Volume One—Chapter Seven.

Volume One—Chapter Seven.Eccentric Guests.“That’s right—I adore punctuality,” said Dr Stonor, as John Huish was ushered into the drawing-room of Laurel Hall. For, having mastered the repugnance which had made him feel disposed to send a message to put off his visit, he had chartered a hansom, and run up to the doctor’s house.There was nothing new about it externally, for it was one of those old red-brick buildings that our ancestors knew so well how to contrive, and which they always surrounded with iron railings with great gates about double their height. This was evidently for protection; but why the gates were made so high and the railings so low has never been yet found out.So John Huish rang and was admitted, starting slightly on finding himself face to face with Daniel; but as that individual acted as if they had never met before, and asked him his name, the visitor felt more composed, and entered, and was announced.“My sister, Miss Stonor,” said the doctor. “Selina, my dear, this is one of my oldest patients. I prescribed for him for infantile colic when he was a month old, and lanced his gums at six.”John Huish found himself face to face with a thin, prim little lady in tightly-fitting black silk with white collar and cuffs. She was rather pale, had perfectly grey hair in smooth bands, and looked mild and wistful, but she saluted their guest with a quiet smile, and then he was led off to be introduced to the others present.“This is Captain Lawdor, Mr Rawlinson, Mr Roberts,” continued the doctor. “My old friend John Huish.” And he introduced Huish in turn to a rather bluff-looking, florid man with grey whiskers; a heavy, stern and stubborn looking man with iron-grey hair and a closely-trimmed beard; and a slight, delicate man with rather a sad expression, which, however, lit up with a genial smile.John Huish was very soon engaged with Captain Lawdor on the question of yachting, and found his new acquaintance somewhat of an enthusiast upon the build and rig of sea-going boats, his preference being for the yawl. But, all the same, he found time to exchange a few words with the thin, pensive-looking Mr Roberts, who chatted about the politics of the hour, and with Mr Rawlinson, whose speech quite carried out the stubborn appearance of his knotty forehead and short iron-grey hair. He was very indignant about a railway accident mentioned in the daily paper, and gave it as his opinion that there would be no safety until heavy penalties were inflicted upon the companies, or else until the lines were in the hands of the Government.Then Daniel came in and announced dinner, and Mr Roberts taking down Miss Stonor, Huish found himself with the doctor.“Patients not well enough to show up, doctor?” he said quietly, as they went towards the dining-room.“Eh?”“I said, ‘Patients not well enough to show up’?”“Hist! Don’t mention them,” said the doctor; and Huish gave a sigh of relief as he thought how much better the dinner would pass off without such company.A minute later and they were seated at table, John Huish on the doctor’s right, and the captain on his right again. The stubborn, heavy man was upon Miss Stonor’s right, and the pensive-looking man facing Huish. Grace was said, the cover of the soup-tureen was lifted with a flourish by Daniel, and Miss Stonor ladled out the clear brownjulienne, half hidden herself behind the tureen, till all were helped but Mr Rawlinson and the doctor.Mr Rawlinson passed his hands through his iron-grey hair, and smiled as he watched the ladle go down into the steaming fluid and come up again to be emptied into the plate held by Daniel.“And so, Rawlinson, you would heavily fine the companies?” said the doctor.“Indeed I would,” was the reply. “Would you mind, Miss Stonor,” he continued insinuatingly, “half a ladleful more? Delicious soup. Thanks.”Miss Stonor smiled, and the soup was placed before him, when, to the amazement of Huish, Mr Rawlinson sent his chair back with a quick motion, deftly-lifted the soup-plate on to the Turkey carpet, and, as if it were a footpan, composedly placed the toes of his patent-leather shoes therein.Miss Stonor did not move a muscle—she might have been a disciple of Daniel; while the doctor said quietly: “Head hot, Rawlinson?”“Yes, very,” was the reply, as the eccentric guest smiled and nodded.“I’d go and lie down for an hour,” said the doctor gently.“Would you—would you?” said Mr Rawlinson, smiling pleasantly. “Well, I will.”“Come and join us presently if you feel better,” said the doctor.“Certainly I will,” said Mr Rawlinson. “Miss Stonor, you’ll excuse me?”Miss Stonor bowed, and he turned upon Daniel.“A napkin, Daniel,” he said rather severely. “I cannot leave the room with my shoes in this state.”He lifted his feet from the soup-plate as he spoke, and sat with his legs at right angles to his body, while in the most matter-of-fact way Daniel stooped down, wiped the patent-leather shoes, and, sticking his thumbs into his armholes, Mr Rawlinson calmly left the room.“Suppose you ease off a little to the left, Roberts,” said the doctor, as the soup-plate was removed. “Rawlinson will not be back to dinner.”“No,” said the captain, smiling. “Poor fellow!” he continued, turning to Huish; “you would not have thought he was a little wrong, I suppose?”“Indeed I should not,” said Huish eagerly.“No,” said the captain. “He looks as sane as I am; but he breaks out now and then, poor fellow!”Just then Daniel was helping the guests to sherry, and Huish noticed that the captain’s glass was passed.It seemed strange, but the conversation took off his attention, and he thought no more of it till Daniel set down the decanter, when, picking up the little round roll that lay by his napkin, the captain threw it with so good an aim that he hit the solid servitor a smart crack on the back of the head.“Now, Captain Lawdor,” said Miss Stonor, in tones of bland reproof, “have I not told you that if you will persist in doing that you must not dine with us?”“Hush! hush!” he whispered apologetically. “Don’t scold me before the company. Poor fellow! I don’t like to see a new patient upset. That fellow always passes me with the sherry.”John Huish’s countenance was so ludicrous at being taken for a new patient that the doctor exchanged glances with his sister, and it was all they could do to keep from bursting into a hearty fit of laughter. The doctor, however, suppressed his, and said quietly:“My sister is quite right, Lawdor, and you must get rid of that habit.”The captain drew out his pocket-handkerchief, shed tears, wiped his eyes, and ended by taking out a half-crown, which he slipped into Daniel’s hand as he removed his empty plate.John Huish felt a little disturbed as he saw the real state of affairs, but he tried to appear at his ease, and plunged into conversation with Miss Stonor, not, however, before he had directed an uneasy glance or two at his quiet, pensive companion across the table, who, however, was carrying on a discussion with the doctor.Huish could not help thinking of the knives as the captain turned to him with a pleasant smile lighting up his ruddy face, from which all trace of sorrow had now passed.“That’s a nasty trick,” he said; “but I never knew a man without some bad habit or another. I could hit him, though, with a biscuit at fifty paces.”“Indeed,” said Huish.“Yes, that I could. If I’ve hit Daniel once, I’ve done it a hundred times. But we were talking about yachting. Now, I’ve got a plan for a ship which I have submitted to the Admiralty.”“Oh,” said Huish to himself, “here, then, is the sore place.” Then aloud, “Indeed!”“Yes; a splendid idea. But, by the way, you know how fond we sailors are of talking about pitching a biscuit?”“To be sure,” said Huish.“Excuse me a few moments. A sailor always eats when he has a chance. May be called on deck at any moment. Would you oblige me?” said the captain suddenly to Huish.“I beg your pardon, certainly,” said Huish; and, partly from habit, he placed his glass in his eye and brought it to bear on the speaker.“This is rather a good story—eh, doctor?”“Yes. Go on, Captain Lawdor.”“Well, you see, I had been communicating with the Admiralty for six years about my invention when—would you oblige me by taking that glass out of your eye?” said the captain, breaking off short in his narrative. “It irritates me, and makes me feel as if I must throw something at it.”John Huish’s eyeglass dropped inside his vest, while, in spite of all his efforts to master his emotions, he glanced uneasily at the door.“But you would not do anything so rude, Lawdor,” said the doctor gravely, as he fixed his eye upon the captain.“Thank you, doctor. No; of course I would not. I should be extremely sorry to insult a patient of yours.”Huish began to feel for his glass, but remembered himself, and listened eagerly to the captain, while Mr Roberts seemed to have sunk into a pensive, thoughtful state, paying no heed to what was going on at the table.“If I had danced attendance in Whitehall once,” said Captain Lawdor, “I had hung about that entrance a thousand times, and it was fill up forms, make minutes, present petitions to my Lords, address this department and come back to that, till it nearly drove me—till,” he added hastily, “I was very wroth with them, and one day—let me see, I think I told you,” he continued, rolling up a piece of new bread into a marble, “that I was an excellent shot with a biscuit?” and he stared hard at Huish.“Yes, you did,” said Huish, smiling.“Don’t laugh, sir,” exclaimed the captain. “This is not a ribald jest.”“Breakers ahead, captain,” said the doctor, holding his glass to be refilled.“To be sure, of course, doctor. Wear ship—you are listening, sir?”“With the greatest attention,” replied Huish, who was becoming reconciled to his position.“Well, sir, one day I went with my pockets filled with the roundest, smallest, and hardest ships’ biscuits I could procure, and—you are not attending, Roberts,” he exclaimed, filliping the bread marble at John Huish’svis-à-vis, who bowed and smiled.“Well, sir, as I told you, I went loaded with the biscuits, and marched straight into a board room, or a committee room, or something of the kind, and there I stormed them for quite ten minutes before they got me out. Ha, ha, ha! I emptied my pockets first, and the way I rattled the biscuits on one bald-headed fellow’s pate was something to remember. I did not miss him once, Mr Huish,” he said, turning sharply round.“Indeed?” he said, smiling.“In—deed, in—deed,” said the captain. “It was such a head! He was one of those youngish men whose heads are so aggravatingly white and smooth and shiny that they do not look bald, but perfectly naked. He was a Junior Lord of the Admiralty, and I declare to you, sir, that his head was perfectly indecent till I coloured it a little with the biscuits.”“Yes, an amusing story,” said the doctor, as the dinner went on. “Come, Roberts, you are very quiet. Have a glass of that dry champagne?”“And once again I see that brow,” said Mr Roberts in a low, soft, sweet voice: “no bridal wreath is there, a widow’s sombre cap conceals—thank you, doctor,” he continued, sighing as he altered the position of the glass.The dinner passed off without any further incident, save that Mr Rawlinson returned looking very quiet and calm, and in time for the second course, of which he partook heartily, rising after the dessert to open the door for Miss Stonor to leave the room, and all in the most natural manner.“Suppose we go into my room a bit now,” said the doctor. “We can have a cigar there;” and Daniel entering at that moment with coffee, it was taken into the doctor’s sanctum, the patients following the tray, the doctor hanging back with his principal guest.“Well, my dear John, do you think you are going mad now?”“No,” was the quick reply.“Of course not. You see now what even a mild form of mania is.”“I do,” was the reply. “But look here, doctor,” said Huish earnestly; “this feeling has troubled me terribly just lately.”“And why?” said the doctor sharply, for Huish hesitated.“Well, the fact is, doctor, it is possible that I may marry some day, and I felt—”“Yes, of course, I know,” said the doctor; “you felt, and quite rightly, that it would be a crime to marry some sweet young girl if you had the seeds of insanity waiting to develop themselves in your brain.”“Yes, doctor, that was it.”“My dear John Huish, you are a bit of a favourite of mine, and I like you much.”“Thank you, doctor, I—”“I made the acquaintance of your father and mother in a peculiar manner, and they have always trusted me since.”“Yes; I have heard something of it from it my father, but—”“Just hold your tongue and listen to me, sir. You have, I am sure, chosen some sweet, gentle, good girl; nothing else would suit you. So all I have to say is this: your brain is as right as that of any man living. Marry her, and the sooner the better. I like these young marriages, and hang all those musty old fogies who preach about improvidence and so many hundreds a year! Marry early, while you and the woman you love are in the first flush of your youth and vigour. It’s nature—it’s holy—and the good God smiles upon it. Damn it all, sir! it makes me savage to see a wretched, battered old fellow being chosen by a scheming mother of the present day as a husband for her child. Money and title will not compensate for youth. It’s a wrong system, John Huish, a wrong system. I’m a doctor, and I ought to know. Marry, then, my dear boy, as soon as you like, and God bless you!”“Thank you, doctor, thank you,” said Huish, smiling. “But I say, doctor, if it is not impertinence, why didn’t you marry young?”“Because I was a fool. I wanted to make money and a name in my profession, and did not calculate what would be the cost. They cost me thirty years, John Huish, and now I am an old fogey, content to try and do some good among my poor patients. But come away; they will think me rude. Eh, going now? Well, I will not say stop, as you have so far to go back. One more word: think your head’s screwed on right now?”“Yes, doctor.”“So do I. If it ever goes wrong, come to me, and I’ll turn it back.”But John Huish did not feel quite satisfied, all the same.

“That’s right—I adore punctuality,” said Dr Stonor, as John Huish was ushered into the drawing-room of Laurel Hall. For, having mastered the repugnance which had made him feel disposed to send a message to put off his visit, he had chartered a hansom, and run up to the doctor’s house.

There was nothing new about it externally, for it was one of those old red-brick buildings that our ancestors knew so well how to contrive, and which they always surrounded with iron railings with great gates about double their height. This was evidently for protection; but why the gates were made so high and the railings so low has never been yet found out.

So John Huish rang and was admitted, starting slightly on finding himself face to face with Daniel; but as that individual acted as if they had never met before, and asked him his name, the visitor felt more composed, and entered, and was announced.

