The Major's study, opening out of the library, was a smallish chamber, very like himself in that its appointments were simple and plain to austerity. Its furniture comprised a desk, a couple of chairs and a settee, its adornments consisted of the portrait of a gentleman in armour who scowled, a Sèvres vase full of roses set there by Mrs. Agatha, a pair of silver-mounted small-swords above the carved mantel but within easy reach, flanked by a couple of brace of handsomely mounted pistols.
Just now, table, chairs and settee had been pushed into a corner and the chamber rang with the clash and grind of vicious-darting steel where the Major and Sergeant Zebedee in stockinged-feet and shirt-sleeves, thrust and parried and lunged, bright eyes wide and watchful, lips grim-set, supple of wrist and apparently tireless of arm, the Major all lissom, graceful ease despite his limp, the Sergeant a trifle stiff but grimly business-like and deadly; a sudden fierce rally, a thrust, a lightning riposte and the Major stepped back.
"Touché!" he exclaimed, lowering his point. "'Tis a wicked thrust of yours—that in tierce, Zebedee!"
"'Twas you as taught it me, sir," answered the Sergeant, whipping his foil to the salute, "same as you taught me my letters, consequently I am bold to fight or read any man as ever drawed breath."
"You do credit to my method, Sergeant Zeb—especially that trick o' the wrist—'tis mine own and I think unique. Come again, we have another ten minutes."
Hereupon they gravely saluted each other, came to the engage and once more the place echoed to rasping steel and quick-thudding feet. It was a particularly fierce and brilliant bout, in the middle of which and quite unobserved by the combatants, the door opened and a young gentleman appeared. He was altogether a remarkable young gentleman being remarkably young, languid and gorgeous. A pale mauve coat, gold of button and rich of braid, its skirts sufficiently full and ample, seemed moulded upon his slender figure, his legs were encased in long, brown riding-boots of excellent cut and finish, furnished with jingling silver spurs, his face exactly modish of pallor, high-nosed and delicately featured, was set off by a great periwig whose glossy curls had that just and nicely-ordered disorder fashion required; in his right hand he held his hat, a looped and belaced affair, two fingers of his left were posed elegantly upon the silver hilt of his sword the brown leathern scabbard of which cocked its silver lip beneath his coat at precisely the right angle; thus, as he stood regarding the fencing bout he seemed indeed the very "glass of fashion and mould of form" and unutterably serene.
"Ha!" exclaimed the Sergeant suddenly, "clean through the gizzard, sir!" and lowering his point in turn he shook his head, "'twould ha' done my business for good an' all, sir." And it was to be noted that despite their exertions neither he nor the Major breathed overfast or seemed unduly over-heated; remarking which the young gentleman animadverted gently as follows:
"Gad, nunky mine, Gad save my poor perishing sawl how d'ye do it—ye don't blow and ye ain't sweating——"
The Major started and turned:
"What—nephew!" hastening forward to greet his visitor, "What, Pancras lad, when did you arrive?"
"Ten minutes since, sir. I strolled up from the 'George and Dragon' and left my fellows to come on with the horses and baggage. Begad, sir, 'tis a cursed fine property this, a noble heritage! Give you joy of it! Here's a change from your trooping and fighting! You grow warm, nunky, warm, eh?"
"'Tis a great change, nephew, and most unexpected. But speaking of change, Pancras, you have grown out of recognition since last I saw you."
"Gad prasper me, sir, I hope so—'tis five long years agone and I'm my own man since my father had the grace to break his neck a-hunting, though 'tis a pity he contrived to break my mother's heart first, sweet, patient soul. Ha, sir, d'ye mind the day you pitched him out o' the gun-room window?"
"He's dead, Pancras!" said the Major, flushing.
"Which is very well, sir, since you're alive and I'm alive and so's the Sergeant here. How goes it Zeb—good old Zeb. How goes it, Sergeant Zeb?" and the Viscount's white, be-ringed hand met the Sergeant's hairy one in a hearty grip.
"Look at him, nunky, look at him a Gad's name—same old square face, not changed a hair since he used to come a-marching back with you from some campaign or other, rat me! D'ye mind, Zeb, d'ye mind how you used to make me wooden swords and teach me how to bear my point—eh?"
"Aye, I mind, sir," nodded the Sergeant, grim lips smiling, "'tis not so long since."
"Talking of fence, sir, give me leave to say—as one somewhat proficient in the art—that your style is a little antiquated!"
"Is't so, nephew?"
"Rat me if it isn't, sir! It lacketh that niceness of finish, that gracious poise o' the bady, that 'je ne sais quoi' which is all the mode."
