The arrangement for the trial of the ponies had been one of some standing between Sir Charles and his wife, and one to which he fully intended to adhere. It is true that on waking after the supper with Messrs. Bligh, Winton, Pontifex, and their companions, he did not feel quite so fresh as he might have wished, and would very much have liked a couple of hours' additional sleep; yet so soon as he remembered the appointment, he determined that Georgie should not be disappointed; and by not having the "chill" taken off his shower-bath as usual, he was soon braced up to his ordinary good condition. Nevertheless, with all his good intentions, he was nearly an hour later than usual; and Georgie had gone up to dress for the drive when Sir Charles descended to the breakfast-room to discuss the second relay of broiled bone and devilled kidney which had been served up to tempt his sluggish appetite. He was making a not very successful attempt to eat, and between each mouthful was reading in the newspaper Mr. Rose's laudatory notice of Mr. Spofforth's play, when his servant, entering, told him that a "person" wanted to speak to him. There is no sharper appreciator of worldly position than your well-trained London servant, and Banks was a treasure.
"What is it, Banks?" asked Sir Charles, looking up.
"A person wishing to see you, Sir Charles," replied Banks.
"A person! is it a man or a woman?"
"The party," said Banks, varying his word, but not altering the generic appellation,--"the party is a man, sir."
"Do I know him?"
"I should say certainly not, Sir Charles," replied Banks in a tone which intimated that if his master did know the stranger, he ought to be ashamed of himself.
"Did he give no name?"
"I ast him for his name, Sir Charles, and he only says, 'Tell your master,' he says, 'that a gentleman,' he says, 'wants to see him.'"
"Oh, tell him that he must call some other time and send in his business. I can't see him now; I'm just going out for a drive with Lady Mitford. Tell him to call again."
"There was a time, and not very long ago either," said Sir Charles, taking up the paper as Banks retired, "that if I'd been told that a man who wouldn't give his name wanted to speak to me, I should have slipped out the back-way and run for my life. But, thank God, that's all over now.--Well, Banks, what now?"
"The party is very arbitrary, Sir Charles; he won't take 'no' for an answer; and when I told him you must know his business, he bust out larfin' and told me to say he was an old messmate of yours, and had sailed with you on board the Albatross."
A red spot burned on Sir Charles Mitford's cheek as he laid the newspaper aside and said, "Show this person into the library, and deny me to every one while he remains. Let your mistress be told I am prevented by business from driving with her to-day. Look sharp!"
Mr. Banks was not accustomed to be told to "look sharp!" and during his three-months' experience of his master he had never heard him speak in so petulant a tone. "I'd no idea he'd been a seafarin' gent," he said downstairs, "or I'd a never undertook the place. The tempers of those ship-captains is awful."
When Banks had left the room Sir Charles walked to the sideboard, and leant heavily against it while he poured out and drank a liqueur-glass of brandy.
"The Albatross!" he muttered with white lips; "which of them can it be? I thought I had heard the last of that cursed name. Banks said a man; it's not the worst of them, then. That's lucky."
He went into the library and seated himself in an armchair facing the door. He had scarcely done so when Banks gloomily ushered in the stranger.
He was a middle-sized dark man, dressed in what seemed to be a seedy caricature of the then prevailing fashion. His coat had once been a bright-claret colour, but was now dull, threadbare, and frayed round the edges of the breast-pocket, out of which peeped the end of a flashy silk handkerchief. He had no shirt-collar apparent; but wore round his neck a dirty blue-satin scarf with two pins, one large and one small, fastened together by a little chain. His trousers were of a staring green shawl-pattern, cut so as to hide nearly all the boot and tightly strapped down, as was the fashion of those days; and the little of his boots visible was broken and shabby. Sir Charles looked at him hard and steadily, then gave a sigh of relief. He had never seen the man before. He pointed to a chair, into which his visitor dropped with an easy swagger; then crossed his legs, and looking at Sir Charles, said familiarly, "And how areyou?"
"You have the advantage of me," said Sir Charles.
"I think I have," said the man grinning; "and what's more, I mean to keep it too. Lord, what a precious dance you have led me, to be sure!"
"Look here, sir," said Mitford "be good enough to tell me your business, and go. I'm engaged."
"Go! Oh, you're on the high jeff, are you? And engaged too! Going to drive your missis out in that pretty little trap I saw at the door? Well, I'm sorry to stop you; but you must."
"Must!"
"Yes, must. 'Tain't a nice word; but it's the word I want. Must; and I'll tell you why. You recollect Tony Butler?"
Sir Charles Mitford's colour, which had returned when he saw that his visitor was a stranger to him, and which had even increased under the insolence of the man's manner, fled at the mention of this name. His face and lips were quite white as he said, "I do indeed."
"Yes, I knew you would. Well, he's dead, Tony is."
"Thank God!" said Sir Charles; "he was a horrible villain."
