Lady Belinda leaning back upon her cushioned day-bed, glanced up from the open book before her and surveyed her niece's lovely, down-bent head with curious solicitude.
"Betty, love," said she at last, "Bet, my sweet witch, you're vapourish! So will I read to thee—list to this," and lifting her book, Lady Belinda read as follows: "'It must be granted that delicacy is essential to the composition of female beauty and that strength and robustness are contrary to the idea of it.' Alack, Betty, dear child and my sweet, I do fear you are dreadfully robust and almost repulsively strong! Hearken again: 'The beauty of women is greatly owing to their delicacy and weakness'—O my love, how just! I myself was ever most sincerely delicate and weak! How very, very true!" Here Lady Belinda paused, eyeing her niece expectantly, but, in place of indignant outburst, was silence; Betty sat apparently lost in mournful reverie.
"You like Mr. Dalroyd, I think, aunt?" she enquired suddenly.
"Indeed—a charming man! So elegant! Such an air—and such—O my dear—such a leg!"
"Major d'Arcy has a leg also, aunt—two of 'em!"
"And limps!" added Lady Belinda, "Limps woefully at times!"
"'Tis a mark of distinction in a soldier!" exclaimed Betty, flushing.
"True, dear Bet, very true—a mark of distinction as you say, though it quite spoils his grace of carriage. Still, despite his limp, the Major hath admirable limbs—a leetle robust and ultra-developed perhaps, child, doubtless due to his marching and counter-marching, whatever that may be. None the less, though I grant you his leg, Bet—he limps! Now Mr. Dalroyd, on the other hand——"
"Leg, aunt!"
"Lud, child——!"
"His leg, dear aunt, keep to his leg!"
"Gracious me, miss—what under heaven——"
"Legs, aunt, legs!"
"Mercy on us, Betty, what of his legs?"
"They are bearing him hither at this moment, dear aunt."
"O Gemini!" wailed the Lady Belinda, starting up from her cushions. "Heaven's mercy, Bet, how can you! And me in this gown—behold me—so faded and woebegone——"
"Nay, dear aunt, a little rouge——"
"I meant my garments, miss—look at 'em! And my hair! Ring the bell—call the maids! I vow I shall swoon an' he catch me so——"
"Nay, aunt, you do look very well and Sir Benjamin——"
"He too!" shrieked Lady Belinda, "I faint! I'm all of a twitter—I——
"And Lord Alvaston, aunt, and the Marquis, and Mr. Marchdale, and Major d'Arcy——" but Lady Belinda had fled, twittering.
Left alone, Betty grew restless, crossed to the open lattice and frowned at the flowers on the terrace, crossed to her harp in the corner and struck a discord with petulant fingers, took up her aunt's discarded book, frowned at that, dropped it; finally she sat down and propping white chin on white fist, stared down at her own pretty foot.
"I wonder if you'll come?" she murmured. "Major John, O John, you cruel Jack, I wonder if—all night long—you lay wakeful, too? I wonder—ah, I wonder if——"
A tapping at the door and, starting up, she stood bright-eyed, rosy lips apart, all shy expectancy from head to foot then, sighing, sank gracefully upon the day-bed and took up her aunt's discarded book as the door opened and the large menial announced:
"Mr. Dalroyd!"
My lady rose majestically and never had she greeted Mr. Dalroyd with such a radiant smile.
"You are come betimes, sir!" she said gently as he bowed to kiss her hand.
"Is that so great matter for wonder?" he enquired, his ardent gaze drinking in her loveliness. "You know full well, sweet Lady Coquetry, 'tis ever my joy and constant aim to—be alone with you, to touch this white hand, to kiss——"
"Fie, sir!" she sighed, but provocation was in the droop of eyelash, the tremulous curve of lip and in all the soft, voluptuous languor of her.
Mr. Dalroyd's usually pale cheek glowed, his long, white hands twitched restless fingers and he seated himself beside her.
"Betty," he murmured, "O Betty, how delicious you are! From the first moment I saw you I——"
"'Twas at Bath, I think, sir, or was it at Tunbridge?"
"Nay, my lady, since we're alone, have done with trifling——"
"But indeed, sir, 'tis a trifling matter since you and I are but trifles in a trifling world. And 'tis a trifling day—and mine is a trifling humour so, since we're alone, let us trifle. And speaking of trifles—have you writ me the trifling ode I did command, sir?"
