"If I hadn't known Cameron for three years," replied Dunn slowly, "I would say offhand that this thing would be impossible to him; but you see you never know what a man in drink will do. Cameron can carry a bottle of Scotch without a stagger, but of course it knocks his head all to pieces. I mean, he is quite incapable of anything like clear thought."
"It is truly terrible," said Miss Brodie. "I wish I had known yesterday, but those men have spoilt it all. But here's 'Lily' Laughton," she continued hurriedly, "coming for his dance." As she spoke a youth of willowy figure, languishing dark eyes and ladylike manner drew near.
"Well, here you are at last! What a hunt I have had! I am quite exhausted, I assure you," cried the youth, fanning himself with his handkerchief. "And though you have quite forgotten it, this is our dance. What can you two have been talking about? But why ask?
There is only one theme upon which you could become so terrifically serious."
"And what is that, pray? Browning?" inquired Miss Brodie sweetly.
"Dear Miss Brodie, if you only would, but--ugh!--" here "Lily" shuddered, "I can in fancy picture the gory scene in which you have been revelling for the last hour!" And "Lily's" handsome face and languid, liquid eyes indicated his horror. It was "Lily's" constant declaration that he "positively loathed" football, although his persistent attendance at all the great matches rather belied this declaration. "It is the one thing in you, Miss Bessie, that I deplore, 'the fly in the pot--' no, 'the flaw--' ah, that's better--'the flaw in the matchless pearl.'"
"How sweet of you," murmured Miss Brodie.
"Yes, indeed," continued "Lily," wreathing his tapering fingers, "it is your devotion to those so-called athletic games,--games! ye gods!--the chief qualifications for excellence in which appear to be brute strength and a blood-thirsty disposition; as witness Dunn there. I was positively horrified last International. There he was, our own quiet, domestic, gentle Dunn, raging through that howling mob of savages like a bloody Bengal tiger.--Rather apt, that!--A truly awful and degrading exhibition!"
"Ah, perfectly lovely!" murmured Miss Brodie ecstatically. "I can see him yet."
"Miss Brodie, how can you!" exclaimed "Lily," casting up his eyes in horror towards heaven. "But it was ever thus! In ancient days upon the bloody sands of the arena, fair ladies were wont to gaze with unrelenting eyes and thumbs turned down--or up, was it--?"
"Excellent! But how clever of them to gaze with their thumbs in that way!"
"Please don't interrupt," said "Lily" severely; "I have just 'struck my gait,' as that barbaric young Colonial, Martin, another of your bloody, brawny band, would say. And here you sit, unblushing, glorying in their disgusting deeds and making love open and unabashed to their captain!"
"Go away, 'Lily' or I'll hurt you," cried Dunn, his face a brilliant crimson. "Come, get out!"
"But don't be uplifted," continued "Lily," ignoring him, "you are not the first. By no means! It is always the last International captain, and has been to my certain knowledge for the last ten years."
"Ten years!" exclaimed Miss Brodie in horrified accents. "You monster! If you have no regard for my character you might at least respect my age."
"Age! Dear Miss Brodie," ejaculated "Lily," "who could ever associate age with your perennial youth?"
"Perennial! Wretch! If there is anything I am sensitive about, really sensitive about, it is my age! Mr. Dunn, I beseech you, save me from further insult! Dear 'Lily,' run away now. You are much too tired to dance, and besides there is Mrs. Craig-Urquhart waiting to talk your beloved Wagner-Tennyson theory; or what is the exact combination? Mendelssohn-Browning, is it?"
"Oh, Miss Bessie!" cried "Lily" in a shocked voice. "how can you?
Mendelssohn-Browning! How awful! Do have some regard for the affinities."
"Mr. Dunn, I implore you, save me! I can bear no more. There! A merciful providence has accomplished my deliverance. They are going. Good-night, 'Lily.' Run away now. I want a word with Mr. Dunn."
"Oh, heartless cruelty!" exclaimed "Lily," in an agonised voice.
"But what can you expect from such associations?" And he hastened away to have a last word with Mrs. Craig-Urquhart, who was swimming languidly by.
Miss Brodie turned eagerly to Dunn. "I'd like to help you awfully," she said; "indeed I must try. I have very little hope.
My uncle is so strong when he is once set, and he is so funny about that Bank. But a boy is worth more than a Bank, if he IS a fool; besides, there is his sister. Good-night. Thanks for letting me help. I have little hope, but to-morrow I shall see Sir Archibald, and--and his pigs."
It was still in the early forenoon of the following day when Miss Brodie greeted her uncle as he was about to start upon his round of the pastures and pens where the Wiltshires of various ages and sizes and sexes were kept. With the utmost enthusiasm Miss Brodie entered into his admiration of them all, from the lordly prize tusker to the great mother lying broadside on in grunting and supreme content, every grunt eloquent of happiness and maternal love and pride, to allow her week-old brood to prod and punch her luxuriant dugs for their breakfast.
By the time they had made their rounds Sir Archibald had arrived at his most comfortable and complacent mood. He loved his niece. He loved her for the sake of his dead brother, and as she grew in years, he came to love her for herself. Her sturdy independent fearlessness, her sound sense, her honest heart, and chiefly, if it must be told, her whole-souled devotion to himself, made for her a great space in his heart. And besides all this, they were both interested to the point of devotion in pigs. As he watched his niece handling the little sucklings with tender care, and listened to her appraising their varying merits with a discriminating judgment, his heart filled up with pride in her many accomplishments and capabilities.