"So, nephew, you fence—
"Of course, nunky, we all do—'tis the fashion. I fence a bout or so every day with the great Mancini, sir."
"So he's great these days?"
"How, d'ye know him, uncle?"
"Years ago I fenced with him in Flanders."
"Well, sir?"
"I thought him too flamboyant——"
"O, Gad requite me, sir! Had you but felt his celebrated attack—that stoccata! Let me show you!" So saying, the Viscount tossed his hat into a corner, took the Sergeant's foil and fell into a graceful fencing posture.
"Come, nunky, on guard!" he cried. Smiling, the Major saluted. "Here he is, see you, the point bearing so, and before you can blink——"
"Your coat, sir!" said the Sergeant, proffering to take it.
"Let be, Zeb, let be," sighed the Viscount, "it takes my fellow to get me into 't, and my two fellows to get me out on't, so let be. Come, nunky mine." Smiling, the Major fell to his guard and the blades rang together. "Here he is, see you, his point bearing so, and, ere you can blink he comes out of tierce and——
"I pink you—so!" said the Major.
"Gad's me life!" exclaimed his nephew, staring. "What the—how—come again, sir!"
Once more the blades clinked and instantly the Viscount lunged; the Major stepped back, his blade whirled and the Viscount's weapon spun from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
"Gad save me poor perishing sawl!" he exclaimed, staring gloomily at his fallen weapon, "how did ye do 't, sir? Sergeant Zeb, damme you're laughing at me!"
"Sir," answered the Sergeant, picking up the foil, "I were!"
"Very curst of you! And how did he manage Mancini?"
"Much the same as he managed you, sir, only——"
"Only?"
"Not so—so prompt, sir!"
"The devil he did! But Mancini's esteemed one of the best——"
"So were his honour, sir!"
"O!" said the Viscount, "and he didn't puff and he ain't sweating—my sawl!"
"'Tis use, nephew."
"And country air, sir! Look at you—young as you were five years since—nay, younger, I vow. Now look at me, a pasitive bunch of fiddle-strings—appetite bad, stomach worse, nerves—O love me! A pasitive wreck, Gad prasper me!"
The Major's sharp eyes noted the youthful, upright figure, the alert glance, the resolute set of mouth and chin, and he smiled.
"To be sure you are in a—er—a low, weak state of health, I understand?"
"O sir, most curst."
"Poor Pancras!" said the Major.
"No, no, sir, a Gad's name don't call me so, 'tis a curst name, 'twas my father's name, beside 'tis a name to hang a dog. Call me Tam, Tam's short and to the point—all my friends call me Tam, so call me Tam!"
"So be it, Tom. So you come into the country for your health?"
"Aye, sir, I do. Nothing like the country, sir, balmy air—mighty invigorating, look at the ploughmen they eat and drink and sleep and—er——"
"Plough!" suggested the Major, gravely.
"Begad, sir, so they do. And besides, I do love the country—brooks and beehives, nunky; cabbages, y'know, cows d'ye see and clods and things——"
"And cuckoos, Tom."
"Aye, and cuckoos!" said the Viscount serenely.
"Indeed, the country hath a beauty all its own, sir, so am I come to——"
"Be near her, nephew!"
"Eh? O! Begad!" saying which Viscount Merivale took out a highly ornate gold snuff-box, looked at it, tapped it and put it away again. "Nunky," he murmured, "since you're so curst wide-awake I'm free to confess that for the last six months I've worshipped at the shrine of the Admirable Betty—de-votedly, sir!"
"There be others also, I think!" said the Major, handing his foil to the Sergeant.
"Gad love me, sir, 'tis true enough! The whole town is run mad for her pasitively, and 'tis small wonder! She's a blooming peach, nunky, a pearl of price—let me perish! A goddess, a veritable——"
"Woman!" said the Major.
"And, sir, this glory of her sex blooms and blossoms—next door. Ha' ye seen her yet?"
"Once or twice, Tom."
"Now I protest, sir—ain't she the most glorious creature—a peerless piece—a paragon? By heaven, 'tis the sweetest, perversest witch and so do my hopes soar."
"Doth she prove so kind, nephew?"
"O sir, she doth flout me consistently."
"Flout you?"
"Constantly, thank Vanus! 'Tis when she's kind I fall i' the dumps."
"God bless me!" exclaimed the Major.
"Look'ee sir, there's Tripp, for instance, dear old bottlenose Ben, she smiles on him and suffers him to bear her fan, misfortunate dog! There's Alton, she permits him to attend her regularly and hand her from chair or coach, poor devil! There's West and Marchdale, I've known her talk with them in corners, unhappy wights! There's Dalroyd——"
"The 'die-away' gentleman?" said the Major.