"Faith no, madam, there are so many to do that and I would fain be exempt. Where others scribble bad verses to your charms I would feast my sight upon them. Look you, Betty," he continued, leaning nearer, his languid eyes grown suddenly wide, his thin nostrils quivering. "I'm no tame dog to run in leash like the rest of your train of lovers, to come at your call and go when you are weary—content with a word, a glance—treasuring a rose from your bosom, a riband from your hair and seeking nought beyond—no, by God! 'tis you I want—fast in my arms, close on my heart, panting 'neath my kisses——" As he spoke he drew yet nearer until his hot breath was upon her cheek, wherefore my lady put up her fan and, leaning there all gracious ease surveyed him with clear, unswerving gaze, his ill-restrained ferocity, his clutching fingers, his eyes aflame with passionate desire; and beholding all this, my lady dazzled him with her smile and nodded lovely head:
"O excellently done!" she laughed lightly. "Indeed, sir, now you do trifle to admiration!"
"Trifle?" he exclaimed hoarsely, "Trifle is it? Not I, by heaven—ah Betty—maddening witch——" His arms came out fiercely but, before he could clasp her, she had risen and stepped back out of reach, looking down at him with the same steady gaze, the same bewildering smile.
"Nay, sir," she said gently, "though in this trifling world you are but a trifle, 'tis true, yet your trifling offends me like your neighbourhood!" and crossing to the open lattice she leaned there, staring out into the sunny garden. Mr. Dalroyd watched her awhile beneath drooping lids then, rising, sauntered after her.
"And pray, madam, why this sudden, haughty repugnance?" he demanded softly, "you know and have known from the first, that I love you."
"Why then, 'tis an ugly thing, your love!"
"'Tis very real, Betty, I live but to win you and—win you I shall."
"You are vastly confident, sir."
"Truly," he smiled, "'tis so my nature. And I am determined to possess you—soon or late, Betty."
"Even against my will?" she questioned.
"Aye, against your will!" he murmured.
"Even supposing that I—despised you?"
"'Twould but make you the more adorable, Betty."
"Even though you knew I—loved another man?"
"'Twould make you the more desirable, Betty."
At this she turned and looked at him and, under that look, Mr. Dalroyd actually lowered his eyes; but his laugh was light enough none the less.
"Betty," he continued softly, "I would peril my immortal soul to possess you and, despite all your haughty airs and graces—win you I will——"
"Enough, sir!" she retorted, "Am I so weak of will, think you, to wed where I so utterly—despise?" And, viewing him from head to foot with her calm gaze, she laughed and turned from him as from one of no account. For one breathless moment Mr. Dalroyd stood utterly still then, stung beyond endurance, his modish languor swept away on a torrent of furious anger, he came close beside her and stood striving for speech; and she, leaning gracefully at the open casement, hummed the lines of a song to herself very prettily, heeding him not at all.
"Madam!" said he, thickly, "By God, madam, none hath ever scorned me with impunity—or ever shall! Hark'ee madam——"
My lady gazed pensive upon the sunny garden and went on humming.
"Ha, by heaven!" he exclaimed, "I swear you shall humble yourself yet—you shall come to me, one o' these days soon and leave your pride behind. D'ye hear madam, d'ye hear my will shall be your law yet——"
Now at this she turned and laughed full-throated and ever as she laughed she mocked him:
"Indeed, sir, and indeed? Shall I run humbly to your call? Must I creep to you on lowly knees——"
"Aye—by God, you shall!" he cried, his passion shaking him.
"And must I plead and beg and sue, must I weep and sigh and moan and groan? And to you—you, of all trifling things? I wonder why?"
"For your brother's sake!" he answered between white teeth, stung at last out of all restraint.
"My brother—my Charles? What can you know of him—you?"
"Enough to hang him!"
Once again her laughter rang out, a joyous, rippling peal:
"O Mr. Dalroyd!" she cried at last, dabbing at her bright eyes with dainty handkerchief, "O, indeed, sir, here is trifling more to my mind—nay, prithee loose my hand!"
Mr. Dalroyd obeyed and stepped back rather hastily as the door opened and the footman announced:
"Major d'Arcy!"
The Major advanced a couple of strides then halted, fumbled with his laced hat and looked extremely uncomfortable; next moment my lady was greeting him gaily:
"Welcome, dear Major! You know Mr. Dalroyd, I think—so gay, so witty! Just now he is at his very gayest and wittiest, he is about telling me something extreme diverting in regard to my brother, my dear, wilful Charles—but you have never met my brother, I think, Major d'Arcy?"
"Never, madam!" he answered, bowing over her hand and dropping it rather as if it had stung him.
"Why then, sir," she laughed, "Mr. Dalroyd shall tell you all about him. Pray proceed, Mr. Dalroyd."
