Kitobni o'qish: «Lady Maude's Mania»

Chapter One.
A High Family

“Con-found those organs!” said the Earl of Barmouth.

“And frustrate their grinders,” cried Viscount Diphoos.

“They are such a nuisance, my boy.”

“True, oh sire,” replied the viscount, who had the heels of his patent leather shoes on the library chimney-piece of the town mansion in Portland Place. He had reached that spot with difficulty, and was smoking a cigar, to calm his nerves for what he called the operation.

“Tom, my boy.”

“Yes, gov’nor.”

“If her ladyship faints – ”

“If what?” cried the viscount, bringing his heels into the fender with a crash.

“If – if – don’t speak so sharply, my dear Tom; it jars my back, and sets that confounded gout jigging and tearing at me all up my leg. I say, if her ladyship faints when we come back from the church, will you be ready to catch her. I’m afraid if I tried I should let her down, and it would look so bad before the servants.”

“Be too heavy for you, eh, gov’nor?” said Tom, grinning, as he mentally conjured up the scene.

“Yes, my boy, yes. She has grown so much stouter and heavier, and I have grown thinner and lighter since – since the happy day twenty-six years ago when I married her, Tom – when I married her. Yes, much stouter since I married her. How well I remember it all. Yes: it was an easterly wind, I recollect, and your poor dear mamma – her ladyship, Tom – had the toothache very badly. It made her face swell out on one side as we went across to Paris, and I had a deal of bother to get the waiter and chamber-maid to understand what a linseed-meal poultice was. Very objectionable thing a linseed-meal poultice; I never did like the smell.”

“I should think not,” said the son, watching his father seriously, the old man having a worn look, as if he had been engaged in a severe struggle with time.

“Peculiarly faint odour about them. Seems only last night, and now one girl going to be married – her ladyship looking out for a rich husband for the other. Er – er – does my wig look all right, Tom?” he continued, patting his head as he turned towards a mirror.

The speaker, who was a very thin, highly-dilapidated old gentleman of sixty-five, heaved a deep sigh, and then bent down to softly rub his right leg.

“Spiff,” replied Viscount Diphoos, a dapper little boyish fellow of four-and-twenty, most carefully dressed, and looking as if, as really was the case, he had just been shampooned, scented, and washed by Monsieur Launay, the French barber. “I say, gov’nor, that tremendous sigh don’t sound complimentary to your son and heir.”

“My dear boy – my dear Tom,” said the old man affectionately, as he toddled up to the back of his son’s chair, and stood there patting his shoulders. “It isn’t that – it isn’t that. I’m very, very proud of my children. Bless you, my dear Tom; bless you, my dear boy! You’re a very good son to me, but I’m – I’m a bit weak this morning about Diana; and that confounded fellow with his organ playing those melancholy tunes quite upset me.”

“But he has gone now, governor,” said Tom.

“Yes, my boy, but – but he’ll come back again, he always does. Grind, grind, grind, till he seems to me to be grinding me; and I do not like to swear, Tom, it’s setting you such a bad example; but at times I feel as if I must say damn, or something inside me would go wrong.”

“Say it then, gov’nor, I’ll forgive you. There, I have granted you my indulgence.”

“Thank you, Tom; thank you, Diphoos.”

“No, no, gov’nor. Tom! – don’t Diphoos me. I wish that confounded old wet sponge of a Welsh mountain had been ‘diffoosed’ before it gave me my name.”

“Ye-es, it is ugly, Tom. But they are family names, you see, Barmouth – Diphoos. Very old family the Diphooses. And now this wedding – but there, I’m all right now.”

“To be sure you are, gov’nor.”

“Yes, yes, yes; you are very good to me, Tom. Bless you, my boy, bless you.”

The weak tears stood in the old man’s eyes, and his voice shook as he spoke.

“Nonsense, gov’nor, nonsense,” said Tom, taking one of the thin withered hands. “I’m not much good to you; I think more of cigars and billiards than anything else. Have a cigar, guv’nor?”

