FIT--FYTTE THE SECOND, A FIT OF HYSTERICS.
Frere reached the drawing-room in a state of mind which the occurrences
related in the last chapter had not tended to render more amiable. The
front room was evidently the more popular of the two, a numerous group
being gathered round Mrs. Brahmin, who in the sweetest of mild sopranos
was daintily cooing forth a plaintive love-ditty, which was evidently
telling well with John Dace, D.D. Avoiding the crowd, Frere made his
way into the back drawing-room, which, barring an ardent flirtation in
a corner between two poor young things who could not, by the most remote
possibility, marry for the next fifteen years, was unoccupied. Here
seating himself astride across a chair as if it had been a horse, and
leaning his arms on the back, he fell into a deep fit of musing. From
this he was roused by the approach of a light footstep, and looking up,
perceived Rose Arundel.
“Why, Mr. Frere,” she exclaimed playfully, “I do believe you were
asleep; will you not come into the other room? Mrs. Brahmin is singing
like a nightingale and charming everybody.”
“Nightingales are humbugs. I hate singing women in general, and
abominate Mrs. Brahmin in particular, so I’m better where I am,” was the
grumpy reply.
Rose had often before received speeches from Frere quite as rude as the
present one, but in this instance there was a peculiarity in his method
of delivering it which at once struck her attention. Usually his bearish
sayings were accompanied by a half-smile or merry twinkle of the eye,
which proved that he was more than half in jest, but now there was a
bitter earnestness in his tone which she had never before remarked,
and Rose felt at once that something had occurred to annoy him; so
she quietly drew a chair to the table near which he was seated, and
carelessly turning over the pages of a book of prints which lay before
her, observed--
“If you are not to be tempted within the siren’s influence, and
positively refuse to be charmed with sweets sounds, I suppose I am bound
by all the rules of politeness to remain here and try to talk you into a
more harmonious frame of mind.”
“Pray do nothing of the kind,” returned Frere, “unless you’ve some
better reason than a mere compliance with what you please to term ‘the
rules of politeness,’ for they are things I trouble my head about mighty
little. Besides,” he added sarcastically, “your new friend, Mr. James
Rasper, must have found his way upstairs by this time, I should imagine,
and I should be sorry to deprive you of the pleasure of his intellectual
conversation, more particularly as you seem to appreciate it so
thoroughly.”
“How viciously you said that!” returned Rose, smiling. “But tell me, are
you really angry? have I done anything to annoy you? I’m sure it’s most
unwittingly on my part, if I have;” and as she spoke she looked so good,
and so willing to be penitent for any possible offence, that a man
must have had the heart of an ogre to have resisted her. Such a heart,
however, Frere appeared to possess, for he answered shortly--
“No, I’ve no fault to find with you. I dare say it may be quite
according to the ‘rules of politeness’ to cast off old friends and take
up with new ones at a minute’s notice, and be completely engrossed by
them, though they may contrive to talk about horses till they prove
themselves little better than asses to the mind of an unprejudiced
auditor. There is your friend conversing eagerly with Bracy, asking, no
doubt, what has become of you.”
“You are very unjust, Mr. Frere,” returned Rose, looking hard at her
book and speaking eagerly and quickly. “Mr. Rasper is no friend of
mine; I scarcely knew his name till you mentioned it. He sat next me at
dinner, and talked to me about horses and galloping over ploughed fields
after foxes, till I became so stupid that I had scarcely two ideas left
in my head, but of course I was bound to answer him civilly. So much for
my new friend, as you call him; what you mean by my casting off old ones
I don’t at all know; I have done nothing of the kind that I am aware
of.”
“No, you have not,” returned Frere, recalled to his better self by
Rose’s harangue; “it is I who am, as you say, unjust and absurd, but
the honest truth is that I wanted to talk to you myself. All these good
people are bores more or less, none of’em able to converse rationally
for five minutes together. I meant to have handed you down to dinner,
but that silky, scheming widow got hold of me instead and irritated me
with her bland platitudes; and then I heard that idiot prating to you
about horses’ legs, and you appeared so well satisfied with him, when
I knew that you were one of the few women who could understand and
appreciate better things, that altogether I grew savage, and could
gladly have punched my own head or any one else’s.”