"Yes," said the man pleasantly; "I think I'm with you in both those remarks. It's a good job he's dead; and hewasa bad 'un, was Tony, though he was my brother."
"Your brother!"
"Ah! that's just it. We never met before, because I was in America when you and Tony were so thick together. You see I'm not such a swell as Tony was; and they--him and father, I mean--were glad to get me out of the country for fear I should spoil any of their little games. When I came back, you had given Tony a licking, so far as I could make out, though he'd never tell exactly, and your friendship was all bust up, and he was dreadfully mad with you. And that's how we never came to meet before."
"And why have we met now, pray?" said Sir Charles. "What is your business with me?"
"I'm coming to that in good time. Tony's last words to me were, 'If you want to do a good thing for yourself, Dick,' he says, 'find out a fellow named Charles Mitford. He's safe to turn up trumps some day,' says Tony, 'he's so uncommonly sharp; and whenever you get to speak to him, before you say who you are, tell him you sailed in the Albatross.' Lord bless you! I knew the lot of 'em-Crockett, and Dunks, and Lizzie Ponsford; they said you and she used to be very sweet on each other, and--"
The door opened suddenly, and Lady Mitford hurried into the room; but seeing a stranger, she drew back. Sir Charles went to the door.
"What do you want, Georgie?" said he sharply.
"I had no idea you had any one here, Charles, or I wouldn't have disturbed you. Oh, Charley, send that horrid man away, and come and drive me out."
She looked so pretty and spoke so winningly that he patted her cheek with his hand, and said in a much softer voice, "I can't come now, child. This man is here on special business, and I must go through it with him. So goodbye, pet, and enjoy yourself."
She made a littlemoueof entreaty, and put her hands before his face in a comic appeal; but he shook his head, kissed her cheek, and shut the door.
"Pretty creechur, that!" said his companion; "looks as well in her bonnet as out of it; and there's few of 'em does, I think."
"When did you ever see Lady Mitford before, sir?" asked Sir Charles haughtily.
"Ah! that's just it," replied Mr. Butler with a sniggering laugh. "I told you you'd led me a precious dance to find you, and so you had. Tony told me that you had regularly come to grief since you parted with him, and I had a regular hunt after you, in all sorts of lodging-houses and places. There are lots of my pals on the lookout for you now."
"Upon my soul, you're devilish kind to take all this trouble about me, Mr.--Butler. What your motive was I can't imagine."
"You'll know all in good time; I'm coming to that; and not 'Butler,' please: Mr. Effingham is my name just now; I'll tell you why by and by. Well, I couldn't get hold of you anyhow, and I thought you'd gone dead or something, when last night, as I was standing waiting to come out of the Parthenium, I heard the linkmen outside hollering 'Lady Mitford's carriage!' like mad. The name strikes on my ears, and I thought I'd wait and see her ladyship. Presently down came the lady we've just seen, leaning on the arm of a cove in a big black beard like a foreigner. 'No go,' says I, 'that's not my man;' and I says to a flunkey who was standing next to me, 'He's a rum 'un to look at, is her husband.' 'That's not her husband,' he says; 'this is Sir Charles coming now.' The name Charles and the figure being like struck me at once; so I took the flunkey into the public next door, and we had a glass, and he told me all about the old gent and his kids being drowned, and your coming in for the title. 'That's my man,' says I to myself; and I found out where you lived, and came straight on here this morning."
"And now that your prying and sneaking has been successful and you have found me, what do you want?"
"Ah! I thought you'd lose your temper; Tony always said you was hotheaded. What do I want! Well, to be very short and come to the point at once--money."
"I guessed as much."
"Yes, there's no denying it; I'm regularly stumped. I suppose you were surprised now to hear I wasn't flush, after seeing me so well got-up? But it's a deal of it dummy. These pins now,--Lowther Arcade! No ticker at the end of this guard; nothing but a key-look!" And he twitched a key out of his waistcoat-pocket. "My boots too are infernally leaky; and my hat has become quite limp from being perpetually damped and ironed. Yes, I want money badly."
"Look here, Mr.----"
"Effingham."
"Mr. Effingham, you have taken, as you yourself admit, an immense deal of trouble to hunt me up, and having found me you ask me for money, on the ground of your being the brother of an infernal scoundrel whom I had once the ill-luck to be associated with--don't interrupt me, please. It wasn't Tony Butler's fault that I didn't die on a dunghill, or that I am not now--"
"In Norfolk Island," said Mr. Effingham, getting in his words this time.
Sir Charles glared fiercely at him for an instant, and then continued: "Now I expected I should have to encounter this sort of thing from the people who pillaged me when I was poor, and would make that an excuse for further extortion, and I determined not to accede to any application. But as you're the first who has applied, and as you've neither bullied nor whined, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you, on condition I never see or hear of you again, this five-pound note."
Mr. Effingham laughed, a real hearty laugh, as he shook his head, and said: "Won't do: nothing like enough."