“No, my boy, no thank you; it would make me smell so, and her ladyship might notice it. But, my boy, I see everything, though I’m getting a little old and weak, and don’t speak. You stand between her ladyship and me very often, Tom, and make matters more easy. But don’t you take any notice of me, my boy, and don’t you think I sighed because I was unhappy, for – for I’m very proud of you, Tom, I’m deuced proud of you, my boy; but it does upset me a bit about Diana going. India’s a long way off, Tom.”

“Yes, gov’nor, but old Goole isn’t a bad sort. The old lady wanted a rich husband for Di, and she has got him. Di will be quite a Begum out in India.”

“Ye-es, Tom; and I suppose all the female Diphooses marry elderly husbands and marry well. I am a bit anxious about Maude, now.”

“No good to be. The old girl will settle all that. But I say, gov’nor, what a set of studs! Come here; one of them’s unfastened. You’ll lose it.”

“I hope not, my boy – I hope not,” said the old man, anxiously as his son busied himself over the shirt-front. “Her ladyship would be so vexed. She has taken care of them these ten years, and said I had better wear them to-day.”

“Did she?” said Tom, gruffly. “There: that will do. Why, you look quite a buck this morning. That wig’s a regular fizzer. Old Launay has touched you up.”

“I’m glad I look well, Tom, deuced glad,” said the old man, brightening up with pleasure. “And you think Goole’s a nice fellow?”

“Ye-es,” said Tom, “only, hang it all, gov’nor, there’s no romance about it. They are both so confoundedly cool and matter-of-fact. Why if I were going to be married, I should feel all fire and excitement.”

“No, my boy, no – oh, no,” said the old man sadly; and he shook his head, glancing nervously at the glass the next moment to see if his wig was awry. “You read about that sort of thing in books, but it doesn’t often come off in fashionable life. I – I – I remember when – when I married her ladyship, it was all very matter-of-fact and quiet. And there was that poultice. But you will stand by and catch her if she faints, Tom?”

“Oh, she won’t faint, gov’nor,” said Tom, curling up his lip.

“I – I – I don’t know, my boy, I don’t know. She said that very likely she should. Mammas do faint, you know, when they are losing their children. I feel very faint myself, Tom: this affair upsets me. I should like just one glass of port.”

“No, no, don’t have it, gov’nor; it will go right down into your toe. Have a brandy and seltzer.”

“Thank you, Tom, my boy, I will,” said the old man, rubbing his hands, “I will – I will. Ring for it, will you, Tom, and let Robbins think it’s for you.”

“Why, gov’nor?” cried Tom, staring, as he rang the bell.

“Well, you see, my boy,” said the old man, stooping to gently rub his leg; “after that last visit of the doctor her ladyship told the servants – told the servants that they were not to let me have anything but what she ordered.”

Tom uttered an angry ejaculation, waited a few moments, leaped from his chair, and began sawing away furiously at the unanswered bell.

“He’s – he’s a fine bold young fellow, my son Tom,” muttered the old man to himself as he sat down, and began rubbing his leg; “I dare not ring the bell like that – like that.”

“Look here, gov’nor,” cried Tom, passionately, “I won’t have it. I will not stand by and see you sat upon like this. Are you the master of this house or no?”

“Well, Tom, my boy,” said the old man, feebly, and with a weak smile upon his closely shaven face, “I – I – I ought to be.”

“Then do, for goodness’ sake, take your position. It hurts me, dad, it does indeed, to see you humbled so before the servants. I’ll pay proper respect to her ladyship, and support her in everything that’s just, but when it comes to my old father being made the laughing-stock of every body in the house, I – I – there, damme, sir, I rebel against it.”

As Tom seized the bell again, and dragged at it savagely, the old man seemed deeply moved. He tried to speak, but no words would come, and rising hastily he limped to the window, and stood looking out with blurred eyes, trying to master his emotion.

“Thank you, Tom,” he said, speaking as he looked out of the window. “But after the doctor’s last visit her ladyship told all the servants – Todd’s very particular, you know.”