“My sister, Miss Stonor,” said the doctor. “Selina, my dear, this is one of my oldest patients. I prescribed for him for infantile colic when he was a month old, and lanced his gums at six.”

John Huish found himself face to face with a thin, prim little lady in tightly-fitting black silk with white collar and cuffs. She was rather pale, had perfectly grey hair in smooth bands, and looked mild and wistful, but she saluted their guest with a quiet smile, and then he was led off to be introduced to the others present.

“This is Captain Lawdor, Mr Rawlinson, Mr Roberts,” continued the doctor. “My old friend John Huish.” And he introduced Huish in turn to a rather bluff-looking, florid man with grey whiskers; a heavy, stern and stubborn looking man with iron-grey hair and a closely-trimmed beard; and a slight, delicate man with rather a sad expression, which, however, lit up with a genial smile.

John Huish was very soon engaged with Captain Lawdor on the question of yachting, and found his new acquaintance somewhat of an enthusiast upon the build and rig of sea-going boats, his preference being for the yawl. But, all the same, he found time to exchange a few words with the thin, pensive-looking Mr Roberts, who chatted about the politics of the hour, and with Mr Rawlinson, whose speech quite carried out the stubborn appearance of his knotty forehead and short iron-grey hair. He was very indignant about a railway accident mentioned in the daily paper, and gave it as his opinion that there would be no safety until heavy penalties were inflicted upon the companies, or else until the lines were in the hands of the Government.

Then Daniel came in and announced dinner, and Mr Roberts taking down Miss Stonor, Huish found himself with the doctor.

“Patients not well enough to show up, doctor?” he said quietly, as they went towards the dining-room.

“Eh?”

“I said, ‘Patients not well enough to show up’?”

“Hist! Don’t mention them,” said the doctor; and Huish gave a sigh of relief as he thought how much better the dinner would pass off without such company.

A minute later and they were seated at table, John Huish on the doctor’s right, and the captain on his right again. The stubborn, heavy man was upon Miss Stonor’s right, and the pensive-looking man facing Huish. Grace was said, the cover of the soup-tureen was lifted with a flourish by Daniel, and Miss Stonor ladled out the clear brownjulienne, half hidden herself behind the tureen, till all were helped but Mr Rawlinson and the doctor.

Mr Rawlinson passed his hands through his iron-grey hair, and smiled as he watched the ladle go down into the steaming fluid and come up again to be emptied into the plate held by Daniel.

“And so, Rawlinson, you would heavily fine the companies?” said the doctor.

“Indeed I would,” was the reply. “Would you mind, Miss Stonor,” he continued insinuatingly, “half a ladleful more? Delicious soup. Thanks.”

Miss Stonor smiled, and the soup was placed before him, when, to the amazement of Huish, Mr Rawlinson sent his chair back with a quick motion, deftly-lifted the soup-plate on to the Turkey carpet, and, as if it were a footpan, composedly placed the toes of his patent-leather shoes therein.

Miss Stonor did not move a muscle—she might have been a disciple of Daniel; while the doctor said quietly: “Head hot, Rawlinson?”

“Yes, very,” was the reply, as the eccentric guest smiled and nodded.

“I’d go and lie down for an hour,” said the doctor gently.

“Would you—would you?” said Mr Rawlinson, smiling pleasantly. “Well, I will.”

“Come and join us presently if you feel better,” said the doctor.

“Certainly I will,” said Mr Rawlinson. “Miss Stonor, you’ll excuse me?”

Miss Stonor bowed, and he turned upon Daniel.

“A napkin, Daniel,” he said rather severely. “I cannot leave the room with my shoes in this state.”

He lifted his feet from the soup-plate as he spoke, and sat with his legs at right angles to his body, while in the most matter-of-fact way Daniel stooped down, wiped the patent-leather shoes, and, sticking his thumbs into his armholes, Mr Rawlinson calmly left the room.

“Suppose you ease off a little to the left, Roberts,” said the doctor, as the soup-plate was removed. “Rawlinson will not be back to dinner.”

“No,” said the captain, smiling. “Poor fellow!” he continued, turning to Huish; “you would not have thought he was a little wrong, I suppose?”

“Indeed I should not,” said Huish eagerly.

“No,” said the captain. “He looks as sane as I am; but he breaks out now and then, poor fellow!”

Just then Daniel was helping the guests to sherry, and Huish noticed that the captain’s glass was passed.

It seemed strange, but the conversation took off his attention, and he thought no more of it till Daniel set down the decanter, when, picking up the little round roll that lay by his napkin, the captain threw it with so good an aim that he hit the solid servitor a smart crack on the back of the head.

“Now, Captain Lawdor,” said Miss Stonor, in tones of bland reproof, “have I not told you that if you will persist in doing that you must not dine with us?”

“Hush! hush!” he whispered apologetically. “Don’t scold me before the company. Poor fellow! I don’t like to see a new patient upset. That fellow always passes me with the sherry.”

John Huish’s countenance was so ludicrous at being taken for a new patient that the doctor exchanged glances with his sister, and it was all they could do to keep from bursting into a hearty fit of laughter. The doctor, however, suppressed his, and said quietly:

“My sister is quite right, Lawdor, and you must get rid of that habit.”

The captain drew out his pocket-handkerchief, shed tears, wiped his eyes, and ended by taking out a half-crown, which he slipped into Daniel’s hand as he removed his empty plate.

John Huish felt a little disturbed as he saw the real state of affairs, but he tried to appear at his ease, and plunged into conversation with Miss Stonor, not, however, before he had directed an uneasy glance or two at his quiet, pensive companion across the table, who, however, was carrying on a discussion with the doctor.

Huish could not help thinking of the knives as the captain turned to him with a pleasant smile lighting up his ruddy face, from which all trace of sorrow had now passed.

“That’s a nasty trick,” he said; “but I never knew a man without some bad habit or another. I could hit him, though, with a biscuit at fifty paces.”

“Indeed,” said Huish.

“Yes, that I could. If I’ve hit Daniel once, I’ve done it a hundred times. But we were talking about yachting. Now, I’ve got a plan for a ship which I have submitted to the Admiralty.”

“Oh,” said Huish to himself, “here, then, is the sore place.” Then aloud, “Indeed!”

“Yes; a splendid idea. But, by the way, you know how fond we sailors are of talking about pitching a biscuit?”

“To be sure,” said Huish.

“Excuse me a few moments. A sailor always eats when he has a chance. May be called on deck at any moment. Would you oblige me?” said the captain suddenly to Huish.

“I beg your pardon, certainly,” said Huish; and, partly from habit, he placed his glass in his eye and brought it to bear on the speaker.

“This is rather a good story—eh, doctor?”

“Yes. Go on, Captain Lawdor.”

“Well, you see, I had been communicating with the Admiralty for six years about my invention when—would you oblige me by taking that glass out of your eye?” said the captain, breaking off short in his narrative. “It irritates me, and makes me feel as if I must throw something at it.”

John Huish’s eyeglass dropped inside his vest, while, in spite of all his efforts to master his emotions, he glanced uneasily at the door.

“But you would not do anything so rude, Lawdor,” said the doctor gravely, as he fixed his eye upon the captain.

“Thank you, doctor. No; of course I would not. I should be extremely sorry to insult a patient of yours.”

Huish began to feel for his glass, but remembered himself, and listened eagerly to the captain, while Mr Roberts seemed to have sunk into a pensive, thoughtful state, paying no heed to what was going on at the table.

“If I had danced attendance in Whitehall once,” said Captain Lawdor, “I had hung about that entrance a thousand times, and it was fill up forms, make minutes, present petitions to my Lords, address this department and come back to that, till it nearly drove me—till,” he added hastily, “I was very wroth with them, and one day—let me see, I think I told you,” he continued, rolling up a piece of new bread into a marble, “that I was an excellent shot with a biscuit?” and he stared hard at Huish.

“Yes, you did,” said Huish, smiling.

“Don’t laugh, sir,” exclaimed the captain. “This is not a ribald jest.”

“Breakers ahead, captain,” said the doctor, holding his glass to be refilled.

“To be sure, of course, doctor. Wear ship—you are listening, sir?”

“With the greatest attention,” replied Huish, who was becoming reconciled to his position.

“Well, sir, one day I went with my pockets filled with the roundest, smallest, and hardest ships’ biscuits I could procure, and—you are not attending, Roberts,” he exclaimed, filliping the bread marble at John Huish’svis-à-vis, who bowed and smiled.

“Well, sir, as I told you, I went loaded with the biscuits, and marched straight into a board room, or a committee room, or something of the kind, and there I stormed them for quite ten minutes before they got me out. Ha, ha, ha! I emptied my pockets first, and the way I rattled the biscuits on one bald-headed fellow’s pate was something to remember. I did not miss him once, Mr Huish,” he said, turning sharply round.

“Indeed?” he said, smiling.

“In—deed, in—deed,” said the captain. “It was such a head! He was one of those youngish men whose heads are so aggravatingly white and smooth and shiny that they do not look bald, but perfectly naked. He was a Junior Lord of the Admiralty, and I declare to you, sir, that his head was perfectly indecent till I coloured it a little with the biscuits.”

“Yes, an amusing story,” said the doctor, as the dinner went on. “Come, Roberts, you are very quiet. Have a glass of that dry champagne?”

“And once again I see that brow,” said Mr Roberts in a low, soft, sweet voice: “no bridal wreath is there, a widow’s sombre cap conceals—thank you, doctor,” he continued, sighing as he altered the position of the glass.

The dinner passed off without any further incident, save that Mr Rawlinson returned looking very quiet and calm, and in time for the second course, of which he partook heartily, rising after the dessert to open the door for Miss Stonor to leave the room, and all in the most natural manner.

“Suppose we go into my room a bit now,” said the doctor. “We can have a cigar there;” and Daniel entering at that moment with coffee, it was taken into the doctor’s sanctum, the patients following the tray, the doctor hanging back with his principal guest.

“Well, my dear John, do you think you are going mad now?”

“No,” was the quick reply.

“Of course not. You see now what even a mild form of mania is.”

“I do,” was the reply. “But look here, doctor,” said Huish earnestly; “this feeling has troubled me terribly just lately.”

“And why?” said the doctor sharply, for Huish hesitated.

“Well, the fact is, doctor, it is possible that I may marry some day, and I felt—”

“Yes, of course, I know,” said the doctor; “you felt, and quite rightly, that it would be a crime to marry some sweet young girl if you had the seeds of insanity waiting to develop themselves in your brain.”

“Yes, doctor, that was it.”

“My dear John Huish, you are a bit of a favourite of mine, and I like you much.”

“Thank you, doctor, I—”

“I made the acquaintance of your father and mother in a peculiar manner, and they have always trusted me since.”

“Yes; I have heard something of it from it my father, but—”

“Just hold your tongue and listen to me, sir. You have, I am sure, chosen some sweet, gentle, good girl; nothing else would suit you. So all I have to say is this: your brain is as right as that of any man living. Marry her, and the sooner the better. I like these young marriages, and hang all those musty old fogies who preach about improvidence and so many hundreds a year! Marry early, while you and the woman you love are in the first flush of your youth and vigour. It’s nature—it’s holy—and the good God smiles upon it. Damn it all, sir! it makes me savage to see a wretched, battered old fellow being chosen by a scheming mother of the present day as a husband for her child. Money and title will not compensate for youth. It’s a wrong system, John Huish, a wrong system. I’m a doctor, and I ought to know. Marry, then, my dear boy, as soon as you like, and God bless you!”

“Thank you, doctor, thank you,” said Huish, smiling. “But I say, doctor, if it is not impertinence, why didn’t you marry young?”

“Because I was a fool. I wanted to make money and a name in my profession, and did not calculate what would be the cost. They cost me thirty years, John Huish, and now I am an old fogey, content to try and do some good among my poor patients. But come away; they will think me rude. Eh, going now? Well, I will not say stop, as you have so far to go back. One more word: think your head’s screwed on right now?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“So do I. If it ever goes wrong, come to me, and I’ll turn it back.”

But John Huish did not feel quite satisfied, all the same.