Sir Charles lost his temper, and said: "Stop this infernal tomfoolery, sir! Not enough! Why, d--n it, one would think you had a claim upon me!"
"And suppose I have, Sir Charles Mitford, what then?" said Mr. Effingham, leaning forward in his chair and confronting his companion.
"What then? Why--pooh, stuff! this is a poor attempt at extortion. You don't think to get any money out of me by threatening to tell of my connection with the Albatross crew? You don't think I should mind the people to whom you could tell it knowing it, do you?"
"I don't know; perhaps not; and yet I think I shall be able before I've done to prove to you I've a claim on you."
"What is it?"
"All tiled here, eh? Nobody within earshot? That sleek cove in black that wouldn't let me see you, not listening at the door, is he?"
"There is no one to hear," said Sir Charles, who was getting more and more uncomfortable at all this mystery.
"All right, then. Sorry to rake up disagreeables; but I must. You recollect making a slight mistake about your Christian name once, fancying it was Percy instead of Charles; writing it as Percy across a stamped bit of paper good for two hundred quid, and putting Redmoor as your address after it?"
"Well, what if I do?" His lips were so parched he could hardly frame the words.
"It would be awkward to have anything of that sort brought up just now, wouldn't it?"
Sir Charles hesitated for an instant, then gave a great sigh of relief as he said: "You infernal scoundrel! you think to frighten me with that, do you? To make that the ground for your extortion? Why, you miserable wretch, I myself burnt that--that--document in Moss's office!"
"How you do run on, Sir Charles! I just mentioned something about a little bill, and you're down upon me in a moment. I guessed that was destroyed; at all events I knew it was all safe; and Sir Percy's dead, so it don't much matter. But, Lord! with your memory you must surely recollectanotherlittle dockyment,--quite a little one, only five-and-twenty pound,-where you mistook both your names that time, and accepted it as Walter Burgess:--recollect?"
The pallor had spread over Mitford's face again, and his lips quivered as he said: "That was destroyed--destroyed by Tony Butler long since--before the other one was done."
"Yes, yes, I know this was the first,--a little one just to get your hand in. But it ain't destroyed. It's all right, bless you! I can see it now with a big black 'FORGED' stamped across it by the bank-people."
"Where is it?"
"Oh, it's in very safe keeping with a friend of mine who scarcely knows its value. Because, though he knows its a forgery, he don't know who done it; now, you see, through my brother Tony, I do know who done it; and I do know that Walter Burgess is alive, and is a large hop-factor down Maidstone way, and owing you a grudge for that thrashing you gave him in the billiard-rooms at Canterbury, which he's never forgotten, would come forward and prosecute at once."
"You--you might prove the forgery; but how could you connect me with it?"
"Not bad, that. But I'm ready for you. People at the bank will prove you had the money; and taken in connection with the other little business, which is well known, and which there are lots of people to prove, a jury would convict at once."
Sir Charles Mitford shuddered, and buried his face in his hands. Then, looking up, said: "How much do you want for that bill?"
"Well, you see, that's scarcely the question. It's in the hands of a man who don't know its value, and if he did he'd open his mouth pretty wide, and stick it on pretty stiff, I can tell you. So we can let him bide a bit. Meantime I know about it, and, as Tony told me, I intend to make it serve me. Now you want to get rid of me, and don't want to see me for some little time? I thought so. I'm not an extravagant cove; give me fifty pounds."
"Until that bill is destroyed, you will wring money from me when you choose."
"If you refused me money and I cut up rough, the bill should be produced, and you'd be in quod and Queer Street in a jiffy! Better do as I say--give me the fifty, and you shan't see me for a blue moon!"
Whether Sir Charles was stimulated by the period named or not, it is certain he sat down at his desk, and producing his cheque-book, began to write. Mr. Effingham looked over his shoulder.
"Make it payable to some number--295, or anything--not a name, please. And you needn't cross it. Lord! you didn't take much trouble to disguise your fist when you put Walter Bur--, beg pardon! quite forgot what I was saying. Thank you, Sir Charles. I'll keep my word all right, you shall see. I'm not an idle beggar; I'm always at something; so that I shan't depend entirely on this bit of gray paper; but it'll ease my springs and grease my wheels a bit. Good-day to you, Sir Charles. Never mind ringing for that solemn cove to let me out; I ain't proud. Good-day."
Mr. Effingham gave a very elaborate bow, and departed. As the door shut upon him, Sir Charles Mitford pulled his chair to the fire, and fell into a deep reverie, out of which he did not rouse himself until his wife's return.
It was not because Laurence Alsager had been for a twelvemonth in the East that he believed in the Mohammedan doctrine of fatalism. That had been an unacknowledged part of his creed long before the disappointment which sent him flying from the ordinary routine of life had fallen upon him. Even under that disappointment he allowed the power of the wondrous "to be," and, bowing to its influence, accepted his exile with far greater equanimity than many others would have done under similar circumstances. He had suffered his plans--undecided when he left England--to be entirely guided by chance; had followed suggestions for his route made by hotel-landlords or conveyance-advertisements; had dallied over one part of his journey and hurried over another, simply in obedience to the promptings of the feeling of the moment; and had finally decided on returning to be present at the first night of Spofforth's play at the Parthenium in the haphazard spirit which had prompted all his movements.