“It is quite as well Mr. Rasper was on the opposite side of the table
to you,” returned Rose, “or you might have carried out your theoretical
inclinations by practising on him, and then we should have had a scene.”
Frere looked a little awkward and conscious as he replied--
“Though I am a bear, I am not quite such a savage animal as all that
comes to; I do not give the fatal hug unless I am attacked first.”
At this moment Bracy and Mr. Rasper, whose backs were turned towards
them, approached within earshot. The latter appeared much excited, and
Rose heard him say--
“It’s no use talking, I’ve been grossly insulted, sir, and if you won’t
take my message to him, by------ I’ll take it myself, and give him as
good as he gave me, or perhaps a little better.”
Frere heard him also, and a flash of anger passed across his features.
“My dear Rasper, you’re excited,” returned Bracy soothingly. “I did not
witness the affair certainly, but I cannot think that any insult was
intended. Frere is rough in his manner, but the best-hearted fellow in
the world.”
“I don’t know what _you_ may consider an insult, Mr. Bracy; but taking a
man by the collar and swinging him over the banisters like a cat, at the
risk of his neck, is quite insult enough for me, one for which I’ll have
satisfaction, too.”
“Hush, my dear fellow, you’ll attract general attention if you speak so
loud. Here, come aside with me, and we’ll talk the matter over quietly.”
So saying, he drew Rasper’s arm within his own, and led him through a
side door which opened upon the staircase. Involuntarily glancing at
his companion, Frere perceived her eyes riveted on his features with an
expression of alarmed inquiry.
“Well, what’s the matter?” he demanded, answering her speaking look.
“What is that man so angry about?” returned Rose breathlessly; “what
have you been doing?”
“Nothing very wonderful,” rejoined Frere coolly. “The young gentleman,
as I suppose one is bound to call him, drank rather more wine than was
prudent, and fancying I looked a quiet, easy-tempered kind of person,
by way of a dull jest, indulged himself with falling against and rudely
pushing by me on the staircase; and I, not being at the moment in the
humour for joking, did, as he very truly observes, swing him like a cat
over the banisters, where, cat-like, he fell upon his legs.”
“Oh, Mr. Frere, how could you do such a thing? And now he is dreadfully
angry, and talked about sending you a message, which means that he wants
to fight a duel. Mr. Frere, you will not fight with him?” and as
Rose spoke her pale cheek flushed with unwonted animation, and tears,
scarcely repressed, glistened in her earnest eyes.
“What do you think about it?” returned Frere, looking at her with a kind
smile.
“Oh, I think, I hope, you are too good, too wise, to do such a thing.
For Lewis’s sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will refrain.”
“For a better reason still, my dear, warm-hearted little friend,”
returned Frere kindly but solemnly; “for God’s sake I will not break His
commandment, or incur the guilt of shedding a fellow-creature’s blood.
But,” he added, “all this folly has frightened you;” and as he spoke he
took her little trembling hand in his and stroked it caressingly, and
this time it was not withdrawn.
“Then you will apologise, I suppose,” Rose observed after a short pause.
“Well, we’ll hope that may not be necessary,” returned her companion,
“seeing that Rasper the infuriated was more to blame in the affair than
I was; but if the good youth is so obtuse that nothing less will quiet
him, I suppose I must accommodate his stupidity by doing so. It is a
less evil to pocket one’s dignity for once in a way than to murder or be
murdered in support of it.”
At this moment Bracy entered the room _solo_, with such a vexed and
anxious expression of countenance that Frere, who guessed rightly at the
cause, could, though he liked him the better for it, scarcely forbear
smiling.
“Go back to your singing widow,” observed Frere to Rose, “and when I
have administered his sop to Cerberus I will come and tell you what wry
faces he has made in swallowing it.”
Rose fixed her eyes on him with a scrutinising glance, and reading
in his honest face that he was not deceiving her, smiled on him
approvingly, and rising, quietly mingled with the company in the front
drawing-room.
“I say, Frere,” began Bracy as Rose disappeared, “I’m sadly afraid
you have got into a tiresome scrape. That young fool, Rasper, declares
you’ve pitched him over the banisters.”
“A true bill so far, and richly he deserved it,” returned Frere.