"O he's death and the devil for her, he is—a sleepy, smouldering flame, rat me! And she is scarce so kind to him I could wish. But as for me, nunky, me she scorns, flouts, contemns and quarrels with, so doth hope sing within me!"
"Hum!" said the Major, clapping on his wig.
"So I am here in the fervent hope that ere the year is out she may be my Viscountess and—O my stricken sawl!"
"What is't, nephew?"
"Aye, sir, that's the question—what? Faith, it might be anything."
"You mean my wig, Tom?" enquired the Major, laughing, yet flushing a little.
"Wig?" murmured the Viscount, "after all, sir, there is a resemblance—though faint. Sure you never venture abroad in the thing?
"Why not?"
"'Twould be pasitively indecent, sir!"
Here the Major laughed, but the Sergeant, setting the furniture in place, scowled fixedly at the chair he chanced to be grasping.
"Perhaps 'tis time I got me a new one," said the Major, slipping into his coat.
"One!" exclaimed the Viscount. "O pink me, sir—a man of your standing and position needs a dozen. A wig, sir, is as capricious as a woman—it can make a gentleman a dowdy, a fool look wise and a wise man an ass, 'tis therefore a—what the——"
The Viscount rose and putting up his glass peered at his uncle in pained astonishment:
"Sir—sir," he faltered, "'tis a perfectly curst object that—may I venture to enquire——"
"What, my coat, Tom?"
"Coat—coat—O let me perish!" And the Viscount sank limply into a chair and drooped there in dejection. "Calls it a coat!" he murmured.
"'Tis past its first bloom, I'll allow——"
"Bloom—O stap me!" whispered the Viscount.
"But 'twas a very good coat once——"
"Nay sir, nay, I protest," cried the Viscount, "upon a far, far distant day it may have been a something to keep a man warm, but 'twas never, O never a coat——"
"Indeed, Tom?"
"Indeed, sir, in its halcyon days 'twas an ill dream, now—'tis a pasitive nightmare. Have you any other garment a trifle less gruesome, sir?"
"I have two other suits I think, Sergeant?"
"Three, your honour, there's your d'Oyley stuff suit" (the Viscount groaned), "there's your blue and silver and the black velvet garnished with——"
"Sounds curst funereal, Zeb! O my poor nunky! Go fetch 'em, Sergeant, and let me see 'em—'twill distress and pain me I know but—go fetch 'em!"
Here, at a nod from the Major, Sergeant Zebedee departed.
"I—er—live very retired, Tom," began the Major.
"We'll change all that, sir——"
"The devil, you say!"
"O nunky, nunky, 'tis time I took you in hand. D'ye ever hunt now?"
"Why no!"
"Visit your neighbours?"
"Not as yet, Tom."
"Go among your tenantry?"
"Very seldom——"
"O fie, sir, fie! Here's you pasitively wasting all your natural advantages,—shape, stature, habit o' bady all thrown away—I always admired your curst, high, stand-and-deliver air—even as a child, and here's you living and clothing yourself like——"
He paused as the Sergeant re-entered, who, spreading out the three suits upon the table with a flourish, stood at attention.
"I knew it—I feared so!" murmured the Viscount, turning over the garments. He sighed over them, he groaned, he nearly wept. "Take 'em away—away, Zeb," he faltered at last, "hide 'em from the eye o' day, lose 'em, a Gad's name, Zeb—burn 'em!"
"Burn 'em, sir?" repeated the Sergeant, folding up the despised garments with painful care, "axing your pardon, m'lord, same being his honour's I'd rather——"
"Next week, nunky, you shall ride to town with me and acquire some real clothes."
The Major stroked his chin and surveyed the Sergeant's wooden expression!
"Egad, Tom," said he, "I think I will!"
Glancing from the window, the Major beheld a train of heavily-laden pack-horses approaching, up the drive.
"Why, what's all this?" he exclaimed.
"That?" answered the Viscount yawning, "merely a few of my clothes, sir, and trifling oddments——"
"God bless my soul!"
"Sir," said the Sergeant, tucking the garments under his arm beneath the Viscount's horrified gaze, "with your permission will proceed to warn grooms and stable-boys of approaching cavalry squadron!" and he marched out forthwith.
"I pr'ythee spare me, gentle boyPress me no more for that slight toyThat foolish trifle of a heartI swear it will not do its partThough thou dost thine——"
The Viscount checked his song and inserting the upper half of his person through the open lattice, hailed the Major cheerily.
"What, uncle, nunky, nunk—still at it? 'Tis high time you went to change your dress."
"O? And why, Tom?"
"I look for our company here in twenty minutes or so."
"What company, may I ask?"