His belief in Kismet had been enormously strengthened since his return. It was "arranged" that Lady Mitford should be present on the occasion in question; that he should be presented to her after trying to avoid her and her party; that Lord Dollamore should be at the Club, and should give utterance to those sentiments which had aroused so deep a disgust in Laurence's breast. As to the events of the next day,--the visit to Saunderson's, the drive to Acton, the trial of Sir Launcelot and its consequences,--therein was the most marvellous illustration of the doctrine of Kismet that ever he had yet seen.
He thought of all this as he woke the next morning; and clearly saw in an instant that it would be running directly contrary to his fate to go down to see his father just then. He felt impelled to remain in London, and in London he should stay. He felt--Ah, how beautiful she looked as he dragged her out from amidst thedébrisof the carriage and the plunging hoofs of the ponies, though her face was as pale as marble, and the light of her eyes was quenched beneath the drooping lids! It was Kismet that had kept that handsome oaf, her husband, at home, and prevented his interfering with the little romance. Not that Sir Charles Mitford was by any means an oaf; he was a man of less worldly experience, of less polish, of social standing, higher in rank, but decidedly lower in reputation, than Laurence; and so Laurence regarded him as an oaf, and, since the pony-carriage adventure, began to find a little hatred mingling with the contempt with which he had previously regarded the latest addition to the baronetage.
This last feeling may have been in accordance with the rules of Kismet, but it certainly was not in accordance with the practice of the world. There were many men in his old regiment, and generally throughout the brigade of Guards,--men who, as professedlycoureurs des dames, held that, for the correct carrying out of a flirtation with a married woman, an intimacy of a certain kind with the lady's husband was almost indispensable. And, though not good at argument, had they been put to it, they could have indorsed theirdictawith plenty of examples. They could have told of picnics improvised solely for the pleasure of madame's society, when monsieur was of the greatest assistance, the life and soul of the party, opening champagne, finding salt, cracking jokes; the only man who could induce the gathered leaves to burst into a fire for kettle-boiling purposes; the first to volunteer to sit in the rumble with the captain's valet on the journey homewards. They could have told of visits paid in opera-boxes at a time when it was certain that monsieur was just smacking his lips over something peculiar in claret at a dinner at the Junior, specially given by the captain's brother-officer, the major. They could have told of capital fishing and excellent shooting obtained by them for monsieur with a tendency in that direction; stream or lake, moor or stubble, always happening to be at a very remote distance from monsieur's family abode. There were even some of them who for the time being would thoroughly interest themselves in monsieur and his affairs, would bear with his children, would listen to his stories, would, on rare occasions, be seen about with him, and would, when very hard hit, invite him to the Windsor mess, or give him a seat in the Derby drag.
But that sort of thing did not do for Laurence Alsager. Such a line of conduct might have suited him once; but it would have been years ago, and with a very different style of wife and husband from Lady Mitford and Sir Charles. He could not think of her with any feeling that was not deeply tinged with respect, and that in itself was sufficient to remove this new passion from the category of his past loves. His new passion? Yes; he could not deny it to himself; he felt a singular interest in this woman; there was an attraction in her such as he had never experienced in any one else. He smiled as he recollected how in the bygone times he would have called her "cold" and "statuesque;" how he would have despised her slight figure, and thought her manners rustic, if notgauche. How he had sneered at love, as distinguished from intrigue, when he was a mere boy; and now, at thirty, after thirteen years of hard life of all kinds--traces of which might be seen in a few lines round the eyes and on the forehead--he was lapsing into the calf-love which boys at school feel for the master's daughter. He laughed; but he knew it was all true, nevertheless.
He must see her that day, of course; at least, he must call--mere politeness required so much after the events of the previous day. Meanwhile he would go down to the club, to read the papers and get some luncheon, and kill time.
There were several men in the morning-room at the club, some of whom he had seen on the first night of his arrival, others whom he met now for the first time since his return.
Lord Dollamore was there, his legs up on a sofa, reading a newspaper, with a very peculiar grin upon his face.
"Here he is!" he said, looking towards the door as Laurence entered the room; "here's the man himself! Why don't we have a band to play 'See the conquering'?"
"So we ought, by Jove!" said Cis Hetherington. "Hallo, Laurence, old boy! no sling or anything?"
"Looks well after it, don't he?" said another; while several old gentlemen looked up from their newspapers, partly in admiration, partly in awe.
"Fire away, gentlemen!" said Laurence. "Be as funny as you please; it's all lost upon me. What the deuce do you mean by 'sling,' Cis?"