Tom said something about Doctor Todd that sounded condemnatory.

“Yes, my dear boy,” said the earl, “but – ”

Just then the door opened, and a ponderous-looking butler, carefully dressed, with his hair brushed up into a brutus on the top of his head, and every bristle closely scraped from a fat double-chin which reposed in folds over his stiff white cravat, slowly entered the room.

“Why the devil isn’t this bell answered, Robbins?” cried Tom.

“Very sorry, my lord, but I thought – ”

“Confound you! how dare you think? You thought my father rang, and that you might be as long as you liked.”

“Ye-yes, my lord. I thought his lordship rang.”

“Yes, you thought right,” cried Tom. “His lordship rang for some brandy and seltzer. Look sharp and get it.”

“Yes, my lord, but – ”

“Only a very little of the pale brandy in it, Robbins – about a dessert-spoonful,” said the earl, apologetically.

“Fetch the spirit-stand and two bottles of seltzer, Robbins,” roared the young man. “And look sharp,” he added in a tone of voice which sent the butler off in post-haste.

“That’s a flea in his fat old ear,” cried the young man, laying his hand on his father’s shoulder. “And now look here, gov’nor, you would please me very much if you would stand up for your rights. You know I’d back you up.”

“Would it please you, Tom?” said the old man, gazing in his son’s face, and patting his shoulder, “Well, I’ll – I’ll try, Tom, I’ll try; but – but – I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“Nonsense, gov’nor. Come, it will make things more comfortable. Keep an eye, too, on Maude. I don’t want her to be married off to a millionaire whether she likes him or no.”

“I’ll try, my boy, I’ll try,” said the old man, in a hopeless tone of voice. “Her ladyship said – ”

“Who’s that for, Robbins?” cried a deep masculine-feminine voice outside the door, just as the jingle of glasses on a silver waiter was heard.

“For Lord Diphoos, my lady,” was the reply, in a voice that seemed to come through a layer of eider down, and the door was thrown open; there was a tremendous rustling of silk, and Lady Barmouth, a stout, florid, well-preserved woman of forty-eight, swept into the room.

“Ah, my dear child,” she exclaimed in a pensive, theatrical tone of voice, as she spread her skirts carefully around her, and exhaled a peculiarly strong scent of eau-de-cologne, “this is a terribly trying time.”

“Awfully,” said Tom, shortly. “That will do, Robbins; I’ll open the seltzer.” Then, as the butler left the room – “Awfully trying – quite a martyrdom for you, mamma. Have a brandy and seltzer?”

“My dear child!” exclaimed her ladyship, in a tone of remonstrance, and leaning one hand upon a chair so as not to disarrange the folds of her costly moiré antique, she tenderly applied the corner of her lace handkerchief to her lips, and after gazing at it furtively to note a soft pink stain, she watched her son as he poured a liberal allowance of pale brandy into a tall engraved glass, skilfully sent the cork flying from a seltzer bottle, filled up the glass with the sparkling mineral water, before handing it to his father.

“There, gov’nor,” he exclaimed; “try that.”

“Tom, my dear child, no, no,” cried her ladyship. “Anthony! No! Certainly not.”

“Yes, there is too much brandy, my dear boy,” said the old gentleman, hesitating.

“Nonsense! Rubbish! You drink that up, gov’nor, like medicine. You’re unstrung and ready to break down. Come: have one, mamma.”

“My dear child!” began her ladyship, as she darted a severe look at her husband – “Ah, my darling.”

This last was in the most pathetic of tones, for the library door once more opened, and a very sweet-faced fair-haired girl, in her bridesmaid’s robe of palest blue, and looking flushed of cheek and red of eye with weeping, led in the bride in her diaphanous veil, just as she had issued from the hands of Justine Framboise, her ladyship’s Parisian maid, through which veil, and beneath the traditional wreath of orange-blossoms, shone as charming a face as bridegroom need wish to see.