"Lady Belinda and Our Admirable Betty."
"Good God!" ejaculated the Major starting up in sudden agitation. "Coming here—you never mean it?"
"I do indeed, sir!"
"But Lord! Why should they come?"
"As I gather, sir, 'tis because you invited 'em——"
"I? Never in my life!"
"Why, 'tis true sir, I was your mouthpiece—your ambassador, as it were."
"And she—er—they are coming here! Both!"
"Both, sir."
"Lord, Tom, 'tis a something desperate situation, what am I to do with——"
"Leave 'em to me sir! They shan't daunt you!"
"Ha! To you, Tom?"
"And dear old Ben——"
"O?"
"And Alton——"
"Indeed!"
"And Marchdale——"
"Any more, nephew?"
"And Alvaston——"
"Ah?"
"And Dalroyd and Denholm——"
"Did I invite 'em all, Tom?"
"Every one, sir!"
"I wonder what made me?"
"Loneliness, sir!"
"D'ye think so, Tom?"
"Aye, you've always been a lonely man, I mind."
"Perhaps I have—except for the Sergeant."
"You are still, sir."
"Belike I am—though I have Sergeant Zeb."
"But we'll change all that in a month—aye, less! You shall grow two or three hundred years younger and enjoy at last the youth you've never known."
"Faith, you'd give me much, Tom!"
The Viscount took out his snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and forgot his affectations.
"Sir," said he, "there was, on a time, a little, wretched boy, who, hating and fearing his father, grieving in his sweet mother's griefs until she died, found thereafter a friend, very tender and strong, in a big, red-coated uncle——"
"By adoption, nephew."
"Aye sir, but I found him more truly satisfying to my youthful needs than any uncle by blood, Lord love me! At whose all too infrequent visits my boyish griefs and fears fled away—O Gad, sir, in those days I made of you a something betwixt Ajax defying the lightning and a—wet-nurse, and plague take it, sir, d'ye wonder if I——" Here the Viscount took a pinch of snuff and sneezed violently. "Rat me!" he gasped, "'tis the hatefullest stuff!" Followed a volley of sneezing and thereafter a feeble voice—"The which reminds me sir we must drink tea——"
"But I abominate tea, Tom."
"So do I, sir, so do I—curst stuff! You know the song:
'Let Mahometan foolsLive by heathenish rulesAnd be damned over tea-cups and coffee—'
But the women dote on it, dear creatures! 'Tis to the sex what water is to the pig (poor, fat, ignorant brute!) ale to the yeoman (lusty fellow) Nantzy to your nobby-nosed parson (roguish old boy) and wine to your man of true taste. So, let there be tea, sir."
"By all means, Tom!"
"And sir—if I may venture a suggestion—?"
"Take courage, nephew, and try!"
"Why then, wear your blue and silver, nunky, 'tis the least obnaxious and by the way, have you such a thing as a lackey or so about the place to get in one's way and to be tumbled over as is the polite custom, sir?"
"Hum!" said the Major thoughtfully, "I fancy the Sergeant has drafted 'em all into his gardening squad—ask Mrs. Agatha, she'll know."
"Gentlemen!" said the Viscount, "you have, I believe, had the honour to meet my uncle, Major d'Arcy, for a moment, 'tis now my privilege to make you better acquainted, for to know him is to honour him. Uncle, I present our Ben, our blooming Benjamin—Sir Benjamin Tripp."
"Ods body, sir!" cried Sir Benjamin, plump, rubicund and jovial. "'Tis a joy—a joy, I vow! Od, sir,'tis I protest an infinite joy to——"
"Ha' done with your joys, Ben," said the Viscount, "here's Tony all set for his bow! Nunky—Mr. Anthony Marchdale!" Mr. Marchdale, a man of the world of some nineteen summers bent languidly and lisped:
"Kiss your hands, sir!"
"I present Lord Alvaston!" His lordship, making the utmost of his slender legs aided by a pair of clocked silk stockings bowed exuberantly.
"Very devoted humble, sir! As regards your poacher, sir, ma humble 'pinion's precisely your 'pinion sir—poacher's a dam rogue but rogue's a man 'n' rabbit's only rabbit—if 'sequently if dam rogue kills rabbit an' rabbit's your rabbit——"
"Stint your plaguy rabbits a while, Bob. Nunky, Captain West."
"Yours to command, sir!" said the Captain, a trifle mature, a trifle grim, but shooting his ruffles with a youthful ease.
"The Marquis of Alton!"
"I agree with Ben, sir, 'tis a real joy, strike me dumb if 'tisn't!"
"Sir Jasper Denholm!"