"He's been so long away, that he's forgotten the English language," sneered Dollamore.
"O no, he hasn't, Lord Dollamore, as he'd quickly show you, were there the least occasion," said Laurence. "But," added he more quietly, "what is the joke? I give you my honour I don't know what you're talking about."
"A lovely lady and a gallant knight! Bring forth the steed! The accident; the leap; the rescue! Ha, ha! she's saved! Slow music and curtain! Stunnin' draymer it would make. I can introduce you to several enterprising managers if you'd like to tour in the provinces," said jolly Mr. Wisconsin, who spent nearly all his time and two-third's of his income amongst theatrical people.
"Why, how on earth did that story get here?" asked Laurence, on whom the truth was beginning slowly to dawn.
"Here! why, it's all over town--all over England by this time. It's in the papers."
"In the papers! Ah, you're selling me."
"Take it, and read for yourself," said Wisconsin. "Open the paper, and knock it back with your hand--that's the legitimate business."
"Doosid well Alsager pretends to be astonished, don't he, considering he put that in the paper himself?"
"No, he didn't do it himself; he got Cis Hetherington to do it."
"Cis couldn't have spelt it," said Lord Dollamore. "There are some devilish long words, over which Cis would have come a cropper."
While his friends were thus pleasantly discussing him, Laurence was reading a remarkably full-flavoured and eloquent description of a "Serious Accident and Gallant Conduct," as the paragraph was headed, in which Lady Mitford's name and his own figured amongst the longest adjectives and most difficult adverbs. How the wildly excited steeds dashed away at a terrific pace; how the grasp of the lovely charioteer gradually relaxed, and how her control over the fiery animals was finally lost; how the attendant groom did everything that strength and science in equine matters could suggest, until he was flung, stunned and breathless, into the mire; and how finally, the gallant son of Mars, mounted on a matchless barb, came bounding over the hedge, and extricated the prostrate and palpitating form of the lovely member of the aristocracy from utter demolition at the hoofs of the infuriated animals. All this was to be found in the newspaper paragraph which Laurence was reading. This paragraph originated in a short story told by the groom in the bar of a public-house close to the mews, whither he had gone to solace himself with beer after the indignities he had suffered at Mr. Spurrier's hands, and where he had the satisfaction of repeating it to a broken-down seedy man, who "stood" a pint, and who took short notes of the groom's conversation in a very greasy pocketbook.
Laurence was horribly disgusted, as could be seen by the expression of his face, and the nervous manner in which he kept twisting the ends of his moustache. The amusement of the other men was rather increased than diminished at his annoyance, and was at its height when Cis Hetherington asked:
"What the doose is a 'matchless barb,' Alsager? I've seen all sorts of hacks in my time, but never met with one of that kind."
"What do you mean by hacks?" said another. "A barb is a fellow that writes plays, ain't it? They call Shakespeare the immortal barb."
"Ah, but they call him a Swan, and all kinds of things. There's no making out what a thing is by what they call him."
Meanwhile Lord Dollamore had risen from the couch, and strolled over to the rug in front of the fire, where Laurence was standing.
"You've begun your duties quickly, my dear Alsager. There are few fellows who get the chance of falling into their position so rapidly."
"What position?"
"That of champion of beauty in distress."
"Position! I declare I don't follow you, my lord."
"My dear Alsager, surely the East has not had the effect of rendering obtuse one of the keenest of men. Don't you recollect our talk the other night?"
"Perfectly."
"When I then expressed my opinion that Lady Mitford would have to go through the usual amount of danger, of course I meant moral, not actual, peril. However, the actual seems to have come first."
"Ye-es. A smashed carriage and plunging horses may, I suppose, be looked upon as actual danger."
"Ah, she'll have worse things than those to contend against and encounter. You were lucky enough to save her from a fractured skull; I suppose we shall see you doing the 'sweet-little-cherub' business, and watching over her generally, henceforth."
"You seem to forget that Lady Mitford has a husband, Lord Dollamore."
"Not for an instant, my good fellow. But so has--well, Mrs. Hammond--and so have lots of women; but then the husbands are generally engaged in taking care of somebody else. Well, well, to think thatyoushould become a sheep-dog,--you whose whole early life was spent in worrying the lambs!"
"Whose wholeearlylife--that's it!Quand le diable est vieux il se fait ermite!"
"Ye-es; but if I were the husband of a very pretty young wife, I doubt whether I should particularly like you being her father confessor."
"You need not alarm yourself, my lord; I'm not going in for the position."
"Qui a bu, boira, my dear Alsager. I distrust sudden conversions, and have no great reliance on sheep-dogs whose fangs are scarcely cleared of wool."
Laurence might have replied somewhat sharply to this, had he heard it; but he was off on his way to the coffee-room to his luncheon, which had been announced by the waiter; that finished, he started off for Eaton Place.