Volume One—Chapter Eight.In Borrowed Plumes.There was a good deal of excitement in the Hampton Court dovecote, and a general touching up of plumage, for Lady Littletown, who resided at Hampton, so as to be near her dear old friend Lady Anna Maria Morton, who had rooms up a narrow dingy stone staircase in the corner of a cloistered court, in the private apartments at the Palace, had sent out cards for her dinner-party and “at home.”Lady Littletown was rich, and her position in the society of the neighbourhood was that of queen. A widow for many years, she was always thinking of marriage. Not for herself. She had been through the fire, and found it hot. In fact, she bore her mental scars to her elderly age, for it was a well-known fact that the late Viscount Littletown was the extreme opposite of an angel. He had possessed a temper which grew and blossomed in wild luxuriance, and the probabilities are that he inoculated her ladyship with this peculiarity of spirit, for more than one of her domestics had been known to have declared that they would not live with the “old devil” any longer.This was very wicked, and the domestic young ladies who had made use of such expressions were much to be censured. But certain it was that the Viscountess was far from perfect, and that she was an inveterate match-maker.Probably she was of opinion that it would be a pleasant little piece of revenge on human nature to inveigle as many of her sex as possible on to the stormy sea of matrimony. At all events, a good many fashionable marriages resulted from plans laid by her ladyship and her female friends.Lady Littletown’s friends were many, and included Lady Millet, whom she always addressed as “my dear,” in spite of a pique which had arisen consequent upon the latter marrying her eldest daughter to that wealthyparvenu, Mr Frank Morrison.Now, according to Lady Littletown’s code, this was not correct. Dear friends as they had been, Lady Millet should have obtained her help, seeing that marriages were hermétier; but she had obstinately gone her own way, invited her to the wedding, and latterly had actually shown that she was scheming something about two gentlemen whom Lady Littletown had marked down for her own—to wit, Lord Henry Moorpark and Mr Elbraham, the great financier.“But, poor thing! she did not know how to manage Elbraham,” said Lady Littletown to herself; “and as for dear Lord Henry, not if I know it, dearest I think I can manage that, and you may marry pink-and-white wax-doll Gertrude to someone else.”So her ladyship issued her cards most discriminatingly and well, in her determination to let no rival in her circle interfere with her rights as high-priestess of Hymen to her dearest friends.Lady Littletown’s invitations on this occasion had included the Honourable Misses Dymcox and their nieces Clotilde and Marie Riversley; and, like Cinderella of the story, Ruth had rather a hard time with her cousins. For, to the astonishment of the latter, a fashionable dressmaker had been down expressly from London, and their excitement over the handsome robes that had arrived knew no bounds.Their aunts had been a long time in making a move, and divers had been the consultations with Viscountess Littletown and Lady Anna Maria Morton. When at last that step was taken, it was with firmness and judgment combined.Poor Ruth was divided between longings to go to the dinner-party and admiration of her cousins’ appearance, which, when they stood at last dressed, an hour before the time, parading the shabby bedroom and sweeping the skimpy pieces of Kidderminster carpet here and there with their stiff trains, was dazzling.Certainly a handsomer pair of women rarely graced a party, and the Honourable Misses Dymcox, after a careful inspection through their square florid gold-edged eyeglasses, uttered sighs of satisfaction.For themodistehad done her duty well. The dresses were in the latest style, they fitted to perfection, and the girls’ youth and the luxuriance of their hair quite made up for the want of jewellery to enhance their charms.The Honourable Misses Dymcox were almost as excited as their nieces, for they, too, managed to get dressed an hour before time in their lavender silk straight-up-and-down garments, to which were tacked a few old pieces of very yellow lace, supposed to be an heirloom, but certainly very unattractive, whatever it may have been when young.A very weak cup of tea had been taken, the elder ladies being in fear and trembling all the while.“No, no, children, wait!” exclaimed Miss Philippa. “Joseph, put down the cups, and tell Markes to bring here two large pocket-handkerchiefs.”In due time Markes appeared.“Now, children,” said Miss Philippa, “stand up. Markes, have the goodness to tie a handkerchief by two of the corners just under the young ladies’ chins. It would be ruin to those dresses if they spilt any of their tea.”“If you please, aunt, I don’t want any tea,” said Clotilde.“Neither do I, aunt,” said Marie.“Hush, children! You must take your tea. It is imperative that you should enter Lady Littletown’s drawing-room calm, self-possessed, and without any sign of being flushed. Markes, tie on those handkerchiefs.”A red spot burned in the girls’ cheeks as they submitted to the childish indignity, and when they were duly provided with their bibs they were allowed to drink their thin, washy, half-cold tea, exchanging glances the while, for their emancipation had not yet arrived.“Ruth, ring the bell,” said Miss Philippa, as soon as the tea was finished, and the handkerchiefs, which had been rising and falling in a troubled fashion, had been removed.“Take away these teacups, Joseph,” said Miss Philippa. “Has the carriage arrived?”“No, mum. It wants more than half an hour to the time. Buddy hasn’t been in yet.”“Hush! Silence!” cried Miss Philippa harshly; “and dear me, Joseph, there is a large place on the back of your head not powdered.”Joseph was heard to mutter something, and then he went forth in his best livery of pale blue with yellow facings and black knee-breeches, to finish his toilet for the night.“Oh, here you are, then,” exclaimed Joseph, upon reaching his pantry, a peculiarly close, stuffy little room, smelling very strongly of sink, and furnished with two cupboards, a bracket-flap, and what looked like a third detached cupboard, but which was really the turn-up bedstead on which Joseph slept.“Yes, here I am, Joey,” said a husky-voiced little red-nosed man, with a very blotchy, pimply face, to wit Isaac Buddy, the sole proprietor of a roomy old-fashioned Clarence fly, which was drawn by a very small shambling horse.This conveyance was Mr Isaac Buddy’s means of livelihood, for it was to let, as his cards said, “by the day, night, or job,” and the hiring of Mr Isaac Buddy’s fly meant not only, as a matter of course, the hire of the horse to draw it, but of Mr Isaac Buddy himself.For, out of deference to the feelings and aristocratic ideas of certain of the ladies residing in the private apartments, Mr Buddy had become an actor, who played many parts, and though the fiction was perfectly well understood, nobody ever thought of smiling if they saw Mr Isaac Buddy in a hat with a tarnished gold band on Mondays as Lady Anna Maria Morton’s coachman, or in a hat with a silver band on Tuesday, as Miss Tees’, or on Wednesday in a very hard shiny glazed hat without any nap, as Mrs Mongloff’s, or on other days in costumes to suit.The Clarence fly of course remained the same, but it was always disguised in a more sounding name, and became “the carriage.”“There ain’t a drop o’ nothing about handy, is there, Joey?” said Mr Buddy, as the thin footman set the tray down upon the bracket-flap.“No, that there ain’t,” said Joseph, “without you’d like the pot filled up and have a cup o’ tea.”“G’orn with yer. Did you ever know me wash myself out with warm water? How’s the old gals?”“Old style,” replied Joseph; “but I say, Buddy, just cast your eye round as they’re getting in: the young ladies have been done up to rights.”“I wish someone would find the money to get my old fly done up to rights,” said Mr Buddy, who, apparently quite at home, was standing before a shaving-glass hung against the wall, persuading, with Joseph’s brush, a couple of very obstinate little whiskers to stand out straight forward in the direction their owner wished. “’Spose there’ll be a wedding, then, some day.”“Well, I dunno,” said Joseph.“Looks like it, if they’re having ’em fresh painted,” said Mr Buddy, who now touched up his very greasy grey hair, making it stick up in points, in unconscious imitation of that of a clown.“Here, you’d better look sharp, old man,” said Joseph, “they’re all ready and waiting, and time’s getting on.”“Which we ain’t, Joey, or we should be doing better than we are, eh?”“Ah, we should,” said Joseph, making a powder-box squeak as he unscrewed the top; and then taking out the puff, he placed a tea-cloth over his shoulders, and gave his hair a few dabs. “Now then, old man. Have the tea-cloth on?”“Ah, you may as well,” was the reply; and the cloth having been adjusted by Joseph, the little man stood blinking solemnly while his dingy hair was duly powdered and turned white.“Why, you might stand a bit o’ wilet powder cump’ny nights, Joey,” said the flyman, solemnly removing a little white meal from amongst the ruddy pimples of his face with the corner of the cloth in regular use for wiping the tea and breakfast service.“How am I to stand best vi’let powder out o’ what they allow?” replied Joseph. “Flour’s just as good, and don’t cost me nothing. Now then, look sharp.”As he spoke Joseph pulled open a drawer, from which he drew a drab greatcoat, inside which the little man placed himself, for it was manifestly so much too large that he could hardly be said to have put it on. Then a blue hat-box was pushed off the top of one of the cupboards, out of which a rather ancient hat was extricated, and mounted by the flyman, whose head seemed to have become suddenly wonderfully small; for it was an imposing structure of beaver with very curly brims, apparently kept from coming uncurled by a rigging or series of stays of tarnished silver cord, which ran from the lining up to a Panjandrum-like round button at the top, also of tarnished silver; while a formidable-looking and very spiky black cockade rose something like a patent ventilator from one side.“That’s about the ticket, ain’t it, Joey?” said the little man, shaking his head so as to get the big hat in a good state of balance, and buttoning himself to the chin.“Yes, that will do, old man.”“The ladies want to know if the carriage has come, Joseph,” said Markes, suddenly making her appearance.“Which you may take your solemn oath it ain’t,” said Mr Buddy, “for not one inch will that there horse stir till I wakes him up.”“Then do for goodness’ sake, man, look sharp and fetch it,” exclaimed Markes. “I’m sure it’s past the time!”“Wants five minutes,” said Mr Buddy, nodding his head, and having to dart one hand up to save the hat, which came down over his nose, and would have continued its course to the floor. “I say, your old coachman must have had a head like a bull, to have worn that hat without stuffing. There, I’m off. Soon be back. I say, though,” he whispered, thrusting back his head, and this time holding on by the rigging of the hat, “if it comes to a wedding, the old gals ought to stand some new togs.”Within a quarter of an hour Mr Isaac Buddy, who had entered the private apartments as flyman, and came out the Honourable Misses Dymcox’s coachman, was at the door with the transformed fly. The ladies were duly packed inside, with many tremors as to their dresses, and Joseph, also in a drab greatcoat and a fearful and wonderful hat—the twin-brother of that upon Mr Buddy’s head—mounted to the seat. Then the carriage jingled and jangled off—a dashing brougham and pair, with flashing lights and the windows down, rattling by them, making Buddy’s nervous nag shy to the near side, as if he meant to mount the side walk out of the way.“Rie,” whispered Clotilde, with her ruddy lips touching her sister’s ear.“Yes.”“That funny little officer was inside.”“Yes,” muttered Marie to herself, “and the tall one as well; and you know it. I wonder who they are?”

There was a good deal of excitement in the Hampton Court dovecote, and a general touching up of plumage, for Lady Littletown, who resided at Hampton, so as to be near her dear old friend Lady Anna Maria Morton, who had rooms up a narrow dingy stone staircase in the corner of a cloistered court, in the private apartments at the Palace, had sent out cards for her dinner-party and “at home.”

Lady Littletown was rich, and her position in the society of the neighbourhood was that of queen. A widow for many years, she was always thinking of marriage. Not for herself. She had been through the fire, and found it hot. In fact, she bore her mental scars to her elderly age, for it was a well-known fact that the late Viscount Littletown was the extreme opposite of an angel. He had possessed a temper which grew and blossomed in wild luxuriance, and the probabilities are that he inoculated her ladyship with this peculiarity of spirit, for more than one of her domestics had been known to have declared that they would not live with the “old devil” any longer.

This was very wicked, and the domestic young ladies who had made use of such expressions were much to be censured. But certain it was that the Viscountess was far from perfect, and that she was an inveterate match-maker.

Probably she was of opinion that it would be a pleasant little piece of revenge on human nature to inveigle as many of her sex as possible on to the stormy sea of matrimony. At all events, a good many fashionable marriages resulted from plans laid by her ladyship and her female friends.

Lady Littletown’s friends were many, and included Lady Millet, whom she always addressed as “my dear,” in spite of a pique which had arisen consequent upon the latter marrying her eldest daughter to that wealthyparvenu, Mr Frank Morrison.

Now, according to Lady Littletown’s code, this was not correct. Dear friends as they had been, Lady Millet should have obtained her help, seeing that marriages were hermétier; but she had obstinately gone her own way, invited her to the wedding, and latterly had actually shown that she was scheming something about two gentlemen whom Lady Littletown had marked down for her own—to wit, Lord Henry Moorpark and Mr Elbraham, the great financier.

“But, poor thing! she did not know how to manage Elbraham,” said Lady Littletown to herself; “and as for dear Lord Henry, not if I know it, dearest I think I can manage that, and you may marry pink-and-white wax-doll Gertrude to someone else.”

So her ladyship issued her cards most discriminatingly and well, in her determination to let no rival in her circle interfere with her rights as high-priestess of Hymen to her dearest friends.

Lady Littletown’s invitations on this occasion had included the Honourable Misses Dymcox and their nieces Clotilde and Marie Riversley; and, like Cinderella of the story, Ruth had rather a hard time with her cousins. For, to the astonishment of the latter, a fashionable dressmaker had been down expressly from London, and their excitement over the handsome robes that had arrived knew no bounds.

Their aunts had been a long time in making a move, and divers had been the consultations with Viscountess Littletown and Lady Anna Maria Morton. When at last that step was taken, it was with firmness and judgment combined.

Poor Ruth was divided between longings to go to the dinner-party and admiration of her cousins’ appearance, which, when they stood at last dressed, an hour before the time, parading the shabby bedroom and sweeping the skimpy pieces of Kidderminster carpet here and there with their stiff trains, was dazzling.

Certainly a handsomer pair of women rarely graced a party, and the Honourable Misses Dymcox, after a careful inspection through their square florid gold-edged eyeglasses, uttered sighs of satisfaction.

For themodistehad done her duty well. The dresses were in the latest style, they fitted to perfection, and the girls’ youth and the luxuriance of their hair quite made up for the want of jewellery to enhance their charms.

The Honourable Misses Dymcox were almost as excited as their nieces, for they, too, managed to get dressed an hour before time in their lavender silk straight-up-and-down garments, to which were tacked a few old pieces of very yellow lace, supposed to be an heirloom, but certainly very unattractive, whatever it may have been when young.

A very weak cup of tea had been taken, the elder ladies being in fear and trembling all the while.

“No, no, children, wait!” exclaimed Miss Philippa. “Joseph, put down the cups, and tell Markes to bring here two large pocket-handkerchiefs.”

