HOW NOLLY HAVING MADE HIMSELF PRESENTABLE, TRIES ALSO TO MAKE HIMSELF
AGREEABLE--AND HOW HE SUCCEEDS.
Mr. Darling is a flaxen-haired young gentleman of about four-and-twenty,
with an open and ingenuous countenance, and a disposition cheerful to
the last degree. He is positively beaming with youth and good spirits,
and takes no pains whatever to suppress the latter; indeed, if so
sweet-tempered a youth could be said to have a fault, it lies in his
inability to hold his tongue. Talk he must, so talk he does,--anywhere
and everywhere, and under all circumstances.
He succeeds in taking Mona down to dinner, and shows himself
particularly devoted through all the time they spend in the dining-room,
and follows her afterwards to the drawing-room, as soon as decency will
permit. He has, in fact, fallen a hopeless victim to Mona's charms, and
feels no shame in the thought that all the world must notice his
subjugation. On the contrary, he seems to glory in it.
"I was in your country, the other day," he says, pushing Mona's skirts a
little to one side, and sinking on to the ottoman she has chosen as her
own resting-place. "And a very nice country it is."
"Ah! were you really there!" says Mona, growing at once bright and
excited at the bare mention of her native land. At such moments she
falls again unconsciously into the "thens," and "sures," and "ohs!" and
"ahs!" of her Ireland.
"Yes, I was indeed. Down in a small place cabled Castle-Connell, near
Limerick. Nice people in Limerick, but a trifle flighty, don't you
think? Fond of the merry blunderbuss, and all that, and with a decided
tendency towards midnight maraudings."
"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona,
shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully
disloyal."
"Well, that was just my luck, you see," says Darling "We have some
property there. And, as I am not of much account at home, 'my awful dad'
sent me over to Ireland to see why the steward didn't get in the rents.
Perhaps he hoped the natives might pepper me; but, if so, it didn't come
off. The natives, on the contrary, quite took to me, and adopted me on
the spot. I was nearly as good as an original son of Erin in a week."
"But how did you manage to procure their good graces?"
"I expect they thought me beneath their notice, and, as they wouldn't
hate me, they were forced to love me. Of course they treated the idea of
paying up as a good joke, and spoke a great deal about a most unpleasant
person called Griffith and his valuation, whatever that may be. So I saw
it was of no use, and threw it up,--my mission, I mean. I had capital
shooting, as far as partridges were concerned, but no one dreamed of
wasting a bullet upon me. They positively declined to insert a bit of
lead in my body. And, considering I expected some civility of the kind
on going over, I felt somewhat disappointed, and decidedly cheap."
"We are not so altogether murderous as you seem to think," says Mona,
half apologetically.
"Murderous! They are a delightful people, and the scenery is charming,
you know, all round. The Shannon is positively lovely. But they wouldn't
pay a farthing. And, 'pon my life, you know," says Mr. Darling, lightly,
"I couldn't blame 'em. They were as poor as poor could be, regular
out-at-elbows, you know, and I suppose they sadly wanted any money they
had. I told the governor so when I came back, but I don't think he
seemed to see it; sort of said _he_ wanted it too, and then went on to
make some ugly and most uncalled-for remarks about my tailor's bill,
which of course I treated with the contempt they deserved."
"Well, but it was a little hard on your father, wasn't it?" says Mona,
gently.
"Oh, it wasn't much," says the young man, easily; "and he needn't have
cut up so rough about it. I was a failure, of course, but I couldn't
help it; and, after all, I had a real good time in spite if everything,
and enjoyed myself when there down to the ground."
"I am glad of that," says Mona, nicely, as he pauses merely through a
desire for breath, not from a desire for silence.
"I had, really. There was one fellow, a perfect giant,--Terry O'Flynn
was his name,--and he and I were awful chums. We used to go shooting
together every day, and got on capitally. He was a tremendously big
fellow, could put me in his pocket, you know, and forget I was there
until I reminded him. He was a farmer's son, and a very respectable sort
of man. I gave him my watch when I was coming away, and he was quite
pleased. They don't have much watches, by the by, the lower classes, do
they."
At this Mona breaks into a sweet but ringing laugh, that makes Lady
Rodney (who is growing sleepy, and, therefore, irritable) turn, and fix
upon her a cold, reproving glance.
Geoffrey, too, raises his head and smiles, in sympathy with his wife's
burst of merriment, as does Miss Darling, who stops her conversation
with Sir Nicholas to listen to it.
"What are you talking about?" asks Geoffrey, joining Mona and her
companion.
"How could I help laughing," says Mona. "Mr. Darling has just expressed
surprise at the fact that the Irish peasantry do not as a rule possess
watches." Then suddenly her whole face changes from gayety to extreme
sorrow. "Alas! poor souls!" she says, mournfully, "they don't, as a
rule, have even meat!"
"Well, I noticed that, too. There _did_ seem to be a great scarcity of
that raw material," answers Darling, lightly. "Yet they are a fine race
in spite of it. I'm going over again to see my friend Terry before very
long. He is the most amusing fellow, downright brilliant. So is his
hair, by the by,--the very richest crimson."
"But I hope you were not left to spend your days with Terry?" says Mona,
smiling.
"No. All the county people round when they heard of me--which, according
to my own mental calculations on the subject, must have been exactly
five minutes after my arrival--quite adopted me. You are a very
hospitable nation, Mrs. Rodney; nobody can deny that. Positively, the
whole time I was in Limerick I could have dined three times every day
had I so chosen."
"Bless me!" says Geoffrey; "what an appalling thought! it makes me feel
faint."