He had sufficient matter for reflection on his walk. This preposterous story which had crept into the papers would of course form a splendid subject of gossip for all those who had nothing better to do than to talk about such things. There was already a certain amount of interest attaching to the Mitfords from the fact of Sir Charles having inherited the baronetcy in a singular and unlooked-for manner, and from his wife's having had the audacity--although sprung from an unknown family--to have a beautiful face and agreeable manners. For this presumption Alsager felt that a terrible retribution was in store for her, poor child, when the regular season came on, and the dowagers brought up their saleable daughters to the market. Then the notion that a common country parson's daughter had been beforehand with them, and had carried off an unexceptionablepartibefore he had been regularly advertised as ready for stalking, would drive these old ladies to a pitch of rankling and venomous despair which would find vent in such taunts, hints, insinuations, and open lies as are only learnt in the great finishing-school of London society. Lady Mitford's beauty, style, and position were in themselves quite sufficient to render her an object of dislike to nine-tenths of the other women in society, who would eagerly search for something against her, however slight it might be. Had not that unfortunate accident and its result given them this "something"? Laurence had been too long amongst the ranks ofnous autresnot to recognize the meaning of the grins and winks which went round the assembled circle of club-men when the newspaper paragraph was read, not fully to understand every sneering inflexion of Lord Dollamore's voice. Thus was the sin of his youth visited on him in later life, with a vengeance. Hundreds of other men might have done exactly as he had--an act simply of manly impulse--without anything having been said about it save praise; but with him, that infernal reputation for gallantry, of which he was once so proud, and which he now so intensely loathed, would set shoulders shrugging and eyebrows lifting at once. The old story! Laurence Alsager again! What else could be expected? For an instant, as all these thoughts came rushing through his mind, he stopped short, wondering whether it would not be better to retrace his steps to the hotel, and to fulfil his first-formed resolution of paying a hurried visit to his father, and then quitting England at once. Yes; it would be much better; it would save any chance of scandal or talk, and--And yet he did not like to miss the chance of being thanked by those sweet eyes and that soft voice. He had thought so much of how she would look, not as he had hitherto seen her in full evening-dress or in her bonnet, but in that simple morning-costume in which all charming women look most charming. Besides, it was his duty as a gentleman to call, after the events of the previous day, and see whether she was suffering from any result of her accident, or from any fright which might have arisen from it. Yes; he would first call and see her, and then go away;--at least, he was not quite certain whether he would go away or not. He was not sure that it would not be far more advisable that he should stay in England, and be on the spot to put a stop at once to any preposterous talk that might arise; and especially to watch over her in case of any attempts which might be made by men of the Dollamore class. Lord Dollamore was a most dangerous fellow, a man who would stick at nothing to gain his ends; and what those ends were, it was, to a man of Alsager's experience, by no means difficult to imagine. Besides, he was merely the type of a class; and if all he had stated about Sir Charles Mitford were really true, if the baronet were a man of dissolute tastes and habits, and utterly unable to withstand the temptation which his wealth and position would at once open up to him, it was absolutely necessary that some one should be there to prevent his wife's falling a prey to the numerous libertines who would immediately attempt to take advantage of her husband'sescapades, and ingratiate themselves into her favour.
When the wish is father not merely to the thought, but to the subsequent argument, it is by no means difficult to beat down and utterly vanquish the subtlest and most logical self-reasoning. Three minutes' reflection and balancing served to show Laurence how wrong he had been in thinking of absenting himself at such a critical time; and though for a moment the "still small voice" ventured to insinuate a doubt of the soundness of his argument, yet he felt that leaving future events to take such course as they might ultimately fall into--it was at least his bounden duty to go then and inquire after Lady Mitford; and onwards he proceeded.
Lady Mitford was at home. In a charming drawing-room--everything in it bearing evidence of exquisite womanly taste,--he found her, dressed, as he expected, in the most lovely of morning-costumes--a high violet-silk dress with a simple linen collar and cuffs; her hair perfectly plain, showing the small classic head in all its beauty: she looked to him the loveliest creature he had ever seen. She rose at the announcement of his name, and came forward with a pleasant smile on her face and with outstretched hand Laurence noticed--not, perhaps, without a little disappointment--that there was not the smallest sign of a blush on her cheek, nor the slightest tremor in her voice.
"I'm so glad to see you, Colonel Alsager," she said frankly; "I'm sure I've thought a hundred times since we parted of mygaucheriein not thanking you sufficiently for the real service you did me yesterday."
"Pray don't say another word about it, Lady Mitford; it was a simple duty which merits no further mention."
"Indeed, I don't think so. It was a very gallant act in itself, and one which, so far as I'm concerned, renders me your debtor for life."
"The acknowledgment cancels the obligation. I only trust you are none the worse for the mishap."
"Thank you, not in the least.. I was a little shaken and unstrung by the fall, and rather stupid yesterday evening, I'm inclined to think; but the night's rest has set me perfectly right. You know I'm country-bred, and therefore what my husband would call in good condition; and I've had so many tumbles off ponies, and been upset so many times in our Devonshire lanes by papa,--who, I'm afraid, is not a very good whip, bless him!--that I'm not entirely unused to such accidents."