Sir Jasper, chiefly remarkable for an interesting pallor, and handsome eyes which had earned for themselves the epithet of "soulful," bowed in turn:
"Sir," he sighed, "your dutiful humble! If you be one of this sighful, amorous fellowship that worships peerless Betty from afar, 'tis an added bond, sir, a——" Speech was extinguished by a gusty sigh.
"Od so!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, hilariously, "do we then greet another rival for the smiles of our Admirable Lady Betty—begad!"
The Major started slightly then smiled and shook his head in denial.
"Nay sir, such presumption is not in me——"
"But, indeed, sir," sighed Sir Jasper, "you must have marked how Cupid lieth basking in the dimple of her able chin, lieth ambushed in her night-soft hair, playeth (naughty young wanton) in her snowy bosom, lurketh (rosy elf) 'neath——"
"Sir!" said the Major, rather hastily, "I have eyes!"
"Enough, sir—whoso hath eyes must worship! So do we salute you as a fellow-sufferer deep-smit of Eros his blissful, barbed dart."
"Od rabbit me, 'tis so!" cried Sir Benjamin. "Here's wine, come, a toast, let us fill to Love's latest bleeding victim—let us solemnly——"
The door opened, a rehabilitated footman announced: 'Lady Belinda Damain, Lady Elizabeth Carlyon,' and in the ladies swept, whereupon the Major instinctively felt to see if his peruke were straight.
"O dear heart!" exclaimed the Lady Belinda, halting with slim foot daintily poised. "So many gentlemen—I vow 'tis pure! And discussing a toast, too! O Gemini! Dear sirs, what is't—relate!"
"I' faith, madam," cried Sir Benjamin, "we greet and commiserate another victim to your glorious niece's glowing charms, we salute our fellow-sufferer Major d'Arcy!"
The Major laughed a little uncertainly as he hastened to welcome his guests.
"Indeed," said he, "what man having eyes can fail to admire though from afar, and in all humility!"
At this, Lady Betty laughed also and meeting her roguish look he flushed and bent very low above the Lady Belinda's hand but conscious only of her who stood so near and who in turn sank down before him in gracious curtsey, down and down, looking up at him the while with smile a little malicious and eyes of laughing mockery ere she rose, all supple, joyous ease despite her frills and furbelows.
"Doth he suffer much, think you, gentlemen?" she enquired, turning towards the company yet with gaze upon the Major's placid face. "Burneth he with amorous fire, think you, wriggleth he on Cupid's dart?"
"O infallibly!" answered Sir Benjamin, "I'll warrant me, madam, he flameth inwardly——
"E'en as unhappy I!" sighed Sir Jasper Denholm.
"And I myself!" said the Captain, shooting a ruffle.
"O Gad!" exclaimed Viscount Merivale, "why leave out the rest of us?"
"Demme, yes!" cried the Marquis, "we are all our divine Betty's miserable humble, obedient slaves to command——"
"'Tis excellent well!" exclaimed my lady gaily, "miserable slaves, I greet you one and all and 'tis now my will, mandate and command that you shall attend dear my aunt whiles I question this most placid sufferer as to his torments. Major, your hand—pray let us walk!"
As one in a dream he took her soft fingers in his and let her lead him whither she would. Side by side they passed through stately rooms lit by windows rich with stained glass; beneath carved and gilded ceilings, along broad corridors, up noble stairways and down again, she full of blithe talk, he rather more silent even than usual. She quizzed the grim effigies in armour, bowed airily to the portraits, peeped into cupboards and corners, viewing all things with quick, appraising, feminine eyes while he, looking at this and that as she directed him, was conscious only of her.
"'Tis a fine house!" she said critically, "and yet it hath, methinks, a sad and plaintive air. 'Tis all so big and desolate!"
"Desolate!" said he, thoughtfully.
"And lonely and cold, and empty and—ha'n't you noticed it, sir?"
"Why, no!"
"I marvel!"
"As for lonely, mam, they tell me I am naturally so, and then I have my work."
"And that, sir?"
"I'm writing a History of Fortification."
"It sounds plaguy dull!"
"So it does!" he agreed. In time they came to the library and study but on the threshold of that small, bare chamber, my lady paused.
"You poor soul!" she exclaimed. The Major looked startled. "'Tis here you sit and write?" she demanded. He admitted it. "And not so much as a rug on the floor!"
"Rugs are apt to—er—encumber one's feet!" he suggested.
"Nor a picture to light this dull panelling! Not a cushion, not a footstool! O 'tis a dungeon, 'tis deadly drear and smells horribly of tobacco—faugh!"
"Shall we rejoin the company?" he ventured.