But hereupon Mr. Dalroyd having acknowledged the Major's stiff bow, stood fingering the long curls of his peruke and, for once in his life, felt himself entirely at a loss; as for the Major, he stood in wondering amazement, staring at my lady's laughing face as if he had never seen it before in all his days.
"Come, sir, come!" she commanded, viewing Mr. Dalroyd's perplexity with eyes very bright and malicious, "Charles is for ever playing some naughty trick or other, tell us his latest."
"Faith, madam," said Mr. Dalroyd at last, "I, like Major d'Arcy, have never had the good fortune to meet your brother."
"But you have seen him and very lately, I think—yes, I'm sure you have—confess!"
"Nay indeed, my lady, how—where should I see him——"
"Why with me of course, sir, last night—in the arbour."
Mr. Dalroyd recoiled a slow step, his heavy eyelids fluttered and fell, then happening to glance at the Major, he saw his face suddenly transfigured with a radiant joy, beholding which, Mr. Dalroyd's delicate nostrils twitched again and his long white fingers writhed and clenched themselves; then he turned upon my lady, seemed about to burst into passionate speech but bowed instead and strode from the room.
Left alone, the Major dropped his hat and my lady turning back to the casement, leaned there and began to sing softly to herself, an old, merry song:
"A young cavalier he rode on his waySinging heigho, this loving is folly."
"Betty," said the Major humbly, "O Betty—forgive me!"
"And there met him a lady so frolic and gaySinging, heigho, all loving is folly."
"Betty, I—O my dear love—my lady," he stammered, "I know that my offence is great—very heinous. I have wronged you in thought and in word—I should have known you were the sweet soul God made you. But I—I am only a very ordinary man, very blind, very unworthy and, I fear but ill-suited to one so young—but indeed I do love you better than my life so may Love plead my forgiveness. But if I have sinned too grievously, if forgiveness is impossible then will I very humbly—
"So he lighted him down and he louted him lowSinging heigho, be not melancholy,And he kissed her white hand and her red mouth alsoSinging heigho, love's quarrels are folly."
She stood waiting—waiting for the swift tread of feet behind her, for the masterful passion of his clasping arms, for his pleading kisses; instead, she heard him sigh and limp heavily to the door. Then she turned to face him and, being disappointed, grew angry and disdainful.
"Major d'Arcy," she cried, "O Major d'Arcy—what a runaway coward you are!"
He paused and stood regarding her wistfully and lo! as he looked her mocking glance wavered and fell, her lip quivered and almost in that instant he had her in his arms; but now, even now, when she lay all soft and tremulous in his embrace, he must needs stay to humbly plead her forgiveness, and then—Sir Benjamin Tripp's voice was heard in the hall beyond:
"Od's body, I do protest Dalroyd can be almost offensive at times!"
When the door opened Major d'Arcy stood staring blindly out of the window his clenched fists thrust deep into the pockets of the dove-coloured coat, and my lady, seated afar, frowned at her dainty shoe; next moment she had risen and was greeting the company all smiles and gaiety.
"Dear my lady," cried Sir Benjamin, bowing over her white hand with elaborate grace, "your most submissive humble! Major d'Arcy sir—yours! Sweet Madam, most beauteous Queen of Hearts, you behold us hither come, rivals one and all for your sweet graces, yet rivals united in hem! in worship of Our Admirable Betty!"
At this was a loud hum of approval with much graceful bending of backs, shooting of ruffles and tapping of snuff-boxes.
"Here in bowery Westerham," continued Sir Benjamin, laced handkerchief gracefully a-flutter, "here in this smiling countryside celebrated alike for hem! for beauty—I say for beauty and—and—
"Beer!" suggested his lordship sleepily.
"No, no, Alvaston—'od, no sir—tush! Egad you quite put me out! Where was I? Aye—the smiling country-side famous alike for beauty of scene, of womenkind, of——"
"Horses!" said the Marquis.
"A plague o' your horses, sir!"
"But Ben——"
"I say I'll have none of 'em, sir! Here, dear lady, within these Arcadian solitudes we exist like so many Hermits of Love, passing our days immune from strife political and the clash of faction, remote from the joys of London—its wose, its hem! I say its——"
"Dust!" sighed Sir Jasper.
"Aye, its dust, its——"
"Watchmen!" quoth Mr. Marchdale.
"Watchmen?" repeated Sir Benjamin doubtfully. "Y—es, its watchmen, its woes, its——"
"Smells!" yawned Lord Alvaston.
"Smells?" gasped Sir Benjamin, "'Od requite me sir—smells, sir!"
"What smells?" enquired Lady Belinda, pausing abruptly on the threshold with hands clasped. "Not fire? O Gemini, I shall swoon! Sir Benjamin, your arm pray, positively I languish at the bare idea—fire?"