In due time Markes appeared.

“Now, children,” said Miss Philippa, “stand up. Markes, have the goodness to tie a handkerchief by two of the corners just under the young ladies’ chins. It would be ruin to those dresses if they spilt any of their tea.”

“If you please, aunt, I don’t want any tea,” said Clotilde.

“Neither do I, aunt,” said Marie.

“Hush, children! You must take your tea. It is imperative that you should enter Lady Littletown’s drawing-room calm, self-possessed, and without any sign of being flushed. Markes, tie on those handkerchiefs.”

A red spot burned in the girls’ cheeks as they submitted to the childish indignity, and when they were duly provided with their bibs they were allowed to drink their thin, washy, half-cold tea, exchanging glances the while, for their emancipation had not yet arrived.

“Ruth, ring the bell,” said Miss Philippa, as soon as the tea was finished, and the handkerchiefs, which had been rising and falling in a troubled fashion, had been removed.

“Take away these teacups, Joseph,” said Miss Philippa. “Has the carriage arrived?”

“No, mum. It wants more than half an hour to the time. Buddy hasn’t been in yet.”

“Hush! Silence!” cried Miss Philippa harshly; “and dear me, Joseph, there is a large place on the back of your head not powdered.”

Joseph was heard to mutter something, and then he went forth in his best livery of pale blue with yellow facings and black knee-breeches, to finish his toilet for the night.

“Oh, here you are, then,” exclaimed Joseph, upon reaching his pantry, a peculiarly close, stuffy little room, smelling very strongly of sink, and furnished with two cupboards, a bracket-flap, and what looked like a third detached cupboard, but which was really the turn-up bedstead on which Joseph slept.

“Yes, here I am, Joey,” said a husky-voiced little red-nosed man, with a very blotchy, pimply face, to wit Isaac Buddy, the sole proprietor of a roomy old-fashioned Clarence fly, which was drawn by a very small shambling horse.

This conveyance was Mr Isaac Buddy’s means of livelihood, for it was to let, as his cards said, “by the day, night, or job,” and the hiring of Mr Isaac Buddy’s fly meant not only, as a matter of course, the hire of the horse to draw it, but of Mr Isaac Buddy himself.

For, out of deference to the feelings and aristocratic ideas of certain of the ladies residing in the private apartments, Mr Buddy had become an actor, who played many parts, and though the fiction was perfectly well understood, nobody ever thought of smiling if they saw Mr Isaac Buddy in a hat with a tarnished gold band on Mondays as Lady Anna Maria Morton’s coachman, or in a hat with a silver band on Tuesday, as Miss Tees’, or on Wednesday in a very hard shiny glazed hat without any nap, as Mrs Mongloff’s, or on other days in costumes to suit.

The Clarence fly of course remained the same, but it was always disguised in a more sounding name, and became “the carriage.”

“There ain’t a drop o’ nothing about handy, is there, Joey?” said Mr Buddy, as the thin footman set the tray down upon the bracket-flap.

“No, that there ain’t,” said Joseph, “without you’d like the pot filled up and have a cup o’ tea.”

“G’orn with yer. Did you ever know me wash myself out with warm water? How’s the old gals?”

“Old style,” replied Joseph; “but I say, Buddy, just cast your eye round as they’re getting in: the young ladies have been done up to rights.”

“I wish someone would find the money to get my old fly done up to rights,” said Mr Buddy, who, apparently quite at home, was standing before a shaving-glass hung against the wall, persuading, with Joseph’s brush, a couple of very obstinate little whiskers to stand out straight forward in the direction their owner wished. “’Spose there’ll be a wedding, then, some day.”

“Well, I dunno,” said Joseph.

“Looks like it, if they’re having ’em fresh painted,” said Mr Buddy, who now touched up his very greasy grey hair, making it stick up in points, in unconscious imitation of that of a clown.

“Here, you’d better look sharp, old man,” said Joseph, “they’re all ready and waiting, and time’s getting on.”

“Which we ain’t, Joey, or we should be doing better than we are, eh?”

“Ah, we should,” said Joseph, making a powder-box squeak as he unscrewed the top; and then taking out the puff, he placed a tea-cloth over his shoulders, and gave his hair a few dabs. “Now then, old man. Have the tea-cloth on?”

“Ah, you may as well,” was the reply; and the cloth having been adjusted by Joseph, the little man stood blinking solemnly while his dingy hair was duly powdered and turned white.

“Why, you might stand a bit o’ wilet powder cump’ny nights, Joey,” said the flyman, solemnly removing a little white meal from amongst the ruddy pimples of his face with the corner of the cloth in regular use for wiping the tea and breakfast service.

“How am I to stand best vi’let powder out o’ what they allow?” replied Joseph. “Flour’s just as good, and don’t cost me nothing. Now then, look sharp.”

As he spoke Joseph pulled open a drawer, from which he drew a drab greatcoat, inside which the little man placed himself, for it was manifestly so much too large that he could hardly be said to have put it on. Then a blue hat-box was pushed off the top of one of the cupboards, out of which a rather ancient hat was extricated, and mounted by the flyman, whose head seemed to have become suddenly wonderfully small; for it was an imposing structure of beaver with very curly brims, apparently kept from coming uncurled by a rigging or series of stays of tarnished silver cord, which ran from the lining up to a Panjandrum-like round button at the top, also of tarnished silver; while a formidable-looking and very spiky black cockade rose something like a patent ventilator from one side.

“That’s about the ticket, ain’t it, Joey?” said the little man, shaking his head so as to get the big hat in a good state of balance, and buttoning himself to the chin.

“Yes, that will do, old man.”

“The ladies want to know if the carriage has come, Joseph,” said Markes, suddenly making her appearance.

“Which you may take your solemn oath it ain’t,” said Mr Buddy, “for not one inch will that there horse stir till I wakes him up.”

“Then do for goodness’ sake, man, look sharp and fetch it,” exclaimed Markes. “I’m sure it’s past the time!”

“Wants five minutes,” said Mr Buddy, nodding his head, and having to dart one hand up to save the hat, which came down over his nose, and would have continued its course to the floor. “I say, your old coachman must have had a head like a bull, to have worn that hat without stuffing. There, I’m off. Soon be back. I say, though,” he whispered, thrusting back his head, and this time holding on by the rigging of the hat, “if it comes to a wedding, the old gals ought to stand some new togs.”

Within a quarter of an hour Mr Isaac Buddy, who had entered the private apartments as flyman, and came out the Honourable Misses Dymcox’s coachman, was at the door with the transformed fly. The ladies were duly packed inside, with many tremors as to their dresses, and Joseph, also in a drab greatcoat and a fearful and wonderful hat—the twin-brother of that upon Mr Buddy’s head—mounted to the seat. Then the carriage jingled and jangled off—a dashing brougham and pair, with flashing lights and the windows down, rattling by them, making Buddy’s nervous nag shy to the near side, as if he meant to mount the side walk out of the way.

“Rie,” whispered Clotilde, with her ruddy lips touching her sister’s ear.

“Yes.”

“That funny little officer was inside.”

“Yes,” muttered Marie to herself, “and the tall one as well; and you know it. I wonder who they are?”

Volume One—Chapter Nine.The Slave of Fortune.“I say, look here! You know, Litton, I’m the last man on earth to complain; but you know, damn it, you don’t do your duty by me.”“You don’t give me credit for what I do do, Elbraham, ’pon my soul you don’t!” said the gentleman addressed—a rather fashionably-dressed, stylish young fellow of eight-and-twenty or thirty, whose hair was closely cropped in the latest style, his well-worn clothes scrupulously brushed, and his hands particularly white.As he answered he screwed his glass very tightly into his eyes and gazed at the first speaker—a little, pudgy, high-shouldered man, with a very short neck and a very round head, slightly bald. He was carefully dressed, and a marked point in his attire was the utter absence of everything in the shape of jewellery or ornament. His fat white hands did not display so much as a ring; and though a slight prominence in his vest proclaimed the presence of a watch, it was attached to his person by a guard of the finest black silk. His countenance, however, did not match with the refinement of his attire, for it betrayed high living and sensual indulgence. There was an unpleasant look, too, about his eyes; and if to the least cultured person he had asserted in the most emphatic manner that he was a gentleman, it would not have been believed.But, all the same, he was a man of mark, for this was Samuel Elbraham, the financier, the man who was reputed to have made hundreds of thousands by his connection with the Khedive. Men in society and on ’Change joked about Elbraham, and said that he was a child of Israel, who went down into Egypt and spoiled the Egyptians for everybody’s buying but his own. They called him Potiphar, too, and made it a subject of jest that there was no Potiphar’s wife; but they also said that it did not matter, for these were days when people had arisen who knew not Joseph.Then they laughed, and wondered whether Potiphar of old went in for a theatre, and supplied rare subsidies of hard cash to a manager, and was very fond of taking parties of friends to his private-box to witness the last new extravaganza, after the said friends had dined with him and drunk his champagne.Somehow or other, it was the friends who ate his dinners and drank his champagne that made the most jokes about him; but though these witticisms, real or would be, came round to him at times, they troubled him very little.The conversation above commenced took place in Mr Elbraham’s library, at the riverside residence at Twickenham, the handsomely-furnished place that he, the celebrated converted Israelite, had taken of Lord Washingtower, when a long course of ill-luck on the turf had ended in nearly placing his lordship under the turf, for rumour said that his terrible illness was the result of an attempt to rid himself of his woes by a strong dose of a patent sedative medicine.As Mr Elbraham spoke he hitched up his shoulders, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down in front of the books he never read.“Not give you credit for what you do?” he retorted. “Why, what do you mean?”“Don’t talk to me like that, Elbraham, please. I’m not your servant.”“Hang it all, then, what the devil are you? I pay you regular wages.”“No. Stop, please. I accept a regulated stipend from you, Elbraham.”“Oh, very good! let’s have it like that, then, Mr Rarthur Litton. I took you up, same as I did your bills, when you were so hard hit that you didn’t know where to go for a fiver. You made certain proposals and promises to me, and, I ask you, what have you done?”“More than you give me credit for,” was the reply, rather sullenly made.“You dine with me, you sleep here, and make this place your home whenever you like; and when I look for your help, as I expected, I find that your name is in the papers as the secretary to some confounded Small Fish Protection Society, or as managing director of the Anti-Soap and Soda Laundry Company.”“I’m sure I’ve done my duty by you, Mr Elbraham,” said the young man hotly. “If you want to quarrel and get rid of me, say so.”I don’t want to quarrel, and I don’t mean to quarrel, Mr Rarthur Litton. I made a bargain with you, and I mean to keep you to it. You boasted to me of your high connections and yourentréeinto good society, and undertook to introduce me into some of the best families, so that I might take the position that my wealth enables me to hold. Now, then, please, have I paid up like a man?“Yes; you have,” was the sulky response.“And you’ve taken jolly good care to draw more than was your due. Now, what have you done?”“Well, I taught you to dress like something different to a cad.”“Humph! You did knock off my studs and rings and things.”“And I’ve dined with you till I’ve got you to be fit to eat your meals in a Christianlike manner.”“Look here, Mr Rarthur, sir,” said Elbraham hotly, “is that meant as a sneer?”“No; of course not.”“Oh!”“Then I wanted time to get these things in proper course. Well, come now, I did get you the invitation to Lady Littletown’s.”“Yes; to a beggarly dinner with an old woman at Hampton. Are you going to dine there?”“I? No! I come in afterwards at the ‘at home’.”“Ah! I wanted to talk to you about that affair to-night. You promised without my consent.”“Of course I did. It was a great chance.”“A great chance?”“Of course. You don’t know how big a thing it is to be.”“Bah! stuff! rubbish! A feed given to all the old pensioned tabbies at Hampton Court.”“Don’t you make any mistake, sir. There’ll be some big people there.”“Big! Why, I could buy up dozens of them.”“Their incomes, perhaps, Mr Elbraham, but not their position and theirentréeto good society. Sir, you could not even buy mine.”“But I could your bills,” said the other, with a grin.“And hold them over me, you wretched little cad!” said the young man to himself. Then aloud:“I can assure you, Mr Elbraham, that this dinner will give you the step you wanted. Lady Littletown stands very high in society. The Duchess of Redesby will be there, and Lord Henry Moorpark.”“What! old Apricot—old yellow and ripe!” said Elbraham with a chuckle.“Lord Henry Moorpark is a thorough specimen of an English nobleman, Mr Elbraham,” said the secretary stiffly; “and I consider that if the only thing I had done was to gain you an introduction to him, I should have earned all the wages, as you call them, that you have condescended to pay me.”“Yes, of course—yes, to be sure. There, there, don’t be so hot and peppery, Litton. I’m a bit put out this morning. By the way, would you have the brougham and pair or one horse?”“Pair, decidedly,” said the young man.“You’ll not go with me?”“No; I come afterwards. You shall bring me back if you will.”“Yes; of course. I’ll put some cigars in the pocket. Would you wear the diamond studs?”“No. Not a ring, even. Go in black, and hardly speak a word. Do nothing but look the millionaire. The simpler you dress, my dear sir, the richer they will think you.”“My dear Litton, you’re a treasure—damme, that you are, sir! I say, look here: you don’t happen to want five, or ten, or twenty this morning, do you?”Mr Arthur Litton did happen to want twenty, not five or ten; and a couple of crisp notes were thrust into his hand.“Well, I suppose it’s all right, Litton. I shall look out for you there, then; but it’s a deuce of a way to go.”“It’s worth going to, if it were double the distance, I can assure you. You have money; you want position.”“All right, then; that’s settled. I’m going to the City now. Are you going in?”“No, thanks; I shall sit down and do a little writing.”“Very good; you’ll find the cigars on the shelf.”“What, those cigars?” He spoke with a slight emphasis on the “those.” “No, thanks; they have too strong a flavour of a hundred-pound bill.”“What do you mean?”“Forty pounds in cash, forty in old pale East India sherry, and twenty in weeds.”“You’re an artful one, you are, Litton—’pon my soul you are. Deuced artful,” said Mr Elbraham, with a curious puckering about the corners of his eyes, intended to do duty for a smile. “But that reminds me, Huish’s bill falls due to-morrow—hundred pounds; mustn’t forget that. Here, pull out your case.”He unlocked a little cabinet with a tiny key, and opened two or three drawers full of cigars, each with a paper band round its middle.“Which is it to be?”The young man smiled, and filled his case, selecting one as well for present smoking. The cabinet was reclosed; there was an interchange of nods; Elbraham went off to the station; Litton sat down and wrote a letter, after which he made a little study of a time-table, hurried off, and, catching a train, was soon after on his way to Hampton, where he was just in time to catch Lady Littletown entering her carriage for a drive.“Ah,mon cherArthur!” she exclaimed; “you nearly missed me. There, come in, and I’ll take you part of your way back.”Litton mounted beside her ladyship, and took his seat as invited.“Drive slowly,” cried her ladyship; and as the handsome barouche, with its well-appointed pair of bays, went gaily along the pleasant riverside road towards the Palace, Lady Littletown turned her sharp dark eyes searchingly upon her companion.She was one of those elderly ladies upon whom the effect of time seems to be that of making them sharper and possessed of a keener interest in worldly matters, and one in whose aquiline features there was ample promise of her proving to be a most implacable enemy if offended. Too cautious to allow her heart to be stirred by instincts of an amatory nature, she had found consolation in looking after the matrimonial business of others; and hence her interest in her companion of the hour.“Well?” she said sharply; “what news?”“I’ve fixed him for certain. He would have backed out, but for a bit of a chat this morning.”“Then the nasty, scaly, slippery gold-fish will really come?”“Yes.”“Not disappoint me as he did Judy Millet?”“You may depend upon him this time.”“Good boy, good boy. Now, look here, Arthur: you are behaving very well over this, and if the affair comes off as I wish, and you behave very nicely, I’ll see next what I can do by way of finding you a wife with a snug fortune; only you must not be too particular about her looks.”“I leave myself in your ladyship’s hands.”“There, now you may get down. I’m going to make two or three calls in the Palace.”“One moment, Lady Littletown,” said Litton eagerly; “I’m just starting a society for the preservation of ancient trees and old—”“Now,mon cher, that will do,” said the old lady decidedly. “You know I never give money or—”“I only ask for your name as a patroness or supporter.”“And you will not have it; so now be a good boy, and go. I’ve got your name down upon my tablets, Arthur, so wait your time. Stop!”The horses were checked; the footman descended and opened the door, rattling the steps loudly; Arthur Litton leaped out, raised his hat; Lady Littletown kissed the tips of her gloved fingers to him, and the carriage passed on.“I wonder whether she will,” said the young man, as he walked towards the station. “However, we shall see.”