"So bare, so barren!" she sighed, "so lorn and loveless!" Here she sank down at the desk in the Major's great armchair and shook disparaging head at him: "Why not work in comfort?"
"Is it so lacking?" he questioned, "I was content——"
"With very little, sir!"
"Surely to be content is to be happy?"
"And are you so—very happy, Major d'Arcy?"
"I—think so! At the least, I'm content——"
"Is a man ever content?" she enquired, taking up one of his pens in idle fingers.
The Major fell to pondering this, watching her the while as, with the feather of the pen she began to touch and stroke her vivid lips and he noticed how full and gentle were their curves.
"He is a fool who strives for the impossible!" said he at last.
"Nay, he is a very man!" she retorted. "Are there many things impossible after all, to a man of sufficient determination, I wonder—or a woman?"
The Major, seating himself on a corner of the desk, pondered this also; and now the feather of the pen was caressing the dimple in her chin, and he noticed how firm this chin was for all its round softness.
"'Deed, sir," she went on again, "I feel as we had known each other all our days, I wonder why?"
The Major took up his tobacco-box that lay near by and turned it over and over before he answered and without looking at her:
"I'm happy to know it, madam, very!"
"And my name is Betty and yours is John and we are neighbours. So I shall call you Major John and sometimes Major Jack—when you please me."
"How did you learn my name?" he asked gently; but now he did look at her.
"Major John," she answered lightly, "you possess a nephew."
"Aye, to be sure!" said he and looked at the tobacco-box again, then put it by, rather suddenly, and rose, "which reminds me that the company wait you, mam——"
"Do—not——"
"Madam!"
"Nor that!"
"My lady Betty," he amended, after a momentary pause. "The company—
"Pish to the company!"
"But madam, consider——"
"Pooh to the company! Pray be seated again, Major John. You love your nephew, sir?"
"Indeed! 'Tis a noble fellow, handsome, rich and—young——"
"True, he's very young, Major John!"
"And—er—" the Major glanced a little helplessly towards the tobacco-box, "he—he loves you and, er——"
"Mm!" said Lady Betty, biting the pen thoughtfully between white teeth. "He loves me, sir—go on, I beg!"
"And being a lover he awaits you impatiently."
"And the others, sir."
"And the others of course, and here are you—I mean here am I——"
"You, Major John—but O why drag yourself into it?"
"I mean that whiles they wait for sight of you I—er—keep you here——"
"By main force, sir."
The Major laughed.
"They will be growing desperate, I doubt," said he.
"Well, let 'em, Major John, I prefer to be—kept here awhile. Pray be seated as you were."
He obeyed, though his usually serene brow was flushed and his gaze wandered towards the tobacco-box again, perceiving which, my lady placed it in his hand.
"As regards your nephew——"
"Meaning Tom."
"Meaning Pancras, sir, he plagued me monstrously this morning. I was alone within the bower and he had the extreme impertinence to—climb the wall."
"The deuce he did, mam!"
"It hath been done before, I think, sir!" she sighed. "Being stole into the arbour he set a cushion on the floor and his knees thereon and, referring to his tablets, spoke me thus: 'Here beginneth the one-hundred-and-forty-sixth supplication for the hand, the heart, the peerless body of the most adorable——' but I spare you the rest, sir. Upon this, I, for the one-hundred and forty-sixth time incontinent refused him, whereupon he was for reading an ode he hath writ me, whereupon I, very naturally, sought to flee away, whereupon a great, vile, hugeous, ugly, monstrous, green and hairy caterpillar fell upon me—whereupon, of course, I swooned immediately."
"Poor child!" said the Major.
"The couch being comfortably near, sir."
"Couch!" exclaimed the Major, staring.
"Would you have me swoon on the floor, sir?"
"But if you swoon, mam——"
"I swoon gracefully, sir—'tis a family trait. I, being in a swoon, then, Major John, your nephew had the extreme temerity to—kiss me."
The Major looked highly uncomfortable.
"He kissed me here, sir!" and rosy finger-tip indicated dimpled chin. "To be sure he aimed for my lips, but, by subtlety, I substituted my chin which he kissed—O, passionately!"
The Major dropped the tobacco-box.
"But I understand you—but you were swooning!" he stammered.
"I frequently do, Major John, I also faint, sir, as occasion doth demand."
"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed.
"And wherefore this amaze, sir?"
"'Fore Heaven, madam, I had not dreamed of such—such duplicity."
"O Innocence!" she cried.
"Do all fine ladies feign swoons, madam?"
"Major Innocence, they do! They swoon by rote and they faint by rule."
"Thank Heaven there be none to come swooning my way!" said he fervently.
"Dare you contemn the sex, sir?
"Nay, I'm not so bold, madam, or sufficiently experienced."