"No, no, madam," exclaimed Sir Benjamin, supporting her to a chair, "here is no fire save the flames engendered of love, madam, for as I was saying—
"Stay, dear Sir Ben," laughed Betty, "first tell me, have you all writ me your odes?"
"'Od support me, yes faith, madam, we have writ you, rhymed you and versified you to a man, and it hath been agreed betwixt us, one and all, that hem! before these same odes, sonnets, triolets, vilanelles, rondeaus, chants-royal, ballades and the like be humbly submitted to you, we their authors shall hem! Shall——"
"Hold, my Benjamin, hold!" exclaimed Lord Alvaston. "Too much beating 'bout bush, Ben my boy. Dear Lady Bet, what poor Ben's been trying t' say, wants t' say, but don't know how t' say 's simply this—that having wrote odes 'n' things, we're minded t' read 'em t' each other and pass judgment on 'em, 'n' whoever has—
"Clapped the firmest saddle on Pegasus," continued the Marquis, "will be given——"
"He means whoso hath writ the best, Betty," Mr. Marchdale explained with youthful gravity.
"Shall be given three laps and a fly-away start in the Wooing Handicap," the Marquis continued.
"'Od—'Od's my life!" ejaculated Sir Benjamin indignantly, "We're not in the stables now, Alton! Suffer me to explain clearly——"
"But—wooing handicap?" repeated Betty, wrinkling her brows in puzzlement.
"Matrimonial Stakes, then," continued the irrepressible Marquis. "You see, Bet, we are all riding in this race for you and it has been ruled that——"
"My lady," sighed the soulful Sir Jasper, "it hath been agreed that whoso indites the worthiest screed to your beauty, he whose poor verses shall be judged most worthy shall be awarded three clear days wherein to plead his suit with thee, to humbly sigh, to sue, to——"
"A clear field and no favour, my lady!" the Marquis added.
"And," sighed Sir Jasper, "thrice happy mortal he who shall be privileged to call thee 'wife'!"
"Indeed, indeed," laughed my lady, "'tis vastly, excellently quaint——"
"My idea!" said the Captain, shooting his ruffles. "Came to me—in a moment—like a flash!"
"Though truly," she sighed, "I do begin to think I ne'er shall wed and be doomed to lead apes in hell as they say—unless for a penance I marry Mr. Dalroyd or—Major d'Arcy! But come," she continued, smiling down their many protests and rising, "let us into the garden, 'tis shady on the lawn, we'll act a charade! Sir Jasper, your hand, pray." Thereupon, with a prodigious fluttering of lace ruffles, the flash of jewelled sword-hilts and shoe-buckles, the sheen of rich satins and velvets, the gallant company escorted my lady into the garden and across the smooth lawn.
"'Tis a pert and naughty puss!" exclaimed Lady Belinda, studying the Major's downcast face, "Indeed a graceless, heartless piece, sir!"
"Er—yes, mam," he answered abstractedly.
"A very wicked and irreverent baggage, Major!"
"Certainly, mam."
"Indeed, dear sir, what with her airy graces and her graceless airs I do shudder for her future, my very soul positively—shivers!"
"Shiver, mam?" enquired the Major, starting. "Shiver? Why 'tis very warm, I think——"
"Nay, this was an inward shiver, sir, a spasmic shudder o' the soul! Indeed she doeth me constant outrage."
"Who, mam?"
"Why Betty, for sure." Here the Major sighed again, his wistful gaze wandered back to the open lattice and he fell to deep and melancholy reverie the while Lady Belinda observed him sharp-eyed, his face leanly handsome framed in the glossy curls of his great peruke, the exquisite cut of his rich garments and the slender grace of the powerful figure they covered, his high-bred air, his grave serenity mingled with a shy reserve; finally she spoke:
"Major d'Arcy, your arm pray—let us go sit out upon the terrace."
"Your—er—pardon madam," he answered a little diffidently, "I was but now thinking of taking—er—my departure——"
"Go sir—O no sir! Tut Major and fie! What would Betty think of your so sudden desertion? Besides, I feel talkative—let us sit and tattle awhile, let us conspire together to the future good of my naughty niece and your wild nephew—Pancras. Though, by the way, sir, I didn't know Pancras had an uncle."
"Nor has he, mam," answered the Major, escorting her out upon the terrace and sitting down rather unwillingly, "I am but his uncle by—er—adoption, as 'twere."
"Adoption, sir?"
"He adopted me years ago—he was but a child then, d'ye see, and something solitary."