“I say, look here! You know, Litton, I’m the last man on earth to complain; but you know, damn it, you don’t do your duty by me.”

“You don’t give me credit for what I do do, Elbraham, ’pon my soul you don’t!” said the gentleman addressed—a rather fashionably-dressed, stylish young fellow of eight-and-twenty or thirty, whose hair was closely cropped in the latest style, his well-worn clothes scrupulously brushed, and his hands particularly white.

As he answered he screwed his glass very tightly into his eyes and gazed at the first speaker—a little, pudgy, high-shouldered man, with a very short neck and a very round head, slightly bald. He was carefully dressed, and a marked point in his attire was the utter absence of everything in the shape of jewellery or ornament. His fat white hands did not display so much as a ring; and though a slight prominence in his vest proclaimed the presence of a watch, it was attached to his person by a guard of the finest black silk. His countenance, however, did not match with the refinement of his attire, for it betrayed high living and sensual indulgence. There was an unpleasant look, too, about his eyes; and if to the least cultured person he had asserted in the most emphatic manner that he was a gentleman, it would not have been believed.

But, all the same, he was a man of mark, for this was Samuel Elbraham, the financier, the man who was reputed to have made hundreds of thousands by his connection with the Khedive. Men in society and on ’Change joked about Elbraham, and said that he was a child of Israel, who went down into Egypt and spoiled the Egyptians for everybody’s buying but his own. They called him Potiphar, too, and made it a subject of jest that there was no Potiphar’s wife; but they also said that it did not matter, for these were days when people had arisen who knew not Joseph.

Then they laughed, and wondered whether Potiphar of old went in for a theatre, and supplied rare subsidies of hard cash to a manager, and was very fond of taking parties of friends to his private-box to witness the last new extravaganza, after the said friends had dined with him and drunk his champagne.

Somehow or other, it was the friends who ate his dinners and drank his champagne that made the most jokes about him; but though these witticisms, real or would be, came round to him at times, they troubled him very little.

The conversation above commenced took place in Mr Elbraham’s library, at the riverside residence at Twickenham, the handsomely-furnished place that he, the celebrated converted Israelite, had taken of Lord Washingtower, when a long course of ill-luck on the turf had ended in nearly placing his lordship under the turf, for rumour said that his terrible illness was the result of an attempt to rid himself of his woes by a strong dose of a patent sedative medicine.

As Mr Elbraham spoke he hitched up his shoulders, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down in front of the books he never read.

“Not give you credit for what you do?” he retorted. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Elbraham, please. I’m not your servant.”

“Hang it all, then, what the devil are you? I pay you regular wages.”

“No. Stop, please. I accept a regulated stipend from you, Elbraham.”

“Oh, very good! let’s have it like that, then, Mr Rarthur Litton. I took you up, same as I did your bills, when you were so hard hit that you didn’t know where to go for a fiver. You made certain proposals and promises to me, and, I ask you, what have you done?”

“More than you give me credit for,” was the reply, rather sullenly made.

“You dine with me, you sleep here, and make this place your home whenever you like; and when I look for your help, as I expected, I find that your name is in the papers as the secretary to some confounded Small Fish Protection Society, or as managing director of the Anti-Soap and Soda Laundry Company.”

“I’m sure I’ve done my duty by you, Mr Elbraham,” said the young man hotly. “If you want to quarrel and get rid of me, say so.”

I don’t want to quarrel, and I don’t mean to quarrel, Mr Rarthur Litton. I made a bargain with you, and I mean to keep you to it. You boasted to me of your high connections and yourentréeinto good society, and undertook to introduce me into some of the best families, so that I might take the position that my wealth enables me to hold. Now, then, please, have I paid up like a man?

“Yes; you have,” was the sulky response.

“And you’ve taken jolly good care to draw more than was your due. Now, what have you done?”

“Well, I taught you to dress like something different to a cad.”

“Humph! You did knock off my studs and rings and things.”

“And I’ve dined with you till I’ve got you to be fit to eat your meals in a Christianlike manner.”

“Look here, Mr Rarthur, sir,” said Elbraham hotly, “is that meant as a sneer?”

“No; of course not.”

“Oh!”

“Then I wanted time to get these things in proper course. Well, come now, I did get you the invitation to Lady Littletown’s.”

“Yes; to a beggarly dinner with an old woman at Hampton. Are you going to dine there?”

“I? No! I come in afterwards at the ‘at home’.”

“Ah! I wanted to talk to you about that affair to-night. You promised without my consent.”

“Of course I did. It was a great chance.”

“A great chance?”

“Of course. You don’t know how big a thing it is to be.”

“Bah! stuff! rubbish! A feed given to all the old pensioned tabbies at Hampton Court.”

“Don’t you make any mistake, sir. There’ll be some big people there.”

“Big! Why, I could buy up dozens of them.”

“Their incomes, perhaps, Mr Elbraham, but not their position and theirentréeto good society. Sir, you could not even buy mine.”

“But I could your bills,” said the other, with a grin.

“And hold them over me, you wretched little cad!” said the young man to himself. Then aloud:

“I can assure you, Mr Elbraham, that this dinner will give you the step you wanted. Lady Littletown stands very high in society. The Duchess of Redesby will be there, and Lord Henry Moorpark.”

“What! old Apricot—old yellow and ripe!” said Elbraham with a chuckle.

“Lord Henry Moorpark is a thorough specimen of an English nobleman, Mr Elbraham,” said the secretary stiffly; “and I consider that if the only thing I had done was to gain you an introduction to him, I should have earned all the wages, as you call them, that you have condescended to pay me.”

“Yes, of course—yes, to be sure. There, there, don’t be so hot and peppery, Litton. I’m a bit put out this morning. By the way, would you have the brougham and pair or one horse?”

“Pair, decidedly,” said the young man.

“You’ll not go with me?”

“No; I come afterwards. You shall bring me back if you will.”

“Yes; of course. I’ll put some cigars in the pocket. Would you wear the diamond studs?”

“No. Not a ring, even. Go in black, and hardly speak a word. Do nothing but look the millionaire. The simpler you dress, my dear sir, the richer they will think you.”

“My dear Litton, you’re a treasure—damme, that you are, sir! I say, look here: you don’t happen to want five, or ten, or twenty this morning, do you?”

Mr Arthur Litton did happen to want twenty, not five or ten; and a couple of crisp notes were thrust into his hand.

“Well, I suppose it’s all right, Litton. I shall look out for you there, then; but it’s a deuce of a way to go.”

“It’s worth going to, if it were double the distance, I can assure you. You have money; you want position.”

“All right, then; that’s settled. I’m going to the City now. Are you going in?”

“No, thanks; I shall sit down and do a little writing.”

“Very good; you’ll find the cigars on the shelf.”

“What, those cigars?” He spoke with a slight emphasis on the “those.” “No, thanks; they have too strong a flavour of a hundred-pound bill.”

“What do you mean?”

“Forty pounds in cash, forty in old pale East India sherry, and twenty in weeds.”

“You’re an artful one, you are, Litton—’pon my soul you are. Deuced artful,” said Mr Elbraham, with a curious puckering about the corners of his eyes, intended to do duty for a smile. “But that reminds me, Huish’s bill falls due to-morrow—hundred pounds; mustn’t forget that. Here, pull out your case.”

He unlocked a little cabinet with a tiny key, and opened two or three drawers full of cigars, each with a paper band round its middle.

“Which is it to be?”

The young man smiled, and filled his case, selecting one as well for present smoking. The cabinet was reclosed; there was an interchange of nods; Elbraham went off to the station; Litton sat down and wrote a letter, after which he made a little study of a time-table, hurried off, and, catching a train, was soon after on his way to Hampton, where he was just in time to catch Lady Littletown entering her carriage for a drive.

“Ah,mon cherArthur!” she exclaimed; “you nearly missed me. There, come in, and I’ll take you part of your way back.”

Litton mounted beside her ladyship, and took his seat as invited.

“Drive slowly,” cried her ladyship; and as the handsome barouche, with its well-appointed pair of bays, went gaily along the pleasant riverside road towards the Palace, Lady Littletown turned her sharp dark eyes searchingly upon her companion.

She was one of those elderly ladies upon whom the effect of time seems to be that of making them sharper and possessed of a keener interest in worldly matters, and one in whose aquiline features there was ample promise of her proving to be a most implacable enemy if offended. Too cautious to allow her heart to be stirred by instincts of an amatory nature, she had found consolation in looking after the matrimonial business of others; and hence her interest in her companion of the hour.

“Well?” she said sharply; “what news?”

“I’ve fixed him for certain. He would have backed out, but for a bit of a chat this morning.”

“Then the nasty, scaly, slippery gold-fish will really come?”

“Yes.”

“Not disappoint me as he did Judy Millet?”

“You may depend upon him this time.”

“Good boy, good boy. Now, look here, Arthur: you are behaving very well over this, and if the affair comes off as I wish, and you behave very nicely, I’ll see next what I can do by way of finding you a wife with a snug fortune; only you must not be too particular about her looks.”

“I leave myself in your ladyship’s hands.”

“There, now you may get down. I’m going to make two or three calls in the Palace.”

“One moment, Lady Littletown,” said Litton eagerly; “I’m just starting a society for the preservation of ancient trees and old—”

“Now,mon cher, that will do,” said the old lady decidedly. “You know I never give money or—”

“I only ask for your name as a patroness or supporter.”

“And you will not have it; so now be a good boy, and go. I’ve got your name down upon my tablets, Arthur, so wait your time. Stop!”

The horses were checked; the footman descended and opened the door, rattling the steps loudly; Arthur Litton leaped out, raised his hat; Lady Littletown kissed the tips of her gloved fingers to him, and the carriage passed on.

“I wonder whether she will,” said the young man, as he walked towards the station. “However, we shall see.”