"To be sure your knowledge of the sex is limited, I understand."
"Very!"
"You have known but three ladies, I think?"
The Major bowed.
"Then I make the fourth, Major John."
"But indeed, I should never learn to know you in the least."
"Why, 'tis very well!" she nodded. "That which mystifies, attracts."
"Do you wish to attract?" he enquired, stooping for the tobacco-box.
"Sir, I am a woman!"
"True," he smiled, "for whose presence several poor gentlemen do sigh. Let us join 'em."
"Ah! You wish to be rid of me!" She laid down the pen and, leaning chin on hand, regarded him with eyes of meekness. "Do you wish to be rid of me?" she enquired humbly. "Do I weary you with my idle chatter, most grave philosopher?" She had a trick of pouting red lips sometimes when thinking and she did so now as she waited her answer.
"No!" said he.
"I could wish you a little more emphatic, sir and much more—more fiercely masculine—ferocity tempered with respect. Could you ever forget to be so preposterously sedate?"
"I climbed a wall!" he reminded her.
"Pooh!" she exclaimed, "and sat there as gravely unruffled, as proper and precise as a parson in a pulpit. See you now, perched upon a corner of the desk, yet you perch so sublimely correct and solemn 'tis vastly annoying. Could you ever contrive to lose your temper, I wonder?"
"Never with a child," he answered, smiling.
Lady Betty stiffened and stared at him with proud head upflung, grew very red, grew pale, and finally laughed; but her eyes glittered beneath down-sweeping lashes as she answered softly:
"'Deed, sir, I'm very contemptibly young, sir, immaturely hoydenish, sir, green, callow, unripe and altogether of no account to a tried man o' the world sir, of age and judgment ripe—aye, a little over-ripe, perchance. And yet, O!" my lady sighed ecstatic, "I dare swear that one day you shall not find in all the South country such a furiously-angry, ferociously-passionate, rampantly-raging old gentleman as Major John d'Arcy, sir!"
"And there's your aunt calling us, I think," said he, gently. Lady Betty bit her lip and frowned at her dainty shoe. "Pray let her wail, sir, 'tis her one delight when there chance to be a sufficiency of gentlemen to attend her, so suffer the poor soul to wail awhile, sir—nay, she's here!"
As the Major rose the door opened and Lady Belinda entered "twittering" upon the arms of Viscount Merivale and Sir Benjamin Tripp.
"Olack-a-day, dear Bet!" she gasped, "my own love-bird, 'tis here you are and the dear Major too! We've sought thee everywhere, child, the tea languishes—high an low we've sought thee, puss. 'Tis a monstrous fine house but vast—so many stairs—such work—upstairs and downstairs I've climbed and clambered, child——"
"Od so, 'tis true enough!" said Sir Benjamin clapping laced handkerchief to heated brow, "haven't done so much, hem! I say so much climbing for years, I vow!"
Here the Viscount, serene as ever, slowly closed one eye.
"Come Betty sweet, tea grows impatient and clamours for thee and I for tea, and the gentlemen all do passion for thee."
"By the way, Tom," said the Major as they followed the company, "I don't see Mr. Dalroyd here."
"No more he is, nunky!" answered the Viscount, "but then, Lord, sir, Dalroyd is something of an unknown quantity, at all times."
"And pray mam," enquired the Major as they strolled over velvety lawn, "are you and my lady Betty settled in the country for good?"
The Lady Belinda stopped suddenly and raised clasped hands to heaven.
"Hark to the monster!" she ejaculated, "O Lud, Major, how can you? Stop in the country—I? O heaven—a wilderness of cabbages and caterpillars—of champing cows and snorting bulls! Sir, sir, at the bare possibility I vow I could positively swoon away——"
"Don't, mam!" cried the Major hastily. "No, no mam, pray don't," he pleaded.
"I detest the country sir, I——"
"Quite so, quite so," said the Major soothingly, "cows mam, I understand—quite natural indeed!"
"I loathe and abominate the country, sir—so rude and savage! Such mud and so—so infinite muddy and clingy! What can one do in the country but mope and sigh to be out of it?"
"Well, one can walk in it, mam, and——"
"Walk, sir? But I nauseate walking—in the country extremely. Think of the brooks sir, so—so barbarously wet and—and brooky. Think of the wind so bold to rumple one and spiky things to drag at and tear and take liberties with one's garments! Think of the things that creep and crawl and the things that fly and buzz—and the spiders' webs that tickle one's face! No sir, no—the country is no place for one endowed with a fine and delicate nature."
"Certainly not, mam," said the Major heartily. "Then you'll be leaving shortly?"