"Mm!" said Lady Belinda thoughtfully, viewing the Major's courtly figure again, "Indeed you are looking vastly well to-day, sir—grey is such an angelic tint—so spiritual! And young—I protest you look as young as Pancras himself!" The Major flushed and shifted uneasily on his seat. "And pray why doth Pancras tarry so long in London?"
"He writes that he is stayed by affairs of moment, mam."
"Then I vow 'tis most provoking in him! Here are you and I both a-burning to marry him to Bet—aren't we, dear Major?"
"Why as to that, mam—er—ah——" The Major grew muffled and incoherent.
"And here's Betty so carelessly rampageous—so, so lost to all sense of feminine weakness, alack!"
"Weakness?" murmured the Major.
"And so masculinely audacious! O dear sir, the vain hours I have spent trying to instil into her a little ladylike languor, a soft and feminine meekness! But alas! Betty is anything but meek—now is she?"
"Why—ah—perhaps not, mam—not exactly meek, as 'twere—and yet——"
"And she fears nought i' the world, living or dead, but a mouse!"
"But pray, mam, what should she fear?"
"La sir, what but your naughty, wicked sex. I vow, ere to-day, I've swooned at the merest sight of a man!"
"You—you've conquered the habit, I trust, mam?" enquired the Major a little anxiously.
"Indeed no, dear Major, I fear I never shall!"
"You don't feel any—inclination—now, mam?"
"Nay sir, unless you give me cause——"
"Egad, mam, I won't! Trust me——"
"Trust a man? Never, sir, 'tis a naughty sex. But talking of Bet, her head is quite turned, she suffers constantly from a surfeit of worshipping wooers, her will is their law, her merest glance or gesture a command—see her yonder, surrounded by her court yet must she have you also—see how she summons you!"
"Summons me—me, mam?" enquired the Major, a little breathlessly. "Nay, I see no summons!"
"With her eyes, sir!"
"Indeed she doth but glance this way."
"I know that trick o' the eyelash, sir! But as I say, Bet hath been spoiled by a too implicit masculine obedience, she groweth more imperious daily. If she but had someone to thwart her a little, cross her occasionally, 'twould do her a world of good."
"Certainly, mam!" he answered, all his attention centred upon that lovely, animated form on the lawn below.
"See—now she beckons you!"
"Egad, so she does!" he exclaimed, his eyes suddenly joyous. "Your pardon, mam, I must—" he gasped, for, attempting to rise, he found himself held and to his horror, perceived Lady Belinda's fingers twisted firmly in the silver-laced lapel of his coat-pocket. "Madam," he exclaimed in great agitation, "I beg—for the love of——"
"Sit still, sir—'twill do her a world of good!"
"But she needs me——"
"Sir, she hath six stalwart gentlemen to do her commands, let them suffice."
"But madam, I must——"
"Remain quiescent, sir—'twould be a sad pity to tear so fine a coat. Bide quiet, dear Major, and work a miracle."
So perforce the Major sat there miserably enough, while, unseen by the gay throng around her my Lady Betty continued to flash him knowledge of her indignant surprise, anger and contempt, even while her laughter rippled gaily to some ponderous witticism of Sir Benjamin.
"It works!" nodded Lady Belinda. "But, O Gemini, never follow her with such sheep's-eyes, Major, nor look so unutterly forlorn or you'll spoil all! Learn this, sir—what we humans strive for is always the thing withheld and—Betty is very human. And that reminds me she hath lately taken to whistling and walking in her sleep——"
"God bless my soul, mam, walking——"
"And whistling—both truly disquieting habits, sir! Morning, noon and night I cannot set foot above stairs but she falls a-whistling—extreme shrill and unpleasant! Lud, only last night, the place being hushed in sleep and everything so weird and churchyardy, sir, I heard a stealthy foot—that crept! I froze with horror! None the less I seized my candle, opened my door and—there was Betty—en déshabille, her hair streaming all about her and a loaf——"
"God bless my soul, mam!"
"Clasped to her bosom with one hand, sir, a platter in the other and her eyes—O sir, so wide and sightless! And her motion—so horridly ghostlike and glidy! My blood congealed instantly! But I followed, and she led me upstairs and she led me downstairs and she led me round about until I shivered 'twixt fright and weariness. At last I ventured to touch her—never so lightly, sir, and—O peaceful Heaven!"
"What, mam?"
"Scarce had I done so than she—O——"
"She did what, mam, what—a Gad's name, what?"
"Awoke sir, shrieked and dropped the loaf! Then I shrieked and the maids woke up and they shrieked and we all shrieked—O 'twas gruesome!"
"I can well believe it, mam!"
