Tea

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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James Cushat-Prinkly was a young man who had always had a settledconviction that one of these days he would marry; up to the age of thirty-four he had done nothing to justify that conviction. He liked andadmired a great many women collectively and dispassionately withoutsingling out one for especial matrimonial consideration, just as onemight admire the Alps without feeling that one wanted any particular peakas one's own private property. His lack of initiative in this matteraroused a certain amount of impatience among the sentimentally-mindedwomen-folk of his home circle; his mother, his sisters, anaunt-in-residence, and two or three intimate matronly friends regardedhis dilatory approach to the married state with a disapproval that wasfar from being inarticulate. His most innocent flirtations were watchedwith the straining eagerness which a group of unexercised terriersconcentrates on the slightest movements of a human being who may bereasonably considered likely to take them for a walk. No decent-souledmortal can long resist the pleading of several pairs of walk-beseechingdog-eyes; James Cushat-Prinkly was not sufficiently obstinate orindifferent to home influences to disregard the obviously expressed wishof his family that he should become enamoured of some nice marriageablegirl, and when his Uncle Jules departed this life and bequeathed him acomfortable little legacy it really seemed the correct thing to do to setabout discovering some one to share it with him. The process ofdiscovery was carried on more by the force of suggestion and the weightof public opinion than by any initiative of his own; a clear workingmajority of his female relatives and the aforesaid matronly friends hadpitched on Joan Sebastable as the most suitable young woman in his rangeof acquaintance to whom he might propose marriage, and James becamegradually accustomed to the idea that he and Joan would go togetherthrough the prescribed stages of congratulations, present-receiving,Norwegian or Mediterranean hotels, and eventual domesticity. It wasnecessary, however to ask the lady what she thought about the matter; thefamily had so far conducted and directed the flirtation with ability anddiscretion, but the actual proposal would have to be an individualeffort. Cushat-Prinkly walked across the Park towards the Sebastable residence ina frame of mind that was moderately complacent. As the thing was goingto be done he was glad to feel that he was going to get it settled andoff his mind that afternoon. Proposing marriage, even to a nice girllike Joan, was a rather irksome business, but one could not have ahoneymoon in Minorca and a subsequent life of married happiness withoutsuch preliminary. He wondered what Minorca was really like as a place tostop in; in his mind's eye it was an island in perpetual half-mourning,with black or white Minorca hens running all over it. Probably it wouldnot be a bit like that when one came to examine it. People who had beenin Russia had told him that they did not remember having seen any Muscovyducks there, so it was possible that there would be no Minorca fowls onthe island. His Mediterranean musings were interrupted by the sound of a clockstriking the half-hour. Half-past four. A frown of dissatisfactionsettled on his face. He would arrive at the Sebastable mansion just atthe hour of afternoon tea. Joan would be seated at a low table, spreadwith an array of silver kettles and cream-jugs and delicate porcelain tea-cups, behind which her voice would tinkle pleasantly in a series oflittle friendly questions about weak or strong tea, how much, if any,sugar, milk, cream, and so forth. "Is it one lump? I forgot. You dotake milk, don't you? Would you like some more hot water, if it's toostrong?" Cushat-Prinkly had read of such things in scores of novels, and hundredsof actual experiences had told him that they were true to life. Thousandsof women, at this solemn afternoon hour, were sitting behind daintyporcelain and silver fittings, with their voices tinkling pleasantly in acascade of solicitous little questions. Cushat-Prinkly detested thewhole system of afternoon tea. According to his theory of life a womanshould lie on a divan or couch, talking with incomparable charm orlooking unutterable thoughts, or merely silent as a thing to be lookedon, and from behind a silken curtain a small Nubian page should silentlybring in a tray with cups and dainties, to be accepted silently, as amatter of course, without