“I can well believe that,” was Bracy’s reply, “for he was more than
half screwed whence left the dinner-table; but the shake appears to have
sobered him into a state of the most lively vindictiveness. However,
it’s no laughing matter, I can assure you: he has sent you a message by
me, and means fighting.”
“_He_ may, but _I_ don’t,” returned Frere shortly.
“My dear Frere, I wish I could make you understand that the affair is
serious. Rasper’s determined to have you out. I can make no impression
upon him, and you can’t refuse to meet a man after pitching him over the
banisters,” rejoined Bracy in a tone of annoyance.
“Can’t I, though?” returned Frere, smiling. “I’m not of such a yielding
disposition as you imagine. Where is the sweet youth?”
“I left him in the cloak-room,” answered Bracy; and as Frere immediately
turned to descend the stairs, continued, “ ’Pon my word, you’d better
not go near him: he’s especially savage. Depend upon it, you will have
something disagreeable occur.”
“Do you think I’m going to be forced into fighting a duel, a sin of the
first magnitude in my eyes, because I’m afraid of meeting an angry boy?
You don’t know me yet,” returned Frere sternly; and without waiting
further parley he ran downstairs, followed by Bracy, with a face of the
most comic perplexity. The door of the cloak-room stood half open, and
at the further end of the apartment might be perceived the outraged
Rasper, pacing up and down like a caged lion, “nursing his wrath to keep
it warm.” Unintimidated even by this tremendous spectacle, Frere coolly
entered the room, and immediately walked up to his late antagonist,
holding out his hand.
“Come, Mr. Rasper,” he said, “this has been a foolish business
altogether, and the sooner we mutually forget it the better. Here’s my
hand: let’s be friends.”
That this was a mode of procedure on which Mr. Rasper had not calculated
was evident, as well by his extreme embarrassment as by his appearing
completely at a loss what course to pursue. For a moment he seemed half
inclined to accept Frere’s proffered hand; but his eye fell upon Bracy,
and probably recalling the threats he had breathed forth in the hearing
of that worthy individual, he felt that his dignity was at stake; and
giving himself a shake to re-arouse his indignation, he replied, “I
shall do no such thing, sir. You have grossly insulted me, and I demand
satisfaction.”
“Excuse me,” returned Frere quietly, “I did not insult you: I simply
would not allow you to insult me; no man worthy of the name would.”
“It’s no use jangling about it, like a couple of women, _I_ consider
that you have insulted me: what _you_ may think matters nothing to me. I
have been insulted, I require satisfaction, and I mean to have it too,”
reiterated Mr. Rasper, talking himself into a passion.
“Now, listen to me,” returned Frere impressively. “You are a younger man
than I am, and have probably, therefore, more of life before you. You
are of an age and temperament to enjoy life vividly. There are many that
love you; I can answer for three, for I met your mother and two
sisters at Lord Ambergate’s a fortnight since, and the kind creatures
entertained me for half-an-hour with your praises. Why, then, seek to
throw away your own life and embitter theirs, or bring upon your head
the guilt of homicide, entailing banishment from your home and country,
and other evil consequences, merely because, having drunk a few extra
glasses of wine, you sought to play off a practical joke upon me, and
I, not being at the moment in a jesting humour, retaliated upon you, as
you, or any other man of spirit, would have done in my situation? Come,
look at it in a common sense point of view: is this a cause for which to
lose a life or take one?”
After waiting a moment for a reply, during which time Rasper
stood gnawing the finger of his white glove in irresolution, Frere
resumed--“If you’re sorry for your share in the matter, I’m perfectly
willing to own that I am for mine; and now, once more, here’s my
hand--what do you say?”
“Say, that you’re a regular out-and-out good fellow, and that I’m
a------d ass, and beg your pardon heartily,” was the energetic
rejoinder; and bringing his hand down upon Frere’s with a smack that
re-echoed through the room, Rasper and his late antagonist shook hands
with the strength and energy of a brace of giants; and then, both
talking at once with the greatest volubility, they ascended the stairs
arm in arm, Bracy following them, with his left eye fixed in a
species of chronic wink, expressive of any amount of the most intense
satisfaction and sagacity. As they re-entered the drawing-room, Rose,
whose powers of hearing, always acute, were in the present instance
rendered still more so by anxiety, caught the following words; “Then you
promise you will dine with me at Lovegrove’s on Thursday, and I’ll
pick up half-a-dozen fellows that I know you’ll like to meet, regular
top-sawyers, that you’re safe to find in the first flight, be it where
it may.”