Volume One—Chapter Ten.A Dinner for an End.“My income, my dears, just suffices for my wants,” said Lady Littletown; “and I have never anything to spare for charities and that sort of thing.”So said her ladyship to her aristocratic friends living in pinched circumstances in the private apartments; and it may or may not have been intended for a hint not to try and borrow money.“One would like to be charitable and to give largely, but what with one’s household expenses and the horses and carriages, and my month in town in the height of the season, I really sometimes find myself obliged to ask his late lordship’s agent for a few hundreds in advance of the time when the rents are due. But then, you see, one owes so much to one’s position.”The Honourable Misses Dymcox said one certainly did; Lady Anna Maria Morton, who had been longing for a new silk evening dress for three years, said the same; and, thoroughly feeling it to be a fact, Lady Littletown tried to pay honourably what she owed to society by rigidly living up to the last penny of her fairly handsome income in the pleasant mansion near Hampton Court.She gave about four dinner-parties in the course of the year, and afterwards received.This was one of her special parties for a special purpose, and when the last of her fifteen guests had arrived and been looked at through her great gold eyeglass held with the left hand, while the tips of the fingers of the right were given in assurance of her being “so delighted,” her ladyship proceeded to marshal her forces for the procession to the dining-room.“Here’s what it is to be a lone widow!” she exclaimed playfully. “Moorpark, might I ask you to take the foot of the table?—Miss Marie Riversley.”Lord Henry had murmured to himself a good deal about being dragged down all the way from Saint James’s Square to Hampton just at a time when his heart told him that he ought to be married, and though terribly dissatisfied with the success which had attended his attentions to Gertrude Millet, his brain was full of her bright, refined features. He, however, now advanced, quite the handsome, stately gentleman, with a pleasant, benevolent look upon his thin face, and at once entered into conversation with the dark beauty to whom he had been introduced.“Mr Elbraham,” continued Lady Littletown, in a confidential whisper, as she inspected him as if he were for sale, “would you oblige me?—Miss Dymcox’s niece.”The reputed millionaire started, and a scowl began to dawn in his face, for the name Dymcox brought up the faces of the honourable sisters; but as he was led to dark, glowing, southern-faced Clotilde, the scowl reached no farther than its dawn, and the ruddy sun of his coarse round face rose out of the fog, and beamed its satisfaction upon the handsome girl.“Oh, I say, Glen, what a shame!” whispered little Dick Millet to his chosen companion, who, consequent upon his being an officer and the friend of dear Lady Millet’s son, had been invited, like his major, to the feast.Dick began grinding his white teeth in the corner, where he had been making eyes at Clotilde and Marie in turn, whichever looked in his direction; and for the moment he seemed as if he were going to tear either his curly hair or the dainty exotic from his button-hole.“Hush! be quiet,” was the reply.“Hurrah! viva!” whispered Dick again. “The Black Douglas is being tacked on to that old scrag.”“That old scrag” was the Honourable Philippa Dymcox, and “the Black Douglas” Major Edward Malpas, who, probably from disappointment in connection with a late marriage, was contemplatively watching Clotilde; but his courtesy was perfect as he bent toward the Honourable Philippa.“Now there’s that other old she-dragon, Glen,” whispered Dick. “Oh, I say, it’s too bad of the old woman! I won’t, that I won’t. I didn’t come here to be treated so, and if she says I’m to march in that dreadful skeleton I’ll be taken ill and make a bolt of it. I say, Marcus,” he continued, “my nose is going to bleed,” and as he spoke he took out his delicately-scented pocket-handkerchief.“Captain Glen, will you take in the Honourable Isabella Dymcox?” said Lady Littletown, showing just a trifle of gold setting as she smiled.Marcus Glen told the truth when he said he would be most happy, for he recognised in the lady of the old-fashioned lavender poplin one of the companions of Clotilde and Marie in their walk in the Palace gardens.Dick Millet thrust his scented cambric back into the pocket of his silk-lined coat, and after a glance at the ladies, either of whom he longed to take in to dinner, he had a look round the room to see which would be the most eligible dinner-table companion of those that were left; but to his disgust he began to find that he was being left entirely in the cold, for the hostess, with all the skill of one who has well made her plans beforehand, was rapidly finishing her arrangements.“It’s enough to make any man’s nose bleed, and compel him to bolt,” muttered the handsome little fellow, who had got himself up in the most irreproachable manner, having even been to town that afternoon on purpose to place himself in a hairdresser’s hands.“Hang it all! am I nobody?”It was hard work getting hold of the ends, but Dick managed to give a vicious twist to his delicate floss silk moustache, and he was contemplating a fresh appeal to his scented handkerchief and making the threatened bolt, as he termed it, with the cambric held to his nose, when Lady Littletown approached.“Now, my dearest Richard,” she exclaimed, and her many years, the speck of gold near one top tooth, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the suggestions of untruthfulness about her hair, all seemed to be softened down and seen through an eyeglass tintedà la rose, “I’m a very covetous person, and I always make a point, like the wicked old widow I am, of reserving the mostbeau chevalierfor myself. Now you have to take me in, we two last; and you’ll be obliged to help me out of my difficulties if there is anything to carve.”Dick coloured a little with pride:“And we, too, must have a pleasant chat about mamma and the dear girls; and, oh, I am so glad you took to the army and are quartered down here. It will be so pleasant for me; but I shall, for mamma’s sake, watch all your doings. I am not going to have you turn out arouélike your wicked Major. Come along.”So Dick took in her ladyship, feeling taller, and actually seeming to swell a little, as he found himself seated at his hostess’s right hand. Then, the places being found, every guest’s name neatly written on a porcelainménu, Lord Henry, at the foot of the table, closed his eyes, bent forward, and in a low, reverent voice said grace, to which Mr Elbraham added a very audible “Amen!” and the dinner commenced.Of course it was all by way of paying her dues to society that things were done so well, for certainly the dinner was as exquisite as the table itself, with its decorations of plate and glass, amidst which, half hidden in almost a redundancy of exotic flowers, was a thoroughly choice dessert. Richard Millet, who rather trembled in the midst of his pride, and had twice in imagination seen wings of chicken, as he dismembered a bird, flying in a cloud of brown sauce into people’s laps, was spared all trouble, for the viands were servedà la Russe, and were perfect of their kind.“I’m deuced glad I came,” thought Mr Elbraham, as the choice, well-iced wines reached him in turn, and after several rather awkward attempts at conversation with Clotilde he found himself getting on much better. For his companion, in spite of her delight at being present at such a party, and having been affectionately kissed by Lady Littletown, and called “My dearest child,” was disappointed because Captain Glen had not spoken to her, neither had he been chosen to take her in to dinner. But, then, he had looked at her—looked at her several times. He admired her. There was no doubt about that. His looks said so plainly; and, for her part, there was something very pleasant to her eyes in the well-built, manly fellow, with his easy, indifferent ways and his gentlemanly, chivalrous attention to her aunt; who, poor soul! was nervous, and fluttered with the unusual excitement.“I don’t like him; he’s a dreadful creature,” said Clotilde to herself, as her companion grew more at home, and, after a glass or two of a very choice champagne of unusual potency, began to talk to her in a fashion somewhat suggestive of his style at a private supper at the Rantan or at Latellier’s, and ladies who were in the habit of performing show parts in public were present.“I’m deuced glad I came. She’s a devilish handsome girl, and I like her,” thought Mr Elbraham, and during his next remark, of course inadvertently, his coat-sleeve touched Clotilde’s firm, white, well-rounded arm.“And so you lead a very quiet, very retired life,” said Lord Henry to Marie, as, scarcely partaking of anything himself, he chivalrously devoted his attention to his companion, enjoying her evident delight and hearty young appetite, which as a rule was none too well satisfied.She, too, had been, in the midst of her delight in her charming dress, the reflection of her handsome self in Lady Littletown’s mirror, that lady’s affectionate greeting, and the brilliant dinner-table, rather disappointed that she had not been taken in by Captain Glen, or that dark handsome Major, or even by the funny pretty little page style of officer; but by degrees that wore off, and she listened with real pleasure to Lord Henry’s words.He was quite an elderly gentleman, but, then, he was a nobleman, with a truer feeling of admiration for the beautiful woman he had been called upon to escort. There was something delightfully new, too, in her ways. She was very different to the society young ladies he was accustomed to meet, all gush and strained style of conversation. Marie was as if fresh from a convent, and he was even amused with some of her naïve remarks.The Honourable Misses Dymcox had given their nieces the most stringent instructions upon etiquette; above all, they were not to taste wine; but while Marie was answering a remark made by Lord Henry, one of the servants filled that faintly prismatic glass, like half a soap-bubble in its beauty, and from old habit Marie lifted the drinking vessel by her hand, tasted, found the clear sparkling wine delicious, and had sipped again and again.The effect was trifling, but it did remove some of her diffidence, and she found herself chatting willingly enough to her cavalier.“Oh yes; a very, very retired life. We spend most of our time in the schoolroom, and when we take walks it is in the gardens or in the park with our aunts, at times when none of the London people are down.”“Have you been on the Continent?”“Oh no,” replied Marie, “not since Mr Montaigne brought us over to the Palace?”“May I ask who is Mr Montaigne?”“He was a very old friend of poor mamma’s.”“Poor mamma?” said Lord Henry inquiringly.“Oh yes; poor mamma and papa died when we were very little girls, and we have been with our aunts ever since.”Lord Henry sipped his wine, gazed sidewise at his beautiful companion, and sighed. He thought of Gertrude Millet, and let his eye rest from time to time upon her brother, vainly trying to trace a resemblance, and also that though Lady Millet had undoubtedly seemed pleased by his advances, Gertrude had been chilling, and Marie Dymcox was not.Possibly, too, as the old man sighed, he thought that he had no time to lose now that he had been thinking that he would marry, and he sighed again as if in regret of something he had lost, something he might have had, but had been too careless or indifferent to win.A close observer would have noticed that there were tears in his eyes just then. Lady Littletown was a close observer, and by the aid of her eyeglass she did notice it, and secretly hugged herself.“But you go out a good deal—to parties, to concerts, or balls?”“Oh no!” laughed Marie, and her white teeth showed beneath her coral lips, while Major Malpas, who was nearly opposite, looked at her intently from beneath his heavy eyelids, and softly stroked his moustache. “I was never at a party before.”“And do you like it?” said Lord Henry, beaming upon her, as, with a secret kind of satisfaction, he quietly admired the animated countenance beside him.“Oh yes, yes,” she said softly. “I can’t help liking it very much.”“Well,” said Lord Henry, smiling in quite a pleased manner, “why should you help liking it?”“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully; “only we are always so quiet at the Palace, and aunts have often said that too much gaiety was bad.”“Too much, my dear child. Yes, certainly; but a little is very pleasurable, and innocent, and good.”Marie’s eyes, as they met his, said that they were delighted to hear it, and as she sat and let the quiet, chivalrous old gentleman draw her out, no one would have credited her with being one of the heroines of some of the schoolroom scenes in which poor little Ruth had been the victim.Lord Henry Moorpark grew more and more thoughtful as he chatted on with his companion. There was something inexpressibly refreshing in Marie’s words and ways, and he, too, congratulated himself upon the dinner-party, which he had looked upon as a nuisance, and to which he had come solely out of respect for Lady Littletown, turning out so pleasurable and fresh.He was not the only elderly guest who thoroughly enjoyed the dinner, for the Honourable Isabella Dymcox partook of her share of the courses in a state of, for her, unwonted flutter. In accordance with the plotting and planning that had been at work in the Palace coterie, she had come fully prepared to give a furtive observation to what was going on with Clotilde and Marie, the children who, with her sister, she was fain to confess had arrived at a marriageable age; but from the moment she had laid her tremulous hand upon Marcus Glen’s arm, and had been led by him to her seat, her nieces had been forgotten.Certainly Glen had several times over exchanged glances with Clotilde, and taken notice of the fact that Elbraham was growing more and more familiar and loud; but all the same he had found ample time to devote himself with a good deal of assiduity to Miss Isabella, making her at first surprised and cold, soon after pleased and full of agreeable thoughts, and at last thoroughly gratified at the way in which her companion attended to her lightest wishes and conversed upon society at Hampton Court.“I—I won’t be so foolish as so think he means anything,” said Miss Isabella to herself; “for he is quite young and manly-looking, almost handsome, while I am getting very old indeed, and all hope ofthatis past; but he is very nice and gentlemanly, and so very different to officers as a rule. I must say I like him very much.”She showed, too, that she did as soon as the cold formal crust had been melted away, and Marcus was not slow to realise the fact.He was perfectly honest, for he knew that the Honourable Isabella was the aunt of Clotilde, and being as impressionable as most young men of his age, he had felt to some extent the power of that lady’s eyes. Under the circumstances, as he had been thrown with the relative, he had thought it fair campaigning to make friends with her, and this he had done to such an extent that the attentions she had received, and a glass or two of wine, made the lady very communicative, and far happier than her sister, who found the dinner much less to her taste.For Major Malpas was not best pleased at having to take her in, and he had confined himself to the most frigid civilities. He was perfectly gentlemanly, but as the dinner wore on he grew more polite, and by consequence the Honourable Philippa became icy in her manner, till at last she seemed to be frozen stiff.“Humph!” he thought, “better have gone and sat with Renée Morrison. Yes,” he continued, staring hard at Dick, “your sister, my half-fledged cockerel.”The other guests merely formed chorus to the principal singers in the little social opera, but they were wonderfully led by Lady Littletown, whose tongue formed her conductor’s baton, by which she swayed them with a practised ease.She had a word in season for everyone where it was needful to keep up the balance of the parts, and wonderfully skilful was her way. She gave a great deal of her time to everybody, but little Richard Millet never missed any of her attentions. In a very short time she had quite won his confidence, and knew that Major Malpas was a regular plunger, that Captain Glen was the dearest and best fellow in the world, that he hadn’t any more vice in him than a child, that they were the dearest of friends, and that Marcus had only about two hundred and fifty a year besides his pay.“I begin to like Hampton Court, Lady Littletown,” said the boy warmly, for the champagne had been frequent.“I’m sure you’ll love the place when you begin to know us better. Of course you will come to all my ‘at homes?’”“That I will,” exclaimed the delighted youth. “By the way, Lady Littletown, what lovely girls those Miss Dymcoxes are!”“Yes, are they not?” replied Lady Littletown; “but oh, fie, fie, fie! This will not do. I will not listen to a single word. I’m not going to lend myself to any match-making. What would Lady Millet say?”“But, really, Lady Littletown—”“Oh dear me, no; I will not listen. I know too well, sir, what you officers are—so wicked and reckless, and given to breaking ladies’ hearts. I think I shall absolutely forbid you even approaching them when you come up to the drawing-room. I would not for the world be the means of causing any heart diseases amongst my guests.”“But surely, Lady Littletown, a fellow may admire at a distance?”“Oh dear no,” said her ladyship playfully; “I think not. I’m afraid you are a very bad, dangerous man, and I shall have to withdraw my invitation.”Dick Millet pleaded; the invitation was not withdrawn; and the little fellow was better satisfied with himself than he had felt for months.“It’s an uncommonly well got-up affair, after all,” he thought; “but I wish the ladies would go now. I want to get the wine over, and go up to the drawing-room.”To the little fellow’s satisfaction the long-drawn-out repast did come to an end, that cleverly-managed signal was given which acts electrically at a certain stage of a dinner; the ladies rose, and in place of one of the younger gentlemen opening the door, Lord Henry performed that duty, a genial but half-sad smile playing about his thin, closely-shaven lips, as Marie looked up in his face in passing. Then the last lady went out, and the gentlemen closed up to their coffee and wine.Somehow or other, Marcus Glen found himself now near Lord Henry, and while a knot of listeners heard Mr Elbraham’s opinion upon the Eastern Question, especially with regard to the new Sultan and the position of Egypt, the young officer entered into a quiet discussion upon the history of the old Palace, and was surprised and pleased to find how much his companion knew of the past days of the old red-brick building, but above all at the genial, winning manner the old gentleman possessed.Acting the part of host now for the time being, he soon proposed that they should adjourn, for there was a strange longing within him to be within sight and hearing of Marie.“Ah, to be sure,” said Elbraham; “if I wanted to invest, gentlemen, I should say Egyptian bonds. By all means, let’s join the ladies.”He, too, had come to the conclusion that he should like “another talk to that girl.” But the drawing-room was filling fast, and there were no moretête-à-têtes. Arthur Litton arrived soon after ten, and his chief approached him to shake hands, as if they had not met for some time.“Well?” said Litton.“Stunning, sir, stunning! ’Bove par.”“Oh!”“Deuced good dinner, Litton, ’pon my soul. People not half so snobbish as I expected to find them. I say, look here. What do you think of that piece of goods?”He indicated Clotilde, about whom Dick Millet was now hovering; but who had turned from him to listen to a remark just made by Glen.“Hum, ha!” said Litton critically. “Oh, that’s one of the Dymcox girls, isn’t it?”“I didn’t ask you anything about who she is; I said what do you think of her?”“Not bad-looking, I should say,” replied Litton coolly; “but nothing particular.”“Oh, you be blowed!” said the great financier, and he screwed his short thick neck down a little lower into his chest, and turned away.“Well, Lady Littletown, how do matters make themselves?” said Litton quietly, when, after a time, her ladyship passed his way.“Oh,Arturo, mio caro!” said her ladyship, tickling the centre stud in his shirt-front with the end of her closed fan. “Maravigliosamente. My dear boy, it is wonderful. You shall have a rich wife, Arthur, if you are good, and this affair isun fait accompli.”“Why didn’t you try a bit of German, too?” muttered Litton, as her ladyship passed on. “Here, I must get on with some of these officers; perhaps they’d take me to their quarters, and give me a smoke and an S. and B. Hang this tea! I forgot, though, I promised Potiphar to go home with him. Hang the beast! but it will save me a fare.”Everyone was delighted. Lady Littletown was charmed over and over again, but when at last an obsequious footman, who seemed to be shod with velvet, whispered to the Honourable Philippa that her carriage had arrived, that lady, who felt very tired and sleepy, said mentally, “Thank goodness!”But it was half an hour later before she made a move, and the drawing-rooms were growing unbearably hot with the chattering, buzzing crowd.Suddenly there was silence, as the Honourable Misses Dymcox rose to go.Lady Littletown was so sorry the evening had been so short, but she managed to exchange meaning looks.“I think, yes,” she whispered; and the Honourable Philippa nodded and tightened her lips.“Good-night, my sweet darling,” said Lady Littletown, kissing Clotilde affectionately. “Mind you come and see me soon. Good-night, dearest Marie. How well you look to-night, child!”Then her ladyship saw through her square eyeglass, with the broad chased gold rim, Elbraham, podgy, stout and puffy, take Clotilde down to the carriage, followed by Lord Henry with Marie, and Captain Glen with the Honourable Isabella, and little Richard Millet with the Honourable Philippa; everyone but Joseph being perfectly ignorant of the fact that Mr Buddy had been imbibing largely of the stimulants plentifully handed round to the various servants outside.But the ladies were duly packed inside, the jangling door was banged to, and Joseph, having mounted to the box beside Mr Buddy, perhaps only out of regard for his own safety, assumed the reins of government himself, and steered the fly to the Palace doors.“Good-night, children,” said the Honourable Misses Dymcox in duet. “Take care of your dresses whatever you do!”“Oh, Rie!” cried Clotilde, as soon as they were in their bedroom.“Oh, Clo!” cried Marie. Then, crossing to the farther door to the cupboard in which Ruth’s bed was squeezed—“’Sleep, Ruthy?”“No, Marie,” was the reply, as a troubled, pale face was lifted from the pillow.“Why, I declare she has been crying!” said Clotilde. “There, jump up and help us to undress, Cindy, and we’ll tell you all about the prince and the ball. You weren’t there, were you?”No; Cinderella, otherwise Ruth Allerton, had not been there; but she had been crying bitterly, for she had had a fright.