"That accounts for your pluck, then. I never saw any one go through what--now it's over--I may say was a very ugly runaway, with more perfect calmness."
"Ah, that's what I wanted to ask you. I lost my head just as we started down that descent, and knew nothing afterwards. I do so hope I didn't scream."
"You may make yourself thoroughly easy on that score. You were perfectly mute."
"Iamdelighted at that!" she laughed out with childish glee. "Charley asked me the very first thing whether I hadn't 'yelled out,' as he called it; and I told him I thought not. It was very weak of me to faint, and I fought against it as long as I could; but I felt it must come, and it did."
"You would have been more than woman if you could have deprived yourself of that treat," said Laurence "How is Sir Charles?"
"Well, not very well. I fancy that this accident has upset him very much, poor fellow. I think he blames himself for having allowed me to go without him; and yet he couldn't come, as he had some horrid man here on business. But he's been very dull and preoccupied ever since. He'll be annoyed at having missed you, as he went out specially to call and thank you for your great kindness. We did not know your address, and he went down to Mr. Bertram's office to get it from him."
"Oh, Bertram is a very old friend of mine. It was from him I first heard of you."
"Yes, he knew Charley at Oxford. He is a kind gentle creature, I should think; a man that it must be impossible for any one to dislike. And really his silence is sometimes anything but disagreeable--at a theatre, you know, and that sort of thing."
"Silence! I can assure you, Lady Mitford, that when you are the theme of his discourse, he is a perfect Demosthenes. 'The common mouth, so gross to express delight, in praise of her grew oratory,' as Tennyson says.. He is one of your stanchest admirers."
Lady Mitford looked uncomfortable and a little vexed, as she said, "Indeed!" then smiled again as she added, "You also have the effect of loosening the dumb man's tongue. In Mr. Bertram you have the loudest of trumpeters. In fact, ever since he heard from you of your intended return, we have grown almost tired of hearing of your good qualities."
"I hope you won't banish me, as the Athenians did Aristides for the same reason. Old George is one of the best fellows living. Do you know many people now in town, Lady Mitford?"
"No, indeed. Our Devonshire neighbours have not come up yet, and will not, I suppose, until Parliament meets. And then Sir Charles having been--been away for some time, and I not having lived in society, we scarcely know anybody yet; at least, I mean--I--some of Charley's old. friends have found us out. Mr. Bertram, Captain Bligh and Major Winton, and Lord Dollamore."
"Ah, Lord Dollamore! yes, to be sure. And what, if it's a fair question, do you think of Lord Dollamore?"
Georgie laughed. "It certainly isnota fair question, and if Charley were here, I should not be allowed to answer it; but I don't mind telling you, Colonel Alsager, that I have a great horror of Lord Dollamore."
Laurence smiled grimly, but with the greatest inward satisfaction, as he said, "Poor Dollamore! And will you tell me why you have a horror of him, Lady Mitford?"
"I can scarcely say. I'm sure I ought not to bare it, as he is always studiously polite to me; but there is something strange to me in his manner and in his conversation, something such as I have never met with before, and which, though I don't comprehend it, rouses my antipathy and makes me shudder. I never know what to say to him either, and he always seems to be watching every word that you speak. Now you're laughing at me, Colonel Alsager; and I can't explain what I mean."
Her cheeks flushed as she said this, and the heightened colour added to her beauty. Laurence found himself staring mutely at her, in sheer wonderment at her loveliness; then roused himself and said, "Indeed, I was not laughing, and I can fully comprehend you. Now tell me; the ponies are none the worse for their race?"
"Not much. One has a cut fetlock, and both have had a good deal of air rubbed off; but nothing to signify. I was round in the stables the first thing this morning, and came in great glee to tell Charley how little harm had been done to them. But he's dreadfully angry about it, and declares they shall both be sent away. And all because I was too weak to hold them."
"Well, I should like to be on your side; but I don't think your husband is very far wrong in the present instance. They are plainly unfit for any lady's driving, unless she is what no lady would like to be,--undeniably horsey, and masculine, so far at least as her wrists are concerned."
"Ah, and your horse; that splendid fellow that took the tremendous leap,--Mr. Saunderson told me this; I knew nothing of it at the time,--what of him?"
"Oh, he's wonderfully well. He landed splendidly; but just heeled over for a second and touched his knees,--the merest graze, and that all through my clumsiness; but I was too much excited at the time to attend to him. But it's a mere hair-scratch, and he'll be as right as ever in a week or two."
"Well, the whole thing seems to me like a dream; but a dream from which I should never have woke, had it not been for your promptitude and presence of mind. Those I have said I shall never forget; and--Now here comes Charley to indorse my gratitude."