“There,” exclaimed the bridesmaid in a tone of forced gaiety, “as Justine says, ne touches pas. You are only to have a peep.”

“Maude, you ridiculous child,” cried her ladyship, “you have been crying, and look dreadful, and – there, I declare it is too bad. You have been making your sister weep too.”

“I couldn’t help it, mamma,” cried the girl, passionately; and the tears that had been waiting ready burst out afresh.

“This is too absurd,” exclaimed her ladyship, impatiently. “Maude, you ridiculous girl: you are destroying that costly dress, and the flowers will be all rags.”

“Yes, why don’t you leave off – you two,” cried the brother, cynically, “playing at being fond of one another,” while the old man looked piteously on.

“Oh, Diana, Diana,” continued her ladyship, “here have I made for you the most brilliant match of the season – an enormously wealthy husband, who literally worships you – ”

“I don’t believe he cares for her a bit,” cried Maude, flushing up, speaking passionately, and giving a stamp with her little white kid boot. “And if I were Di, I wouldn’t marry a snuffy old man like that for anybody. I’d sooner die.”

“Die game, eh?” cried Tom. “Do you hear, Di?”

“Silence!” exclaimed her ladyship in a tone of authority that seemed to quell the girl’s burst of passion. “How dare you!”

“Pray don’t be cross, mamma,” said the bride, quietly. “She could not help crying. The marks will soon pass away.”

“They will not,” cried her ladyship, angrily. “Sir Grantley Wilters is coming, and her nose is as red as a servant girl’s, while your eyes are half swollen up. After all my pains – after all my anxiety – never was mother troubled with such thankless children.”

“Poor old girl!” said Tom, taking a good sip of brandy-and-seltzer.

“Anthony!” cried her ladyship, “you must not touch her. You are crushing her veil and those flowers. Oh, this is madness.”

Madness or not, before she could check the natural action, the earl had taken his elder daughter in his arms, and kissed her lovingly, patting and stroking her sweet face, as, regardless of wreath and veil, she flung her arms round his neck and nestled closely to him.

“Bless you, my darling. I hope you will like India,” he said, “Rather warm, but they make delicious curries there. I hope you will be very very happy;” and the tears trickled down his furrowed countenance as he spoke.

“I’ll try to be, papa dear,” she whispered, making an effort to speak firmly.

“That’s right, my dear. The trains are very comfortable to Brindisi, and Tom says that Goole isn’t such a very bad fellow.”

“Anthony, are you quite mad!” cried her ladyship, wringing her hands till her diamonds crackled. “Are you all engaged in a conspiracy against me? Such a display is perfectly absurd. The child will not be fit to be seen at the church.”

“Yes, yes, mamma dear,” said the girl cheerfully. “There, there, Maude will put me straight in a few moments. Kiss me, dear, and I’ll go upstairs again; it must be nearly time.”

For the sake of the dresses of herself and daughter, her ladyship did not let the bride come too close, but brushed the cheek lightly with her lips; and then the girl turned to her brother, holding out her hands.

He took them, gazing at her at arm’s length with mingled pride and sorrow. Then the bridal dress was once more forgotten, and brother and sister were tightly locked in each other’s arms.

Her ladyship uttered a wail of dismay, but it was not heeded, as Tom said in a low tone —

“Keep up your pecker, Di, old girl. It’s all nonsense about love and that sort of thing. It’s duty toward your mother, catechism fashion, and you’ve done it. You’re sold into bondage, eh?”

“Yes, Tom dear,” she said, cheerfully. “I shall not mind.”

“With all Goole’s money to play with I should think not.”

“I did not mean that, dear,” said the girl, gravely. “I seem to be going right away from you, but there is Maude; don’t let her be married like I am, Tom.”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know; only try to help her and papa. Be more at home for both their sakes – and Tryphie’s.”

Tom started, and looked sharply in his sister’s face.

“I will, Di, I will,” he said, earnestly. “I know I’ve been a reckless sort of beast, but I will try now.”