“My income, my dears, just suffices for my wants,” said Lady Littletown; “and I have never anything to spare for charities and that sort of thing.”

So said her ladyship to her aristocratic friends living in pinched circumstances in the private apartments; and it may or may not have been intended for a hint not to try and borrow money.

“One would like to be charitable and to give largely, but what with one’s household expenses and the horses and carriages, and my month in town in the height of the season, I really sometimes find myself obliged to ask his late lordship’s agent for a few hundreds in advance of the time when the rents are due. But then, you see, one owes so much to one’s position.”

The Honourable Misses Dymcox said one certainly did; Lady Anna Maria Morton, who had been longing for a new silk evening dress for three years, said the same; and, thoroughly feeling it to be a fact, Lady Littletown tried to pay honourably what she owed to society by rigidly living up to the last penny of her fairly handsome income in the pleasant mansion near Hampton Court.

She gave about four dinner-parties in the course of the year, and afterwards received.

This was one of her special parties for a special purpose, and when the last of her fifteen guests had arrived and been looked at through her great gold eyeglass held with the left hand, while the tips of the fingers of the right were given in assurance of her being “so delighted,” her ladyship proceeded to marshal her forces for the procession to the dining-room.

“Here’s what it is to be a lone widow!” she exclaimed playfully. “Moorpark, might I ask you to take the foot of the table?—Miss Marie Riversley.”

Lord Henry had murmured to himself a good deal about being dragged down all the way from Saint James’s Square to Hampton just at a time when his heart told him that he ought to be married, and though terribly dissatisfied with the success which had attended his attentions to Gertrude Millet, his brain was full of her bright, refined features. He, however, now advanced, quite the handsome, stately gentleman, with a pleasant, benevolent look upon his thin face, and at once entered into conversation with the dark beauty to whom he had been introduced.

“Mr Elbraham,” continued Lady Littletown, in a confidential whisper, as she inspected him as if he were for sale, “would you oblige me?—Miss Dymcox’s niece.”

The reputed millionaire started, and a scowl began to dawn in his face, for the name Dymcox brought up the faces of the honourable sisters; but as he was led to dark, glowing, southern-faced Clotilde, the scowl reached no farther than its dawn, and the ruddy sun of his coarse round face rose out of the fog, and beamed its satisfaction upon the handsome girl.

“Oh, I say, Glen, what a shame!” whispered little Dick Millet to his chosen companion, who, consequent upon his being an officer and the friend of dear Lady Millet’s son, had been invited, like his major, to the feast.

Dick began grinding his white teeth in the corner, where he had been making eyes at Clotilde and Marie in turn, whichever looked in his direction; and for the moment he seemed as if he were going to tear either his curly hair or the dainty exotic from his button-hole.

“Hush! be quiet,” was the reply.

“Hurrah! viva!” whispered Dick again. “The Black Douglas is being tacked on to that old scrag.”

“That old scrag” was the Honourable Philippa Dymcox, and “the Black Douglas” Major Edward Malpas, who, probably from disappointment in connection with a late marriage, was contemplatively watching Clotilde; but his courtesy was perfect as he bent toward the Honourable Philippa.

“Now there’s that other old she-dragon, Glen,” whispered Dick. “Oh, I say, it’s too bad of the old woman! I won’t, that I won’t. I didn’t come here to be treated so, and if she says I’m to march in that dreadful skeleton I’ll be taken ill and make a bolt of it. I say, Marcus,” he continued, “my nose is going to bleed,” and as he spoke he took out his delicately-scented pocket-handkerchief.

“Captain Glen, will you take in the Honourable Isabella Dymcox?” said Lady Littletown, showing just a trifle of gold setting as she smiled.

Marcus Glen told the truth when he said he would be most happy, for he recognised in the lady of the old-fashioned lavender poplin one of the companions of Clotilde and Marie in their walk in the Palace gardens.

Dick Millet thrust his scented cambric back into the pocket of his silk-lined coat, and after a glance at the ladies, either of whom he longed to take in to dinner, he had a look round the room to see which would be the most eligible dinner-table companion of those that were left; but to his disgust he began to find that he was being left entirely in the cold, for the hostess, with all the skill of one who has well made her plans beforehand, was rapidly finishing her arrangements.

“It’s enough to make any man’s nose bleed, and compel him to bolt,” muttered the handsome little fellow, who had got himself up in the most irreproachable manner, having even been to town that afternoon on purpose to place himself in a hairdresser’s hands.

“Hang it all! am I nobody?”

It was hard work getting hold of the ends, but Dick managed to give a vicious twist to his delicate floss silk moustache, and he was contemplating a fresh appeal to his scented handkerchief and making the threatened bolt, as he termed it, with the cambric held to his nose, when Lady Littletown approached.

“Now, my dearest Richard,” she exclaimed, and her many years, the speck of gold near one top tooth, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the suggestions of untruthfulness about her hair, all seemed to be softened down and seen through an eyeglass tintedà la rose, “I’m a very covetous person, and I always make a point, like the wicked old widow I am, of reserving the mostbeau chevalierfor myself. Now you have to take me in, we two last; and you’ll be obliged to help me out of my difficulties if there is anything to carve.”

Dick coloured a little with pride:

“And we, too, must have a pleasant chat about mamma and the dear girls; and, oh, I am so glad you took to the army and are quartered down here. It will be so pleasant for me; but I shall, for mamma’s sake, watch all your doings. I am not going to have you turn out arouélike your wicked Major. Come along.”

So Dick took in her ladyship, feeling taller, and actually seeming to swell a little, as he found himself seated at his hostess’s right hand. Then, the places being found, every guest’s name neatly written on a porcelainménu, Lord Henry, at the foot of the table, closed his eyes, bent forward, and in a low, reverent voice said grace, to which Mr Elbraham added a very audible “Amen!” and the dinner commenced.

Of course it was all by way of paying her dues to society that things were done so well, for certainly the dinner was as exquisite as the table itself, with its decorations of plate and glass, amidst which, half hidden in almost a redundancy of exotic flowers, was a thoroughly choice dessert. Richard Millet, who rather trembled in the midst of his pride, and had twice in imagination seen wings of chicken, as he dismembered a bird, flying in a cloud of brown sauce into people’s laps, was spared all trouble, for the viands were servedà la Russe, and were perfect of their kind.

“I’m deuced glad I came,” thought Mr Elbraham, as the choice, well-iced wines reached him in turn, and after several rather awkward attempts at conversation with Clotilde he found himself getting on much better. For his companion, in spite of her delight at being present at such a party, and having been affectionately kissed by Lady Littletown, and called “My dearest child,” was disappointed because Captain Glen had not spoken to her, neither had he been chosen to take her in to dinner. But, then, he had looked at her—looked at her several times. He admired her. There was no doubt about that. His looks said so plainly; and, for her part, there was something very pleasant to her eyes in the well-built, manly fellow, with his easy, indifferent ways and his gentlemanly, chivalrous attention to her aunt; who, poor soul! was nervous, and fluttered with the unusual excitement.