"And when she'd recovered me with burnt feathers—very noxious! it seemed 'twas all occasioned by a foolish dream—vowed she dreamed she was poor Jane Shore doing penance in Cheapside—though why with a loaf heaven only knows—and here she comes at last with Mr. Marchdale—'tis a case of Mahomet and the mount! Poor, dear young gentleman, see how he languishes! And his eyes! So dog-like!"
Sure enough Lady Betty was approaching in animated converse with her attendant swain but as she passed, the fan she had been using fell and lay unnoticed within a yard of the Major's trim shoe. Stooping, he picked it up, turned it over in reverent fingers then, seeing Betty had passed on, laid it tenderly upon the table whence Lady Belinda immediately took it and unfolding it, fanned herself complacently.
"I protest the sun is very warm here, Major," she sighed, "shall we walk?"
Obediently he rose and presently found himself treading smooth turf and vaguely aware of Lady Belinda's ceaseless prattle; chancing to lift his eyes he was surprised to see Betty strolling before him, this time with Lord Alvaston. As he watched, her dainty lace handkerchief fluttered to the grass.
"Aha!" murmured Lady Belinda. Instantly the Major stepped forward but Sir Jasper, who chanced to be near, reached it first, and lifting it tenderly, pressed it to lips, to bosom, and sighing, gave it to Betty's outstretched hand. The Major frowned and heartily wished himself back in his quiet study; Lady Belinda, watching him behind her fan, laughed softly:
"Major d'Arcy," said she, "I am thinking—deeply!"
"Indeed, mam!"
"I'm thinking that, after all, 'twill mayhap be as well if we agree to wed Betty to yourself——" The Major gasped. "Since you worship her so devotedly!"
"Mam—madam!" he stammered, "how did you learn——"
"I have sat beside you for quite twenty minutes, dear sir, and in all my days I never saw such a pitiful case of humble worship and dog-like devotion."
"Indeed mam, I—had begun to—to hope——"
"Hope still, sir. In two months, then. Yes, two months should be quite soon enough. How think you?" The Major was mute and before he could find an answer there came a burst of laughter from the adjacent shrubbery, a chorus of merriment that grew to a roar.
"Now I wonder—?" exclaimed Lady Belinda, halting suddenly, "This way, sir." Following whither he was led the Major soon came upon the merry company. Before them stood my lady Betty; in one hand she grasped the Major's gold-mounted cane, upon her raven hair was perched the Major's gold-laced hat, and now, squaring her shoulders, she began to limp to and fro—a limp there was no mistaking. She bowed and postured, mimicking to the life the Major's grave air, his attitude, his diffidence, the very tones of his voice.
"Egad mam! Good-day mam and how d'ye do, mam? You behold in me a philosopher, hence my gloom and spectre-at-the-feast air, as 'twere, d'ye see. Despite the silvered splendour of my coat and youthful trappings I am of antiquity hoary, mam, full o' years and wisdom, with soul immune and far above all human foibles and frailties, and vanities vain, as 'twere. Vices have I none, save that I do suck tobacco through pipe o' clay——"
Lord Alvaston, beholding the Major, choked suddenly in his laughter, Sir Benjamin started and dropped his snuff-box, the Marquis gasped and stared up at the sky and Lady Betty, turning about, found the Major within a yard of her; and seeing his look of sudden pain, his flushing cheek and the gentle reproach of his eyes, she stood motionless, struck suddenly speechless and abashed. But now, because of her embarrassment, he hastened to her and, to cover her distressed confusion, laughed lightly and stooping, caught her nerveless fingers to his lips:
"Dear my lady," said he, smiling down into her troubled eyes, "till this moment ne'er did I think this awkward, halting gait o' mine could seem so—so graceful as 'twere. I doubt 'twill irk me less, hereafter."
Then, gently possessing himself of hat and cane, he faced the dumb-struck company smiling and serene and, saluting each in turn, limped tranquilly away.
When he was gone, Lady Betty laughed shrilly, rent her laced handkerchief in quick, passionate hands and throwing it on the grass stamped on it; after which she flashed a glance of withering scorn upon the flinching bystanders and—sobbed.
"I detest, despise myself," she cried, "and you—all of you!"
Then she turned and sped, sobbing, into the house.
And the Major?
Reaching his study, he seized that exquisite, that peerless dove-coloured coat in merciless hands and wrenching it off, hurled it into a corner and rang for the Sergeant who came at the "double."
"Zebedee," said he between his teeth, pointing to that shimmering splendour of satin and silver lace, "take that accursed thing and burn it—bury it—away with it and bring me my Ramillie coat."