drawn-out chatter about cream and sugar and hotwater. If one's soul was really enslaved at one's mistress's feet howcould one talk coherently about weakened tea? Cushat-Prinkly had neverexpounded his views on the subject to his mother; all her life she hadbeen accustomed to tinkle pleasantly at tea-time behind dainty porcelainand silver, and if he had spoken to her about divans and Nubian pages shewould have urged him to take a week's holiday at the seaside. Now, as hepassed through a tangle of small streets that led indirectly to theelegant Mayfair terrace for which he was bound, a horror at the idea ofconfronting Joan Sebastable at her tea-table seized on him. A momentarydeliverance presented itself; on one floor of a narrow little house atthe noisier end of Esquimault Street lived Rhoda Ellam, a sort of remotecousin, who made a living by creating hats out of costly materials. Thehats really looked as if they had come from Paris; the cheques she gotfor them unfortunately never looked as if they were going to Paris.However, Rhoda appeared to find life amusing and to have a fairly goodtime in spite of her straitened circumstances. Cushat-Prinkly decided toclimb up to her floor and defer by half-an-hour or so the importantbusiness which lay before him; by spinning out his visit he couldcontrive to reach the Sebastable mansion after the last vestiges ofdainty porcelain had been cleared away. Rhoda welcomed him into a room that seemed to do duty as workshop,sitting-room, and kitchen combined, and to be wonderfully clean andcomfortable at the same time. "I'm having a picnic meal," she announced. "There's caviare in that jarat your elbow. Begin on that brown bread-and-butter while I cut somemore. Find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me abouthundreds of things." She made no other allusion to food, but talked amusingly and made hervisitor talk amusingly too. At the same time she cut thebread-and-butter with a masterly skill and produced red pepper and slicedlemon, where so many women would merely have produced reasons and regretsfor not having any. Cushat-Prinkly found that he was enjoying anexcellent tea without having to answer as many questions about it as aMinister for Agriculture might be called on to reply to during anoutbreak of cattle plague. "And now tell me why you have come to see me," said Rhoda suddenly. "Youarouse not merely my curiosity but my business instincts. I hope you'vecome about hats. I heard that you had come into a legacy the other day,and, of course, it struck me that it would be a beautiful and desirablething for you to celebrate the event by buying brilliantly expensive hatsfor all your sisters. They may not have said anything about it, but Ifeel sure the same idea has occurred to them. Of course, with Goodwoodon us, I am rather rushed just now, but in my business we're accustomedto that; we live in a series of rushes--like the infant Moses." "I didn't come about hats," said her visitor. "In fact, I don't think Ireally came about anything. I was passing and I just thought I'd look inand see you. Since I've been sitting talking to you, however, ratherimportant idea has occurred to me. If you'll forget Goodwood for amoment and listen to me, I'll tell you what it is." Some forty minutes later James Cushat-Prinkly returned to the bosom ofhis family, bearing an important piece of news. "I'm engaged to be married," he announced. A rapturous outbreak of congratulation and self-applause broke out. "Ah, we knew! We saw it coming! We foretold it weeks ago!" "I'll bet you didn't," said Cushat-Prinkly. "If any one had told me atlunch-time to-day that I was going to ask Rhoda Ellam to marry me andthat she was going to accept me I would have laughed at the idea." The romantic suddenness of the affair in some measure compensated James'swomen-folk for the ruthless negation of all their patient effort andskilled diplomacy. It was rather trying to have to deflect theirenthusiasm at a moment's notice from Joan Sebastable to Rhoda Ellam; but,after all, it was James's wife who was in question, and his tastes hadsome claim to be considered. On a September afternoon of the same year, after the honeymoon in Minorcahad ended, Cushat-Prinkly came into the drawing-room of his new house inGranchester Square. Rhoda was seated at a low table, behind a service ofdainty porcelain and gleaming silver. There was a pleasant tinkling notein her voice as she handed him a cup. "You like it weaker than that, don't you? Shall I put some more hotwater to it? No?"

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