“I don’t like him; he’s a dreadful creature,” said Clotilde to herself, as her companion grew more at home, and, after a glass or two of a very choice champagne of unusual potency, began to talk to her in a fashion somewhat suggestive of his style at a private supper at the Rantan or at Latellier’s, and ladies who were in the habit of performing show parts in public were present.

“I’m deuced glad I came. She’s a devilish handsome girl, and I like her,” thought Mr Elbraham, and during his next remark, of course inadvertently, his coat-sleeve touched Clotilde’s firm, white, well-rounded arm.

“And so you lead a very quiet, very retired life,” said Lord Henry to Marie, as, scarcely partaking of anything himself, he chivalrously devoted his attention to his companion, enjoying her evident delight and hearty young appetite, which as a rule was none too well satisfied.

She, too, had been, in the midst of her delight in her charming dress, the reflection of her handsome self in Lady Littletown’s mirror, that lady’s affectionate greeting, and the brilliant dinner-table, rather disappointed that she had not been taken in by Captain Glen, or that dark handsome Major, or even by the funny pretty little page style of officer; but by degrees that wore off, and she listened with real pleasure to Lord Henry’s words.

He was quite an elderly gentleman, but, then, he was a nobleman, with a truer feeling of admiration for the beautiful woman he had been called upon to escort. There was something delightfully new, too, in her ways. She was very different to the society young ladies he was accustomed to meet, all gush and strained style of conversation. Marie was as if fresh from a convent, and he was even amused with some of her naïve remarks.

The Honourable Misses Dymcox had given their nieces the most stringent instructions upon etiquette; above all, they were not to taste wine; but while Marie was answering a remark made by Lord Henry, one of the servants filled that faintly prismatic glass, like half a soap-bubble in its beauty, and from old habit Marie lifted the drinking vessel by her hand, tasted, found the clear sparkling wine delicious, and had sipped again and again.

The effect was trifling, but it did remove some of her diffidence, and she found herself chatting willingly enough to her cavalier.

“Oh yes; a very, very retired life. We spend most of our time in the schoolroom, and when we take walks it is in the gardens or in the park with our aunts, at times when none of the London people are down.”

“Have you been on the Continent?”

“Oh no,” replied Marie, “not since Mr Montaigne brought us over to the Palace?”

“May I ask who is Mr Montaigne?”

“He was a very old friend of poor mamma’s.”

“Poor mamma?” said Lord Henry inquiringly.

“Oh yes; poor mamma and papa died when we were very little girls, and we have been with our aunts ever since.”

Lord Henry sipped his wine, gazed sidewise at his beautiful companion, and sighed. He thought of Gertrude Millet, and let his eye rest from time to time upon her brother, vainly trying to trace a resemblance, and also that though Lady Millet had undoubtedly seemed pleased by his advances, Gertrude had been chilling, and Marie Dymcox was not.

Possibly, too, as the old man sighed, he thought that he had no time to lose now that he had been thinking that he would marry, and he sighed again as if in regret of something he had lost, something he might have had, but had been too careless or indifferent to win.

A close observer would have noticed that there were tears in his eyes just then. Lady Littletown was a close observer, and by the aid of her eyeglass she did notice it, and secretly hugged herself.

“But you go out a good deal—to parties, to concerts, or balls?”

“Oh no!” laughed Marie, and her white teeth showed beneath her coral lips, while Major Malpas, who was nearly opposite, looked at her intently from beneath his heavy eyelids, and softly stroked his moustache. “I was never at a party before.”

“And do you like it?” said Lord Henry, beaming upon her, as, with a secret kind of satisfaction, he quietly admired the animated countenance beside him.

“Oh yes, yes,” she said softly. “I can’t help liking it very much.”

“Well,” said Lord Henry, smiling in quite a pleased manner, “why should you help liking it?”

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully; “only we are always so quiet at the Palace, and aunts have often said that too much gaiety was bad.”

“Too much, my dear child. Yes, certainly; but a little is very pleasurable, and innocent, and good.”

Marie’s eyes, as they met his, said that they were delighted to hear it, and as she sat and let the quiet, chivalrous old gentleman draw her out, no one would have credited her with being one of the heroines of some of the schoolroom scenes in which poor little Ruth had been the victim.

Lord Henry Moorpark grew more and more thoughtful as he chatted on with his companion. There was something inexpressibly refreshing in Marie’s words and ways, and he, too, congratulated himself upon the dinner-party, which he had looked upon as a nuisance, and to which he had come solely out of respect for Lady Littletown, turning out so pleasurable and fresh.

He was not the only elderly guest who thoroughly enjoyed the dinner, for the Honourable Isabella Dymcox partook of her share of the courses in a state of, for her, unwonted flutter. In accordance with the plotting and planning that had been at work in the Palace coterie, she had come fully prepared to give a furtive observation to what was going on with Clotilde and Marie, the children who, with her sister, she was fain to confess had arrived at a marriageable age; but from the moment she had laid her tremulous hand upon Marcus Glen’s arm, and had been led by him to her seat, her nieces had been forgotten.

Certainly Glen had several times over exchanged glances with Clotilde, and taken notice of the fact that Elbraham was growing more and more familiar and loud; but all the same he had found ample time to devote himself with a good deal of assiduity to Miss Isabella, making her at first surprised and cold, soon after pleased and full of agreeable thoughts, and at last thoroughly gratified at the way in which her companion attended to her lightest wishes and conversed upon society at Hampton Court.

“I—I won’t be so foolish as so think he means anything,” said Miss Isabella to herself; “for he is quite young and manly-looking, almost handsome, while I am getting very old indeed, and all hope ofthatis past; but he is very nice and gentlemanly, and so very different to officers as a rule. I must say I like him very much.”

She showed, too, that she did as soon as the cold formal crust had been melted away, and Marcus was not slow to realise the fact.

He was perfectly honest, for he knew that the Honourable Isabella was the aunt of Clotilde, and being as impressionable as most young men of his age, he had felt to some extent the power of that lady’s eyes. Under the circumstances, as he had been thrown with the relative, he had thought it fair campaigning to make friends with her, and this he had done to such an extent that the attentions she had received, and a glass or two of wine, made the lady very communicative, and far happier than her sister, who found the dinner much less to her taste.

For Major Malpas was not best pleased at having to take her in, and he had confined himself to the most frigid civilities. He was perfectly gentlemanly, but as the dinner wore on he grew more polite, and by consequence the Honourable Philippa became icy in her manner, till at last she seemed to be frozen stiff.

“Humph!” he thought, “better have gone and sat with Renée Morrison. Yes,” he continued, staring hard at Dick, “your sister, my half-fledged cockerel.”

The other guests merely formed chorus to the principal singers in the little social opera, but they were wonderfully led by Lady Littletown, whose tongue formed her conductor’s baton, by which she swayed them with a practised ease.

She had a word in season for everyone where it was needful to keep up the balance of the parts, and wonderfully skilful was her way. She gave a great deal of her time to everybody, but little Richard Millet never missed any of her attentions. In a very short time she had quite won his confidence, and knew that Major Malpas was a regular plunger, that Captain Glen was the dearest and best fellow in the world, that he hadn’t any more vice in him than a child, that they were the dearest of friends, and that Marcus had only about two hundred and fifty a year besides his pay.

“I begin to like Hampton Court, Lady Littletown,” said the boy warmly, for the champagne had been frequent.

“I’m sure you’ll love the place when you begin to know us better. Of course you will come to all my ‘at homes?’”

“That I will,” exclaimed the delighted youth. “By the way, Lady Littletown, what lovely girls those Miss Dymcoxes are!”

“Yes, are they not?” replied Lady Littletown; “but oh, fie, fie, fie! This will not do. I will not listen to a single word. I’m not going to lend myself to any match-making. What would Lady Millet say?”

“But, really, Lady Littletown—”

“Oh dear me, no; I will not listen. I know too well, sir, what you officers are—so wicked and reckless, and given to breaking ladies’ hearts. I think I shall absolutely forbid you even approaching them when you come up to the drawing-room. I would not for the world be the means of causing any heart diseases amongst my guests.”

“But surely, Lady Littletown, a fellow may admire at a distance?”

“Oh dear no,” said her ladyship playfully; “I think not. I’m afraid you are a very bad, dangerous man, and I shall have to withdraw my invitation.”

Dick Millet pleaded; the invitation was not withdrawn; and the little fellow was better satisfied with himself than he had felt for months.

“It’s an uncommonly well got-up affair, after all,” he thought; “but I wish the ladies would go now. I want to get the wine over, and go up to the drawing-room.”

To the little fellow’s satisfaction the long-drawn-out repast did come to an end, that cleverly-managed signal was given which acts electrically at a certain stage of a dinner; the ladies rose, and in place of one of the younger gentlemen opening the door, Lord Henry performed that duty, a genial but half-sad smile playing about his thin, closely-shaven lips, as Marie looked up in his face in passing. Then the last lady went out, and the gentlemen closed up to their coffee and wine.

Somehow or other, Marcus Glen found himself now near Lord Henry, and while a knot of listeners heard Mr Elbraham’s opinion upon the Eastern Question, especially with regard to the new Sultan and the position of Egypt, the young officer entered into a quiet discussion upon the history of the old Palace, and was surprised and pleased to find how much his companion knew of the past days of the old red-brick building, but above all at the genial, winning manner the old gentleman possessed.

Acting the part of host now for the time being, he soon proposed that they should adjourn, for there was a strange longing within him to be within sight and hearing of Marie.

“Ah, to be sure,” said Elbraham; “if I wanted to invest, gentlemen, I should say Egyptian bonds. By all means, let’s join the ladies.”

He, too, had come to the conclusion that he should like “another talk to that girl.” But the drawing-room was filling fast, and there were no moretête-à-têtes. Arthur Litton arrived soon after ten, and his chief approached him to shake hands, as if they had not met for some time.

“Well?” said Litton.

“Stunning, sir, stunning! ’Bove par.”

“Oh!”

“Deuced good dinner, Litton, ’pon my soul. People not half so snobbish as I expected to find them. I say, look here. What do you think of that piece of goods?”

He indicated Clotilde, about whom Dick Millet was now hovering; but who had turned from him to listen to a remark just made by Glen.

“Hum, ha!” said Litton critically. “Oh, that’s one of the Dymcox girls, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t ask you anything about who she is; I said what do you think of her?”

“Not bad-looking, I should say,” replied Litton coolly; “but nothing particular.”

“Oh, you be blowed!” said the great financier, and he screwed his short thick neck down a little lower into his chest, and turned away.

“Well, Lady Littletown, how do matters make themselves?” said Litton quietly, when, after a time, her ladyship passed his way.

“Oh,Arturo, mio caro!” said her ladyship, tickling the centre stud in his shirt-front with the end of her closed fan. “Maravigliosamente. My dear boy, it is wonderful. You shall have a rich wife, Arthur, if you are good, and this affair isun fait accompli.”

“Why didn’t you try a bit of German, too?” muttered Litton, as her ladyship passed on. “Here, I must get on with some of these officers; perhaps they’d take me to their quarters, and give me a smoke and an S. and B. Hang this tea! I forgot, though, I promised Potiphar to go home with him. Hang the beast! but it will save me a fare.”

Everyone was delighted. Lady Littletown was charmed over and over again, but when at last an obsequious footman, who seemed to be shod with velvet, whispered to the Honourable Philippa that her carriage had arrived, that lady, who felt very tired and sleepy, said mentally, “Thank goodness!”

But it was half an hour later before she made a move, and the drawing-rooms were growing unbearably hot with the chattering, buzzing crowd.

Suddenly there was silence, as the Honourable Misses Dymcox rose to go.

Lady Littletown was so sorry the evening had been so short, but she managed to exchange meaning looks.

“I think, yes,” she whispered; and the Honourable Philippa nodded and tightened her lips.

“Good-night, my sweet darling,” said Lady Littletown, kissing Clotilde affectionately. “Mind you come and see me soon. Good-night, dearest Marie. How well you look to-night, child!”

Then her ladyship saw through her square eyeglass, with the broad chased gold rim, Elbraham, podgy, stout and puffy, take Clotilde down to the carriage, followed by Lord Henry with Marie, and Captain Glen with the Honourable Isabella, and little Richard Millet with the Honourable Philippa; everyone but Joseph being perfectly ignorant of the fact that Mr Buddy had been imbibing largely of the stimulants plentifully handed round to the various servants outside.

But the ladies were duly packed inside, the jangling door was banged to, and Joseph, having mounted to the box beside Mr Buddy, perhaps only out of regard for his own safety, assumed the reins of government himself, and steered the fly to the Palace doors.

“Good-night, children,” said the Honourable Misses Dymcox in duet. “Take care of your dresses whatever you do!”

“Oh, Rie!” cried Clotilde, as soon as they were in their bedroom.

“Oh, Clo!” cried Marie. Then, crossing to the farther door to the cupboard in which Ruth’s bed was squeezed—“’Sleep, Ruthy?”

“No, Marie,” was the reply, as a troubled, pale face was lifted from the pillow.

“Why, I declare she has been crying!” said Clotilde. “There, jump up and help us to undress, Cindy, and we’ll tell you all about the prince and the ball. You weren’t there, were you?”

No; Cinderella, otherwise Ruth Allerton, had not been there; but she had been crying bitterly, for she had had a fright.

Back to IndexNext