"Mrs. Agatha, mam," said the Sergeant, rubbing his square chin with the handle of the shears he had just been using, "he aren't been the same since that there night in the orchard! He be a-fading, mam, a-fading and perishing away afore my very eyes. He aren't ate this day so much as would keep a babe alive let alone a man like him, six foot and one inch, mam. Consequently, this morning I did feel called upon to re-monstrate as in dooty bound mam, and he said—so meek, so mild—so gentle as any bleating lamb, he says to me, says he——"
The Sergeant paused to heave a sigh and shake gloomy head.
"What did he say, Sergeant?"
"Mam, he says, says he—'Damn your eyes, Sergeant Zeb!' says he—but so mild and meek as any sucking dove——"
"Doves don't suck, Sergeant—at least I don't think so, and they never swear, I'm sure!"
"But, Mrs. Agatha mam, so meek he said it, so soft and mournful as my 'eart did bleed for him—his honour as could curse and swear so gay and hearty when needful! He says to me 'Zeb,' says he 'damn your eyes!' he says so sweet as any piping finch, mam." Here the Sergeant sighed heavily. "What's more, mam, he do talk o' marching off campaigning again."
"You mean to fight in more wars and battles?" she enquired with a catch in her voice.
"Aye mam, I do, and if he goes—I go as in dooty bound." Here fell a silence wherein Mrs. Agatha stared down at her basketful of roses and the Sergeant stared at her and rubbed his chin with the shears again. "Mam," said he suddenly, "a fortnight ago, being the thirtieth ultimo, towards three o'clock in the arternoon you did give me a little gold cross which is with me now and shall be hereafter living and dead Amen!"
"O Sergeant!" she said softly; and then "I'm glad you haven't lost it!"
"A fortnight ago mam," continued the Sergeant, "also towards three o'clock in the arternoon I—kissed you and the—the memory o' that kiss is never a-going to fade mam. You'll mind as I kissed you, mam?"
"Did you, Sergeant?"
"Ha' you forgot, mam?"
"Almost!" she answered softly, whereupon the Sergeant took a swift pace nearer, halted suddenly and turning away again, went on speaking:
"I kissed you for three reasons, same being as hereunder namely and viz. to wit, first because I wanted to, second because your pretty red lips was too near and too rosy to resist and third because I did mean to beg o' you to—to be—my wife."
"Did you—Zebedee?"
"I did so—then, but now I—I can't——"
"Why not—Zebedee?"
"Dooty mam, dooty forbids."
"You mean 'duty,' Sergeant," she corrected him gently.
"Dooty mam, pre-cisely! 'Tis his honour the Major, I thought as he were set on matrimony 'stead o' which I now find he's set on campaigning again, he talks o' nothing else o' late—and if he goes—I go. And if I go I can't ask you to wed—'twouldn't be fair."
"And why does he want to go?"
"Witchcraft, mam, devils, sorcery, black magic, and damned spells. Mrs. Agatha I do tell you he are not been his own man since he saw—what he saw i' the orchard t'other night."
"And what was that?" enquired Mrs. Agatha, glancing up bright-eyed from her fragrant basketful of roses.
"A apparation in form o' the dev—no, the devil in form of a apparation, mam."
"Fiddlededee!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha. The Sergeant jumped and stared.
"Mam!" said he in gentle reproach, "don't say that—ghosts is serious and——"
"A fiddle-stick for your ghost! 'Twould take more than a shade to put his honour off his food, Sergeant Zebedee Tring! The question is, who was your ghost? What was he like?"
"Why since you're for cross-examinating me, I'll confess I caught but a glimpse of same, same having vanished itself away afore my very eyes."
"Where to?"
"Into my Lady Carlyon's garden, mam, and it dissolved itself so quick——"
"Tut!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha,
"Tut is very well, mam, and—vastly fetching as you say it but none the less——"
"Ha' done Sergeant and let me think! Tell me, the night you went ghost-seeking did you catch ever a one—a man, say?"
"Aye, I did so, mam—one o' these London sparks and very fierce he were too!"
"Which one? What like was he!" With the aid of the shears Sergeant Zebedee described the trespasser very fully as regards face, costume and behaviour.
"That," said Mrs. Agatha, nodding her pretty head, "that should be Mr. Dalroyd—
"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "how d'ye know this, mam?"
"Well, Sergeant, I do chance to have eyes, also ears and I do use 'em. This fine gentleman was your ghost t'other night, I'll swear."
"But what o' the hoofs and horns, mam, what o' the stink o' brimstone?"
"Have you seen ever a one yourself, Sergeant, or smelt the brimstone?"
"No mam, but Roger Bent has."
"Fiddlededee again, Sergeant!"
"Eh mam?"
"Roger Bent would see or smell anything. The question is what was Mr. Dalroyd after? Since you can't find out—I will."