She smiled her thanks and kissed him again. Then Lady Maude of the red eyes and nose, took her sister’s hand, coming up like a pretty tug to tow off some beautiful craft that had been shattered by a storm in her upper rigging, and bore her off into port for repairs.

Chapter Two.
No Cards

The crossing-sweeper, in a special uniform of rags turned up with mud, had made liberal use of his broom wherever it was not wanted, and now stood in front of Lord Barmouth’s house in an attitude as if to draw attention, like a label, to his work – as if in fact morally writing fecit.

Everything had been done to give éclat to the proceedings, while in addition to the presents which had been on view, fair Italia sent music to lend a charm to the wedding; for Luigi Malsano, the handsome dark performer upon the last newly-improved organ, stood at the edge of the pavement and ground, and smiled – smiled till his fine white teeth glistened in the midst of his great black beard, and every now and then took off his soft felt hat, displayed his long black curls, and rolled his eyes at Dolly Preen, the fair, fresh, country lassie – the young ladies’ maid; for Dolly was looking out of the window in company with Justine, her ladyship’s attendant, to see the return of the carriages, and the latter exclaimed —

“Elles sont bêtes ces choses là!” and then as Luigi ground and smiled, and raised his hat, Justine uttered a contemptuous —

“Canaille!”

While Dolly Preen sighed and thought the dark Italian very handsome. She had indulged in the same thought before.

“Voilà!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Justine, as the carriage with its four greys dashed up, and after a little manipulation at the side of the organ, Luigi Malsano rested a well-formed and dirty hand upon the green baize cover of his instrument, and turned out the old ballad —

“’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be.”

For after a great deal of scheming the work of the Countess of Barmouth was crowned. She had secured for her daughter a husband in the shape of the British Resident at the court of the Maharajah of Bistreskin, and to herself of selfs she had whispered like the revengeful gentleman in the French romance —

”ÀONEÙ!”

For it was all over.

The carriages had nearly blocked the street, and the crowd had completed the block. The church had been well filled by friends and those curious people who always attend weddings. The ceremony had been performed by a dean, assisted by a canon, and an honorary chaplain to Her Majesty. The bride looked lovely and calm as a statue, though the six bridesmaids in pale blue had sobbed softly, and mourned like so many doves, as they moistened their lace handkerchiefs with a briny dew of pearls, almost as bright as those of the handsome lockets they wore – all alike, and the presents of the bridegroom. They were bouquets of the choicest exotics inside the church, and without, for the servants were as liberally supplied as they were with favours; and at last the bridegroom’s barouche with four of Newman’s best greys had borne the happy pair back to the paternal mansion in Portland Place.

There had not been a single hitch, and even her ladyship had held up with a fine Niobe-like expression upon her noble features all through the service. Certainly she had turned faint once at the “I will,” but by the help of strong aromatic salts she had recovered herself, and smiled sadly round as if to lend sweetness to the flowers. And now the large party were back in the drawing-room, and preparing to descend to the wedding breakfast.

The fashionable pastry-cooks had been ordered to do their best, and this they had done. There were more of those ghastly sugar plaster edifices on the table than usual; more uneatable traps for the unwary; more hollow mockeries, goodly to the eye, but strange to the taste – preparations that society considers to be de rigueur at a wedding. Still in addition there was all that money could procure; fruit and flowers flourished amidst handsome glass and family plate; the servants were in new liveries, and with plenty of aides stood ready; for Lady Barmouth hoped in marrying one daughter to help on the engagement of the second, saying pensively to herself, “And then I shall feel that I have not lived in vain.”

“I say, how’s the leg?” said a severe-looking gentleman present. “Twinges, eh? Yes, so I suppose. Easy with the good things, mind, or else – you know.”

“Yes, yes, twinges, doctor,” said his lordship, stooping to have a rub at the offending, or rather offended and resenting, limb. “But you are in such a doosed hurry; you always ask me another question before I’ve scarcely had time to answer the first. I remember, I remember – now, hang him! look at that. Confound that Lord Todd! I wish I was his doctor for a week or two.”