“Only on condition that you come to my rooms on Friday and bring your
brother, and we’ll show you sporting men how we bookworms live--Bracy,
we shall see you?”
“You’ll dine with us, too, at Blackwall, Mr. Bracy,” rejoined the first
speaker, who was none other than the redoubtable Rasper. And numerous
other genial sentences of like import reached the ear and comforted the
heart of that little philanthropist, Rose Arundel, who could no more
bear to see her fellow-creatures disagree than could Dr. Watts, when in
his benevolence he indicted that pretty hymn which begins--
“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For ’tis their nature to!”
then proceeds to state the interesting ornithological fact that
“Birds in their little nests agree,”
and touchingly appeals to the nobler instincts of childhood in the
pathetic metrical remonstrance--
“Those little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.”
Oh! excellent and prosy Watts, doer of dull, moral platitudes into
duller doggerel, co-tormentor with Pinnock and the Latin grammar of my
early boyhood, would that for thy sake I had the pen of Thomas Carlyle,
for then would I write thee down that which I suspect thou wast, my
Watts, in most resonant un-English, nay, I would make thee the subject
of a “Latter-Day Pamphlet,” and treating of thee in connection with the
_vexata questio_ of prison discipline, would by thy aid invent a new and
horrible punishment for refractory felons, who in lieu of handcuffs
and bread and water, hard labour, or solitary confinement, should
straightway be condemned to a severe course of “Watts’ Hymns.”
Thomas Bracy, his mind being relieved from the _onus_ of this rather
serious episode in his evening’s amusement, now cast his eyes around to
discover how the various schemes projected by his fertile brain might
be progressing. The first group that met his eye afforded him unmixed
satisfaction--Lady Lombard, seated on a low fauteuil, was listening
with delighted attention to De Grandeville, who, hanging over her,
was talking eagerly (about himself) with an air of the most lover-like
devotion. The next pair that his glance fell upon scarcely pleased him
so well, for Mrs. Brahmin had again hooked the Dace, and appeared in a
fair way of landing him safely. “However,” reflected Bracy, “one comfort
is that he’s such an awful fool he will bore her to death in less than a
week after they’re married, and she’ll revenge herself by flirting with
every man she meets, which is safe to worry him to distraction, and
they’ll be a wretched, miserable couple; so I really believe there’ll
be more comedy evolved by letting them alone than by interfering with
them;” and consoling himself with this agreeable view of the matter,
he turned his attention to the state, mental and physical, of General
Gudgeon. That gallant son of Mars, as though conscious of the hopes and
fears that were abroad concerning his possible behaviour, was taking
the best method of neutralising the dangerous effects of his devotion
to Bacchus by composing himself to sleep in a mighty arm-chair. Next
him was seated Miss MacSalvo, who was engaged in a truly edifying
conversation with Mrs. Dackerel, mother to the “postponed one,” on the
propriety of establishing a female Missionary Society for the prevention
of Polygamy amongst the Aborigines of the North-Eastern Districts of
South-West Australia; an evil which both ladies agreed to be mainly
owing to the fact that the women did not know how to conduct themselves
like the women of civilised nations; a fact to which Bracy assented by
observing “that was self-evident, or the men would find one wife quite
enough;” on which Miss MacSalvo turned up the whites, or more properly
speaking, the yellows of her eyes, and ejaculated, “Ah, yes indeed!”
with much unction, though it is to be doubted whether after all she
perceived the full force of the remark.
“Why, General,” exclaimed Bracy quickly, “_you_ have been in Australia;
you’re the very man we want; rouse up, my dear sir, and enlighten our
darkness.”
“Pray, sir,” observed Miss MacSalvo, addressing General Gudgeon, “pray,
sir, can you give me any insight into the habits and customs of those
interesting, but, alas! misguided individuals, the Aborigines of South
Australia; more particularly with reference to the female portion of the
population--any little anecdotes which may occur to you now?”
“By Jo-o-ove, ma’am,” returned the General, whose English had not yet
‘suffered a recovery’, “you’ve come to--you’ve come to the right, eh--to
the, the right, what-is-it?”
“Shop,” suggested Bracy.