As she spoke, a heavy tread was heard on the staircase; the door opened, and Sir Charles Mitford entered, full of life and radiant with happiness. Any preoccupation or anxiety, for which his wife had prepared her visitor, seemed entirely to have disappeared. He advanced with open hand, and in his cheeriest manner said, "My dear Alsager, delighted to see you! A thousand thanks, my dear fellow,--much more than I can express,--for your conduct yesterday! I've heard all about it, and know how much I owe to you. Tremendous pluck! O yes, I know; you needn't pretend to be modest about it. I've been round to Saunderson's, and seen Spurrier; and he tells me that it was just one of the pluckiest things ever done. You staked the horse, or did something damaging to him, didn't you? so of course I told Spurrier to enter him in my account."
"You're very good; but you're a little late, Sir Charles. I bought him on the spot, and would not part with him for treble his price."
Laurence could not resist stealing a glance at Lady Mitford as he said this. Her eyes were downcast; but a bright red spot burned on her cheeks, and her brows were contracted.
"Well, you've the right of refusal, and you know a good fencer when you see one, Alsager, I know. I only wished to have the horse as a memento of the day."
Laurence muttered something inaudible.
"I went down to call upon you, to thank you for all your kindness to my wife," continued Sir Charles; "and then finding I didn't know your address, I looked up Bertram at the Foreign Office; and after being handed about from one room to another, I found him, and he took me to your hotel. Don't seem to have much to do, those fellows at the Foreign Office. Bertram had only just arrived; but he left immediately when I told him I wanted him to come with me."
"I'm very sorry I was not at home."
"Well, so was I partly, and partly not. Of course I should have wished to have given you my thanks for your kindness the very first thing; but then of course you understand that I meant all that. When a man rescues another man's wife from tremendous danger, of course he understands that her husband is tremendously thankful to him, unless it's in a book or play, or that kind of thing, where husbands wish their wives were dead. And then again, if you had been in, I should have missed being introduced to such a charming woman."
"To such a what, Charley?" asked Lady Mitford.
"Oh, don't you be frightened, dear; it's all square and above-board. She asked me if she might call upon you; and she'll be here to-morrow or the next day; so mind you're at home to receive her."
"Her? who?"
"O yes, I forgot. I'll tell you all about it. When we found Alsager was not at his hotel, Bertram evidently didn't want to go back to his office, so he proposed a stretch round the Park. I said I was quite agreeable, and off we started; right round the Oxford Street side, back by the powder-magazine, and so into the Drive. When we got there, there was not a single trap to be seen--not one, I give you my honour; but as we stumped along, and Bertram--most delightful companion!--never opened his mouth, I saw a pair of bright chesnuts in black harness come whirling a low pony-phaeton along; and as it passed, Bertram took off his hat to the lady driving. She pulled up, and we went to the trap, and Bertram introduced me. She was a very pretty little woman, and had a sable cloak;--you must have a sable cloak, Georgie; I'll find out where she got hers;--and there was another woman whom I could not see--kept her veil down, and looked like companion or something of that sort-sitting by her. She certainly drove splendidly. I couldn't help thinking if she'd had those grays of yours yesterday, Georgie, she'd have mastered them."
"I sincerely wish she had," said Lady Mitford with a little petulance; "I can't say I entirely relish the adventure, even though it called forth Colonel Alsager's assistance." ["That's a thorough woman's blow," thought Laurence, listening.] "But you haven't told us the name of this charming Amazon."
"I don't know anything about Amazon or not," said Sir Charles, who began to be a little bit nettled; "the lady's name is Hammond--Mrs. Hammond, wife of a man who was something in the government service. Ah, you know her, Alsager. Yes, by the way, I recollect her asking Bertram whether you had come back."
The mention of Mrs. Hammond's name seemed to throw rather a damp upon the conversation. Lady Mitford did not appear in the least to share her husband's rhapsodies,--as how should she, being ignorant of their object?--and Colonel Alsager's expression was moody, and his voice silent. But when he rose to take his leave the expressions of gratitude were renewed both by husband and wife, each in their peculiar manner--Sir Charles was boisterously hearty; Lady Mitford quietly impressive.
"We shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, Alsager; you won't stand on any ridiculous ceremony, or anything of that sort, but come in and out just as you like. There's no one who will be more welcome here, and no one who's earned the right so much, for the matter of that. It rests with you now entirely how far you pursue the acquaintance."
"Goodbye, Colonel Alsager," said Lady Mitford with a sweet smile; "and I'll promise, when you do come to see us, not to give you so much trouble as I did yesterday."
Laurence was equally averse to commonplaces and to committing himself, so he bowed and smiled, and went away.
"Kismet," he muttered to himself as he strode down the street,--"Kismet in full force. Laura Hammond back in England, and an acquaintance formed between her and Mitford already. Taken with her, he seemed too. She's just the woman that would fetch such a man as he. Well, let Kismet do its worst; I shall stand by and see the play."