For the family practitioner had passed on to talk to somebody else, leaving his lordship slowly passing his tongue over his lips, and trying to add another wrinkle to his forehead, as he wondered whether he could smuggle in two or three glasses of champagne without being seen by her ladyship or Doctor Todd.

“Ah, my dear Mr Melton,” said the latter, “how are you?”

“Quite well, doctor,” said the young man addressed, as he passed his hand over his crisp golden beard, and smiled pleasantly at the medical man, whose eyes were playing all over the room, and who now crossed to where the young bride was standing.

“I say,” he exclaimed, “I did not congratulate you in the church. God bless you, my dear! may you be very happy. And only the other day you were a baby, eh?”

He nodded, smiled, and passed on to where a very elderly-looking fair young man, elaborately dressed, was talking to a stout mamma – the mother of two of the bridesmaids.

The withered-looking gentleman, who blinked a good deal, and seemed as if the light was too strong for him, turned to speak to the doctor as he approached.

“Well,” said the latter – “better?”

“Yas, I think so; yas, doctor, but you know I can’t think what ails my constitution.”

“I can,” thought the doctor, as he turned away looking sharply round the room; “luxury, late hours, too much money, and nothing sensible to do. Blasé fool! Oh, there she is.”

He crossed as quickly as the crowded state of the room would allow him to where Lady Maude was standing, and made her start as he said sharply —

“I say, when’s your turn coming?”

“Never, I hope, doctor,” was the reply, as a little hand was placed in his, “never, if it is to make me so wretched as poor darling Di. Do say something kind to her if you have a chance.”

“Hum – ha – yes,” he said thoughtfully, as he retained the little hand and seemed to be examining a patient. “Don’t seem bright, eh?”

“Oh, no, doctor,” whispered Maude. “But I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“That’s right, my dear; I would come. So I will when you are married – the same as I did when you were born,” he said to himself. Then aloud – “I say, when you marry, my dear, you marry for love.”

“I will, doctor,” cried the girl with her blue eyes flashing, and just then Luigi of the organ struck up a languishing waltz. “But I really am so glad you’ve come. Do talk to papa and cheer him up. He is so low-spirited. Couldn’t you give him a tonic?”

“Wish I could,” said the doctor. “Tincture of youth. No, my dear. I can’t make the old young. Glad I’ve come, eh? There’s my little friend Tryphie yonder. But they are going to move, I see.”

Her ladyship was still very pensive, and gazed appealingly round from one to the other of her guests; but her eyes were wonderfully wide open, and she moved about like a domestic field-marshal determined to carry out her social campaign with éclat.

“Sir Grantley,” she said, softening her voice down to a contralto coo as she laid her fan on the arm of the elderly young man, whose face on one side was all eye-glass and wrinkles, on the other blank, “will you take down my daughter?”

“Charmed, I’m shaw,” was the hesitating reply, as a puzzled look came over the baronet’s face; “but her husband, don’t you know?”

“I mean Lady Maude,” said her ladyship, with a winning smile.

“Yes, of course; beg pardon, I’m shaw,” said the baronet hastily, and he crossed the room with her ladyship in a weak-kneed fashion, and apparently suffering from tight boots.

But it so happened that a flank movement had been set on foot by Viscount Diphoos.

“Charley, old man,” he was saying to the visitor with the fair beard, who now, as he stood in one of the windows, showed himself to be a fine, broad-shouldered fellow of about eight or nine and twenty, with a fair Saxon forehead half-way down to his brows, where it became ruddily tanned, as if by exposure to the air. “Charley, old man, go across and nail Maude at once, or the old lady will be handing her over to that wretched screw, Wilters. – Have you seen Tryphie?”

“There she is, over in the far corner, talking to the doctor,” said the young man addressed – a bosom friend of the viscount: Charley Melton, the son of a country gentleman with a very small income and no prospects, unless a cousin in the navy should kindly leave this world in his favour, when he would be heir to a title and a goodly domain.