"Rather so. In their desire to feed me lay my only danger of death. But
I pulled through. And I liked every one I met,--really you know," to
Mona, "and no humbug. Yet I think the happiest days I knew over there
were those spent with Terry. It was rather a sell, though, having no
real adventure, particularly as I had promised one not only to myself
but to my friends when starting for Paddy-land. I beg your pardon a
thousand times! Ireland, I mean."
"I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course."
"I wish I was one!" says Mr. Darling, with considerable effusion. "I
envy the people who can claim nationality with you. I'd be a Paddy
myself to-morrow if I could, for that one reason."
"What a funny boy you are!" says Mona, with a little laugh.
"So they all tell me. And of course what every one says is true. We're
bound to be friends, aren't we?" rattles on Darling pleasantly. "Our
mutual love for Erin should be a bond between us."
"I hope we shall be; I am sure we shall," returns Mona, quickly. It is
sweet to her to find a possible friend in this alien land.
"Not a doubt of it," says Nolly, gayly. "Every one likes me, you know.
'To see me is to love me, and love but me forever,' and all that sort
of thing; we shall be tremendous friends in no time. The fact is, I'm
not worth hating; I'm neither useful nor ornamental, but I'm perfectly
harmless, and there is something in that, isn't there? Every one can't
say the same. I'm utterly certain _you_ can't," with a glance of
admiration.
"Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and
bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young
man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except
perhaps Sir Nicholas.
"That is out of my power," says Darling, whom the last speech--and
glance that accompanied it--has completely finished. "I only pray you of
your grace never to be unkind to me."
"What a strange name yours is!--Nolly," says Mona, presently.
"Well, I wasn't exactly born so," explains Mr. Darling, frankly; "Oliver
is my name. I rather fancy my own name, do you know; it is uncommon, at
all events. One don't hear it called round every corner, and it reminds
one of that 'bold bad man' the Protector. But they shouldn't have left
out the Cromwell. That would have been a finishing stroke. To hear one's
self announced as Oliver Cromwell Darling in a public room would have
been as good as a small fortune."
"Better," says Mona, laughing gayly.
"Yes, really, you know. I'm in earnest," declares Mr. Darling, laughing
too. He is quite delighted with Mona. To find his path through life
strewn with people who will laugh with him, or even at him, is his idea
of perfect bliss. So he chatters on to her until, bed-hour coming, and
candles being forced into notice, he is at length obliged to tear
himself away from her and follow the men to the smoking-room.
Here he lays hands on Geoffrey.
"By Jove, you know, you've about done it," he says, bestowing upon
Geoffrey's shoulder a friendly pat that rather takes the breath out of
that young man's body. "Gave you credit for more common sense. Why, such
a proceeding as this is downright folly. You are bound to pay for your
fun, you know, sooner or later."
"Sir," says Mr. Rodney, taking no notice of this preamble, "I shall
trouble you to explain what you mean by reducing an inoffensive
shoulder-blade to powder."
"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Nolly, absently. "But"--with sudden
interest--"do you know what you have done? You have married the
prettiest woman in England."
"I haven't," says Geoffrey.
"You have," says Nolly.
"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are
wool-gathering."
"Good gracious! he can't mean that he is tired of her already," exclaims
Mr. Darling, in an audible aside. "That would be too much even for our
times."
At this Geoffrey gives way to mirth. He and Darling are virtually alone,
as Nicholas and Captain Rodney are talking earnestly about the impending
lawsuit in a distant corner.
"My dear fellow, you have overworked your brain," he says, ironically:
"You don't understand me. I am not tired of her. I shall never cease to
bless the day I saw her,"--this with great earnestness,--"but you say I
have married the handsomest woman in England, and she is not English at
all."
"Oh, well, what's the odds?" says Nolly. "Whether she is French, or
English, Irish or German, she has just the loveliest face I ever saw,
and the sweetest ways. You've done an awfully dangerous thing. You will
be Mrs. Rodney's husband in no time,--nothing else, and you positively
won't know yourself in a year after. Individuality lost. Name gone.
Nothing left but your four bones. You will be quite thankful for _them_,
even, after a bit."
"You terrify me," says Geoffrey, with a grimace. "You think, then, that
Mona is pretty?"
"Pretty doesn't express it. She is quite intense; and new style, too,
which of course is everything. You will present her next season, I
suppose? You must, you know, if only in the cause of friendship, as I
wouldn't miss seeing Mrs. Laintrie's and Mrs. Whelon's look of disgust
when your wife comes on the scene for worlds!"
"Her eyes certainly are----" says Geoffrey.
"She is all your fancy could possibly paint her; she is lovely and
divine. Don't try to analyze her charms, my dear Geoff. She is just the
prettiest and sweetest woman I ever met. She is young, in the 'very May
morn of delight,' yet there is nothing of that horrid shyness--that
_mauvaise honte_--about her that, as a rule, belongs to the 'freshness
of morning.' Her laugh is so sweet, so full of enjoyment."
"If you mean me to repeat all this back again, you will find yourself
jolly well mistaken; because, understand at once, I sha'n't do it," says
Geoffrey. "I'm not going to have a hand in my undoing; and such
unqualified praise is calculated to turn any woman's head. Seriously,
though," says Geoffrey, laying his hands on Darling's shoulders, "I'm
tremendously glad you like her."
"Don't!" says Darling, weakly. "Don't put it in that light. It's too
feeble. If you said I was madly in love with your wife you would be
nearer the mark, as insanity touches on it. I haven't felt so badly for
years. It is right down unlucky for me, this meeting with Mrs. Rodney."
"Poor Mona!" says Geoffrey; "don't tell her about it, as remorse may
sadden her."
"Look here," says Mr. Darling, "just try one of these, do. They are
South American cigarettes, and nearly as strong as the real thing, and
quite better: they are a new brand. Try 'em; they'll quite set you up."
"Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie.