His voice was indulgent. But Joseph remembered the searching and penetrating glance the man had given him, as if judging him. The expansive suite was mercifully decorated in dove gray and soft green silk and velvet, with not a single touch of red, for which Joseph was grateful. Three big windows, draped in Cluny lace, were partly opened to the steaming outside air, and the green velvet draperies were looped back in carved golden metal holders. The gilt chairs were gracefully formed, and so were the gilt tables and sofas, and the ornaments were costly and in good taste. A big round bowl of tulips and narcissi stood on the central table. Off this living room opened two bedrooms of a size that was astonishing to Joseph, and each bed had curtains and coverlets of Brussels lace and green satin. There was a marble bathroom between the two bedrooms, with faucets and appointments of gold plate, and it was the first bathroom Joseph had ever seen in a hotel or a house. The tub was encased in a frame of mahogany, the commode was marble with a chairlike seat made of gilded wicker, and the lavatory was marble. There was a stained-glass window for privacy and the hot increasing sun struck it and made small rainbows dance over all that white stone, that expensive luxury of towels and flowered rug. The uniformed attendants quickly and expertly unpacked the gentlemen's luggage, and put the contents in wardrobes and chests with gilt handles. Joseph went to the window and stared down at the welter of Fifth Avenue and its small front lawns and iridescent trees and its endlessly moving crowds on the walks and its fiercely congested traffic. As so many ladies had opened colored parasols against the sun it was like looking down on a clanging garden on a rampage. Suddenly Joseph felt that he was being suffocated. He closed the windows, and the noise was muted. He felt Mr. Montrose near him, and he turned and said in a stiff voice, "Mr. Healey does himself well." Mr. Montrose raised his yellow eyebrows. He had poured a glass of cool water from a decanter on one of the tables, and he sipped at it thoughtfully. Then he said, "And why should he not, Mr. Francis? Has he not earned it honestly-or even dishonestly-himself? To whom is he accountable? Is there some virtue in abstemiousness, some nice compliment in austerity? He is less-venal-than those who live in the mansions you see from that window, but venality is not the question, is it? It is a matter of taste. Mr. Healey likes opulence and why should he not indulge himself? If you and I have different tastes, does that make them superior?" Joseph was mortified. Mr. Montrose had spoken in the gentlest voice, like an older brother or a father, but his feline eyes were glinting with amusement and something else which Joseph could not interpret. "I am sorry," he said stiffly. Mr. Montrose shook his head. "Never apologize for your own opinions," he said. "That is akin to feeling remorse. Was it not Spinoza who said that a man who feels remorse is twice weak? As for opinions, yours may be more, or less, valid than the opinions of others, but they are still your own and you should respect them." Now he looked at Joseph directly, but with kindness. "There are times when I suspect you do not hold yourself in the highest esteem, and that is dangerous-for yourself-and sometimes for others. It is a fault you must correct." Joseph had now detected a note of warning in Mr. Montrose's voice. But he said, and the sharp stain so narrow and burning appeared on his cheekbones again, "I am not so egotistic that I think I am never capable of making a mistake." "That is not what I mean, Mr. Francis. If you do not have superb self- esteem others will have no esteem for you, and therefore they will doubt you and your word and your actions, and will hesitate when you give them orders or be mutinous. You must first convince yourself that you are above all others-even if you know it is not so-or you must act as if you are so convinced. Tolerant men are not to be trusted for they sometimes doubt themselves. I know that is a refutation of copybook headings, but it is quite true." He sat down negligently on the arm of a sofa and studied Joseph with a smile. "You may also think it is a paradox, or very subtle, but I suggest you consider it. It has intimations beyond just the mere words." Joseph considered. Then he said, "You imply that tolerant men are milksops?" Mr. Montrose lifted a thin forefinger with an expression of delight. "Exactly! Tolerance is the refuge of the fearful. You are tolerant of only those who can injure you, and so you placate them. It is on a par with altruism, and we know that altruism is self-serving and vainglorious, and also a gesture of fear." Now he opened his hand and consulted the merest scrap of white paper in it. "We shall have a visitor in exactly five minutes. Perhaps you would care for a glass of this water, and then a quick washing?" Joseph thought, But we were very late on the train and no one knew when we would arrive, and so there could have been no definite appointment, and no messages were asked for or delivered at the desk downstairs. Nor did I see a paper or an envelope in these rooms. Yet a visitor will be here in exactly five minutes! He went into the bathroom and washed himself. He went over the last hour or so in his mind. No one had given Mr. Montrose an envelope; he had spoken to no one except on the business of obtaining this suite. No one had discreetly passed him a paper, not even in passing- Joseph wiped his hands slowly. Except that one had collided with him and spoken to him in the corridor outside: the Army officer. One had apologized, one had accepted the apology, and then they had disentangled themselves. Joseph smiled. He went into the parlor again and looked at Mr. Montrose who was as fresh as if he had just arisen. Joseph hesitated. He wondered if Mr. Montrose was waiting for him to comment, and to approve the comment, or if he would be vexed if Joseph spoke, and would think the less of him. But Joseph was smarting from the older man's remarks, so he said, "Ah, yes, a visitor. The Army officer, I assume?" Mr. Montrose looked up alertly. He said, "Were we that clumsy or obvious?" But he seemed capriciously pleased. "No, not at all," said Joseph. "It is just my deduction from the events of this morning." "I always knew you were clever, Mr. Francis, and astute and shrewd and intelligent. I am glad that you confirm my opinion. And I must admit that you are far more intelligent than even I knew. Best of all, you are magnificently observant, and that is a rare gift and cannot be overvalued." He looked at Joseph with a curious pride, and this baffled the young man. "Colonel Braithwaite has been waiting for us since last night, and we were very late and our arrival uncertain. He had to let me know when we could have our meeting. Otherwise, I should not have known and wasted time waiting." When Joseph did not comment Mr. Montrose was pleased again. Someone knocked on the door and Mr. Montrose stood up and went to it.
Captains and the Kings Page 24