"I so beseech Heaven on my two bended knees, sir, but alas, I know not! 'Tis Betty—an orphan, sweet child and in my care. But indeed she's so wickedly wilful, so fly-by-night, so rampant o' youth and—and unreason."
"Indeed, mam!"
"And though sweet Bet is an angel of goodness she hath a temper, O!"
"Hum!" said the Major.
"And such—such animal spirits! So vulgarly robust! Such rude health and vigorous as a dairy-maid! And talking of dairy matters, only the other morning I found her positively—milking a cow!"
"Egad and did you so, mam?"
"And this morning such a romping in the dairy and there was she—O sir!"
"What, mam?"
"Arms all naked—churning, sir!
"O, churning?"
"Riotously, sir!"
"Did you—er—swoon, mam?"
"Indeed I could ha' done, dear Major, but—'twixt you and me, though dear Bet hath the best of hearts, she is perhaps a little unsympathetic I'll not deny, and hath betimes a sharp tongue, I must confess."
"Indeed I—I should judge so, mam."
"O you men!" sighed the Lady Belinda, turning up her eyes, "so quick to spy out foibles feminine—la sir and fie! But indeed though I do love my sweet Bet, O passionately, truth bids me say she can be almost shrewish!"
"You have my sympathy, mam!"
"Dear Major, I deserve it—if you only knew! The pranks she hath played me—so wild, so ungoverned, so—so unvirginal!" The Major winced. "I have known her gallop her horse in the paddock—man-fashion!" The Major looked relieved; perceiving which, Lady Belinda, sinking her voice, continued: "And once, sir, O heaven, can I ever forget! Once—O I tremble to speak it! Once——" The Major flinched again. "Once, sir, she actually ventured forth dressed in—in—O I blush!—in—O Modesty! O Purity!—in—O——!"
"Madam, a God's name—in what?"
"Male attire, sir—O I burn!"
The Major did the same.
"Not—you don't mean—abroad, mam, in—in 'em?"
"I do, sir, I do! She swaggered down the Mall, sir ogling the women, and finding me alone and I not knowing her, she did so leer and nudge me that I all but swooned 'twixt fear and modesty, sir!"
"Good God!" ejaculated the Major, faintly, "was she—alone, madam?"
"She was with her naughty brother Charles and methought he'd die of his unseemly mirth. A wild youth, indeed and she hath the same lawless spirit, sir. All their motherless days I have cared for 'em and what with their waywardness and my own high-strung nature—O me!"
"I can conceive your days have not been—uneventful, mam."
"Charles is known to you, of course, sir?"
"No, mam."
"But your nephew Pancras and he are greatly intimate!"
"I've never even heard of him, madam."
"Why then you don't know that poor, naughty, misguided Charles is—hush, they come! Yonder, sir—O Cupid, a ravishing couple!"
Lady Betty and the Viscount were approaching them, quarrelling as usual, she bright-eyed and flushed of cheek, he handsome, debonair and unutterably serene.
"A truly noble pair, dear Major!" sighed Lady Belinda.
"Indeed, yes, mam!"
"'Twould be an excellent match?"
"Excellent!"
"Both so well suited, so rich, so handsome——"
"And so—young, mam!"
"O sir, I yearn to have 'em married!" The Major was silent. "'Twould tame her wildness, I warrant. How think you?"
"Belike it would, madam."
"Then let us conspire together for their good, dear sir! Let us wed 'em as soon as may be—come?"
"But mam, I—er—indeed, madam, I know nought of such things I——"
"Nay sir, never doubt but we shall contrive it betwixt us. 'Tis then agreed—O 'twill be pure! Henceforth we are conspirators, dear Major, O 'tis ravishing! Hush—yonder come the gentlemen to make their adieux, I think—let us meet 'em!"
As one in a dream the Major gave her his hand and together they rejoined the company who took leave of their host with much bowing of backs, flirting of ruffles, flicking of handkerchiefs and tapping of snuff-boxes. As the Major stood to watch their departure my lady Betty beckoned him to her side:
"And pray, dear sir, hath my aunt recounted you all my sins?" she enquired soft-voiced.
"I have learned you can milk a cow and felicitate you——"
"Of course she told you how I wore breeches, sir?"
The Major gasped, and stood before her blushing and mute; perceiving which, she laughed:
"Indeed, they become me vastly well!" she murmured, and sank before him in the stateliest of curtseys. "Au revoir, my dear Major Jack!" she laughed and giving her hand to an attendant adorer, moved away down the drive with all the gracious dignity of a young goddess.
Long after the gay company had vanished from sight Major d'Arcy stood there, head bowed, hands deep-plunged in coat pockets and with the flush still burning upon his bronzed cheek.