"As how, mam?"
"By wagging my tongue, Sergeant."
"At—who, mam?"
"Well, to begin with there is his solemn servant, Mr. Joseph——"
The Sergeant swore fiercely.
"No mam," said he frowning, "not him nor any like him. He aren't fit for you to walk on—'twould dirty your pretty shoes——"
"But I don't mean to walk on him, nor spoil my shoes."
"Then don't hold no truck with him, mam—if you do——" the Sergeant set his grim jaw fiercely.
"Well—what?"
"I shall be compelled to—out with his liver mam, that's all!"
"Lud, Sergeant Tring."
"Bound to do it, Mrs. Agatha, so—keep away from same——"
"Sergeant, don't be a fool! I must use him to find out and why do you think I want to find out?"
"Being a woman—curiosity belike?"
"Being a blockhead you must be told!" cried Mrs. Agatha, her eyes flashing, "I want to find out the Major's trouble to make an end of the Major's trouble because I would keep him here at home. And I would keep him at home because then he won't go a-marching off to the wars, and if he don't go marching to the wars, why then—then——"
"Yes, yes mam—then?"
"Then—find out!" cried Mrs. Agatha her cheeks very red all at once; and she sped away into the house leaving the Sergeant to stare after her and rub his chin with the shears harder than ever. He was so engaged when he was aware of the approach of rapid hoofs and, glancing down the drive, beheld a cavalier swing in at the open gates and come thundering towards him.
The Viscount rode at his usual speed, a stretching gallop; on he came beneath the long avenue of chestnuts, horse hoofs pounding, curls flying, coat-skirts fluttering, nor checked his pace until he was almost upon the Sergeant, then he reined up in full career and was himself on terra firma almost in the same instant.
"Ha, Zeb," he sighed, drooping in modish languor, "split me, but I'm glad to see that square phiz o' thine, 'tis positive tanic after London, I vow! How goeth rusticity, Zeb?"
"As well as can be expected, my lord!"
"And the Major?"
"As well as can be hoped, sir, what with devils, apparations, witchcraft, magic, sorcery and hocus-pocus, m' lud!"
"Gad save my perishing soul!" exclaimed the Viscount, "What's it all mean, Zeb?"
"Well, Master Pancras sir, it do mean—nay, yonder cometh his honour to tell you himself, mayhap." Saying which, Sergeant Zebedee led the Viscount's horse away to the stables while his lordship, knocking dust from his slender person, went to greet the Major.
"Sir," said he as they clasped hands, "'tis real joy to see you again, but pray discover me the why and wherefore of the gruesome nightmare?" and he shook reproachful head at the Ramillie coat.
"'Tis easy, Tom, old and comfortable, d'ye see, while my new ones are so—so plaguy fine and overpowering as 'twere, so to speak, that I feel scarce worthy of 'em. So I—I treasure 'em, Tom, for—for great occasions and the like——"
"A grave fallacy, nunk! Modish garments must be worn whiles the prevailing fashion holds—to-day they are the mode, to-morrow, the devil! Fashion, sir, is coquettish as woman or weathercock, 'tis for ever a-veering, already there is a new button-hole."
"Indeed, Tom! Egad you stagger me!"
"Cansequently sir, being a dutiful nephew, I took thought to order you three more new suits—
"The devil you did!"
"Having special regard to this new button-hole, sir——"
"These will make nine o' them!" sighed the Major.
"Your pardon, sir, exactly thirty-one, neither more or less!"
"Good God, Tom!" ejaculated the Major, halting on the terrace-steps to stare h is amazement, "Thirty-one of 'em? How the deuce——"
"Cut aslant, d'ye see, nunky, and arabesqued with lace of gold or silver——"
"But, nephew—a Gad's name, what am I to do with so many—d'ye take me for a regiment? 'Tis 'gainst all reason for a man to wear thirty-one suits of——"
"Sir, I allude to button-holes!"
"Thank heaven!" murmured the Major.
"Moreover sir, there is, late come in, a new cravat—a poorish thing with nought to commend it save simplicity. It seems you throw it round your neck, get your fellow to twist it behind till you're well-nigh choked to death, bring the ends over your shoulders, loop 'em through a brooch and 'tis done. I propose to show you after supper."
"Hum!" said the Major dubiously. "Meantime a bottle won't be amiss after your long ride, I judge? Come in, Tom, come in and tell me of your adventures."
"Thank'ee, sir, though t' be sure I drapped in at the "George" on my way hither—left my two rogues there with my baggage. Which reminds me I have a letter for you." Diving into his coat-pocket he brought forth the missive in question and tendered it to the Major who took it, broke the seal and read.