, sir, because ‘E finds ‘em so amusin’. There was a picture of ‘Im in the news just recently with a party of ‘Is friends, and a new American lady was among ‘em. At least I’d never seen ‘er face before. And very smart she was, too—a Mrs. Somebody-or-other—I can’t recall the name.”
Again, something in the day’s news would bring the reverent tone to her voice and the glow of tenderness to her face, as:
“Well, I see by the paper ‘ere that ‘E’s got back from the Continent. I wonder what ‘E’s up to now.” And suddenly she laughed, a jolly and involuntary laugh that flushed her pink cheeks almost crimson and brought a mist to her blue eyes. “Ah! I tell you what,” she said, “‘E is a deep one. You never know what ‘E’s been up to. You pick the paper up one day and read where ‘E’s visitin’ some friends in Yawkshire. The next day, before you know it, ‘E turns up in Vienna. This time they say ‘E’s been in Scandinavia—it wouldn’t surprise me if ‘E’s been over there visitin’ one of them young princesses. Of course”—her tone was now tinged with the somewhat pompous loftiness with which she divulged her profounder revelations to the incondite Mr. Webber—“of course there’s been talk about that for some time past. Not that ‘E would care! Not ‘Im! ‘E’s too independent, ‘E is! ‘Is mother found that out long ago. She tried to manage ‘Im the way she does the others. Not ‘Im! That chap’s got a will of ‘Is own. ‘E’ll do what ‘E wants to do, and no one will stop ‘Im—that’s ‘ow independent ‘E is.”
She was silent a moment, reflecting with misty eyes upon the object of her idolatry. Then suddenly her pleasant face again suffused with ruddy colour, and a short, rich, almost explosive laugh burst from her as she cried:
“The dev-_ill_! You know, they do say ‘E was comin’ ‘ome one night not long ago, and”—her voice lowered confidingly—“they do say ‘E’d ‘ad a bit too much, and”—her voice sank still lower, and in a tone in which a shade of hesitancy was mixed with laughter, she went on—“well, sir, they do say ‘E was ‘avin’ ‘Is troubles in gittin’ ‘ome. They say that really ‘E was ‘avin’ to support ‘Imself, sir, by the fence round St. James’s Palace. But they do say, sir, that—ooh! ha-ha-ha!”—she laughed suddenly and throatily. “You must excuse me, sir, but I ‘ave to larf when I think of it!” And then, slowly, emphatically, with an ecstasy of adoration, Mrs. Purvis whispered: “They say, sir, that the bobby on duty just outside the palace saw ‘Im, and came up to ‘Im and said: ‘Can I ‘elp you, sir?’ But not ‘Im! ‘E wouldn’t be ‘elped! ‘E’s too proud, ‘E is! That’s the way ‘E’s always been. I’ll tell you what—‘E is a dev-_ill!_” And, still smiling, her strong hands held before her in a worn clasp, she leaned against the door and lapsed into the silence of misty contemplation.
“But, Mrs. Purvis,” George remarked presently, “do you think he’ll ever get married? I mean, do you really, now? After all, he’s no chicken any longer, is he? And he must have had lots of chances, and if he was going to do anything about it----”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Purvis, in that tone of somewhat lofty recognition that she always used at such a time. “Ah! What I always say to that is, ‘E will! ‘E’ll make up ‘Is mind to it when ‘E ‘as to, but not before! ‘E won’t be driven into it, not ‘Im! But ‘E’ll do it when ‘E knows it is the proper time.”