“Ye-es, to the right sho-op, if that’s what you want, ma’am. I should
think there ain’t a man--there ain’t a man--eh? yes, breathing--that can
tell you more--eh? more about larks----”
“It is scarcely with a view to the ornithology of the country that I am
anxious to gain information,” interrupted Miss MacSalvo; “the facts I
require regard the general behaviour and moral conduct of the female
population of the north-eastern district.”
“Eh! oh, yes--yes, I under--I understand what you’re up to, eh?” resumed
the General, with what he intended for a significant wink at Bracy;
“there was Tom Slasher and me--a rare wild young, eh? yes, a wild young
dog was Tom; well, ma’am, there was a gal over there--she wasn’t one of
the natives, though--they’re taw-taw--yes, tawny coloured--but this
gal was a nigger--reg’lar darkie--Black-_hide_ Susan, Tom used to call
her--witty chap was Tom.”
And the General being fairly started, continued to talk most volubly,
though, from the peculiarities of his diction, he did not get to the
point of his story so quickly as might have been expected. In the
meantime Frere contrived to rejoin Rose, and seating himself almost in
her pocket, observed in a low voice--
“Well, I’ve managed to tame the dragon, you see.”
“Yes, and persuaded him to dine _with_ you instead of _upon_ you,”
returned Rose, smiling; “but tell me,” she added, “how did you contrive
to satisfy him. Were you forced to apologise?”
“Oh, I put the thing before him in a common sense point of view,”
replied Frere; “appealed to his good feeling as if I had faith in his
possessing such a quality, which is the sure way to call it forth if it
exists, and wound up by telling him that if he was sorry for his share
in the business, I was ditto for mine, which mode of treatment proved
eminently successful. He applied a forcible adjective to the word ass,
and stigmatising himself by the epithet thus compounded, he shook me
heartily by the hand, and straightway we became the greatest friends,
ratifying the contract by an exchange of dinner invitations, without
which ceremony no solemn league and covenant is considered binding in
England in these days of enlightened civilisation.”
“Well, I think you have behaved more bravely and nobly than if you
had fought twenty duels,” exclaimed Rose, fairly carried away by her
admiration. “I esteem and respect you, and--and----!” Here she stopped
short, and a bright blush overspread her pale features, for she
perceived Frere’s fine eyes fixed upon her with an expression of
delighted surprise which she had never observed in them before, and
which brought to her recollection the fact that, after all, he was
a living man not many years older than herself, instead of some
magnanimous, philosophical, and heroic character in history done into
modern English and animated by magic for her express delectation. The
light in Frere’s eyes had, however, faded, and he had relapsed into his
accustomed manner ere he replied: “I can’t say I see anything to make a
fuss about in it. I wasn’t going to allow a half-tipsy boy to insult me
with impunity, so I pitched him over the banisters as a trifling hint to
that effect; neither did I feel inclined to shoot him, or let him shoot
me, by way of compensation for his tumble, because it would have been
equally wrong and irrational so to do, and I went and told him my ideas
in plain English, which was the natural course to pursue, and produced
the desired effect. I really can’t see anything remarkable in it all.”
“I fancy that I do,” replied Rose archly; “but of course we poor women
cannot pretend to be competent judges in such a case.”
“You know you don’t think anything of the kind,” returned Frere; “you’ve
got a very good opinion of your own judgment, so don’t tell stories.”
“Without either admitting or denying the truth of your assertion, I
should like to know what grounds you have for making it?” asked Rose.
“I can soon tell you, if that’s all you want to know,” returned Frere.
“You could not act for yourself with the quiet decision I have before
now seen you exercise when occasion required it unless you possessed
self-appreciation sufficient to give you the requisite degree of
confidence.”
Ere Rose could reply their conversation was interrupted by a piercing
shriek followed by an extreme bustle and confusion on the other side of
the room. The cause was soon explained. Excited with wine, and artfully
drawn on by Bracy, General Gudgeon had told one of his “gentleman’s
stories” to Miss MacSalvo, on the strength of which outrageous anecdote
that zealous advocate for establishing a Female Missionary Society for
the Prevention of Polygamy amongst the Aborigines of the North-Eastern
District of South-West Australia had seen fit to go off into a perfect
tornado of the most alarming hysterics!