He crossed the room quickly to where Lady Maude was standing, and a curious, conscious look appeared on the girl’s face as he approached. There was a warm rosy hue in her cheeks as their eyes met, and then, happy and palpitating, she let her little fingers press very timidly the strong muscular arm that held them to the side within which beat – beat – beat, rather faster than usual, Charley Melton’s heart, a habit it had had of late when fortune had thrown him close to his companion.

Her ladyship saw the movement as she was approaching with Sir Grantley Wilters, and darted an angry look at her daughter and another at her son. Then, with her face all smiles, she brought up her light cavalry and took her son in the flank in his turn.

“So sorry, Sir Grantley,” she said sweetly; “we were too late. Will you take down my niece?”

“Yas, delighted,” said Sir Grantley, screwing the whole of his face up till it formed a series of concentric circles round his eye-glass. “But who is that fellow?”

“Friend of my son,” said her ladyship in the most confidential way. “Very nice manly fellow, and that sort of thing. Tryphie, my dear, Sir Grantley Wilters will take you down,” she continued, as she stopped before a little piquante, creamy-skinned girl with large hazel eyes, abundant dark-brown hair, and a saucy-looking little mouth. She had a well-shaped nose, but her face was freckled as liberally as nature could arrange it without making the markings touch: but all the same she was remarkably bright and pretty.

“Sold!” muttered Tom, spitefully, as he saw her ladyship beaming upon him after striking him in his tenderest part. But he was consoled a little the next moment as Maude gave him a grateful glance, looking as happy and bright as Melton himself, while as Tryphie took the proffered arm of Sir Grantley Wilters, whose face expressed pain above and a smile below, the sharp little maiden made a moue with her lips expressive of disgust at her partner, and gave Diphoos a glance which made him feel decidedly better.

“I don’t like that fellow, Tom, my boy,” said Lord Barmouth, sidling up to his son, and bending down for a furtive rub at his leg. “Damme, Tom, I don’t believe he’s forty, and he looks as old as I do. If her ladyship means him to marry little Tryphie there, I shan’t – shan’t like – like – Damme, it would be too bad.”

“Hang it all, gov’nor; don’t talk like that,” cried Tom, impatiently.

“No, no, certainly not, my boy, certainly not; but I say, Tom, that’s a doosed nice boy that young Charley Melton. I like the look of him. He’s a manly sort of a fellow. Your uncle and I were at Eton with his father years ago. I say, Tom,” he continued, rubbing his leg, “he wouldn’t make a bad match for our Maude. Yes, yes, my dear; I’m coming.”

“Anthony, for shame!” whispered her ladyship. “They are all waiting. Lady Rigby. I’ve been looking for you. Take her down at once.”

The earl crossed over to make himself agreeable to Lady Rigby, the stout mamma; and the hostess took counsel with herself.

“Either would do,” she said. “But Mr Melton’s attentions will bring Sir Grantley to the point.”

A few minutes later the guests were seated at the wedding breakfast, while Dolly Preen again leaned out of the window, having returned there after attending to the bride, to whom two fresh pocket-handkerchiefs were supplied. Luigi of the organ was still below, handsome and smiling as he scented good things, and he played on as Mistress Preen listened and thought of love and marriage, and music, and how handsome Italian men were, and ended by doing as she had done for many weeks, wrapping a three-penny piece up in many papers and dropping it into Luigi’s soft felt hat. For how could she offer coppers to such a man as that!

She was not the only one who dreamed of love, for Justine Framboise, her ladyship’s maid, was enjoying a pleasant flirtation with Monsieur Hector Launay, Coiffeur de Paris, from Upper Gimp Street, Marylebone, a gentleman whose offices were largely in request in Portland Place, and who that morning had left his place of business in charge of a boy, so that he might perform certain capillary conjuring tricks, and then stay and look in the eyes of the fair Justine – a French young lady, who would have been a fortune to her father if she had been a dentist’s daughter, so liberally did she show her fine white teeth.