I must say they take _rather_ a matter of course view here of my
engagement. No one would suppose from their manner that there was
anything at all unusual in a match between a Government official and a
confectioner's assistant! LOUISE'S Aunt, indeed, (whether sincerely,
or from motives of policy, I hardly know,) does not conceal her regret
that a certain ROBERT PONKING had not "spoken out" while he had the
opportunity. PONKING is a rising salesman in the trimming department
of some upholstering business, and doing, I understand, extremely
well. Still, I do flatter myself--but one can't _say_ these things,
unfortunately!
[Illustration: A Cutter making for the Peer Head.]
An encounter--which, but for LOUISE'S exquisite common sense, might
have been awkward--has just taken place. We met PONKING on the Pier.
It struck me that the Aunt's surprise was a little overdone, but he
was evidently unprepared for _me_. LOUISE perfectly composed, however;
introduced me as "her intended" (a trifle _bourgeois_ this, perhaps,
but it _is_ difficult to know what to say--I felt it myself.) PONKING
allowed her to see he was fearfully cut up, and I am afraid she is
reproaching herself a little, poor girl!
We have met him again; he has reached the saturnine and Byronic stage;
LOUISE remonstrated with him for smoking so many cigars, which she was
sure were bad for him (_his_ cigars are bad for everybody else at all
events!) and he replied gloomily that there was no one to care _now_
what he did, and oversmoking was as pleasant a way of leaving the
world as most. I can see this is depressing LOUISE; she is not nearly
so bright when alone with me as she used to be--she does not even take
much interest in my Drama! I do my best to comfort her by declaring
that PONKING is only "posing," and has not the remotest idea of dying
for love; but that only seems to irritate her--she has such a tender
little heart.
As we are constantly meeting him about, I appeal to him privately to
brighten up a little. He is much affected, says I must make some
allowance for his position, and implores me not to forbid him LOUISE'S
society altogether. He will make an effort to be gayer in the future,
he promises me, the mask shall only be dropped in private. After all,
he is ALF'S friend, and an especial favourite of the Aunt's. If he
does not recognise the propriety of going, I can't send him away--we
must see something of him. I should be sorry for him myself--if only
he were not such an underbred beast!
[Illustration: "Thou counterfeit'st a bark."
Shakspeare.]
There is certainly a decided alteration in PONKING; he now affects the
most rollicking high spirits--though why he should find it necessary
to dissemble his grief by playing the fool all over the sands is more
than I can understand. But he grinds piano-organs, and goes round with
the tambourine; receives penny galvanic shocks, and howls until he
collects a crowd; has "larks" with the lovebirds which pick out
fortunes, and chaffs all the Professors of Phrenology, choosing, as
the head-quarters of his exploits, any place where Louise and I happen
to be, to whom he returns, with roars of laughter, to tell us his
"latest." Then he plays practical jokes on _me_, chalking things on my
back, and putting sand down my neck. It is all very well for him to
plead that he does these things "to hide an aching heart,"--but if he
hides it in this way, he won't be able to find it again--that's all! I
can see, too, it disgusts LOUISE, who bites her lips a good deal,
although, she says, it is "quite a treat to see how Mr. PONKING is
enjoying himself." I am afraid, for all that, that she thinks me a
little too serious. Perhaps I am--I must prove to her that it is
possible to rollick with refinement. But, somehow, I can never make
her laugh as PONKING does.
I very seldom have a quiet hour with her now; her brother has
persuaded her that she ought "to see more of what's going on," and "do
as others do." Her wishes, are, of course, paramount with me--although
I cannot see the enjoyment of going to the open-air Music-Hall _quite_
so often, nor did I come here to play "penny nap," on the sands all
the afternoon. If, too, LOUISE must speculate, she might "go nap" with
more judgment, and I do strongly object to the ostentatious generosity
with which PONKING throws away his best cards, rather than rob her of
a trick--it is in the _worst_ taste, and yet I fear she is touched by
it. In the evening several of us promenade the town arm in arm;
PONKING has a banjo and ALF an accordion. LOUISE begs me to go, to see
that ALF does not get into trouble--which may be necessary enough, but
who will see that _I_ get into none?
It is unpleasant to be warned by a policeman not to make so much noise
over the "_Soy, oh, what Joy_," ditty, and I don't know why he singled
_me_ out--I was only _humming_ the confounded thing! They generally
come in and have supper with me, which Mrs. SURGE complains bitterly
about; she says the gentlemen stay so late, and are so noisy, and her
room smells of smoke so next day. I am aware of that, because I have
to _sit_ in it. I don't like PONKING at any time, but, if possible, he
is rather more detestable in his sentimental moods, which generally
come upon him after supper, when he informs me that the 'alo has
departed from his life, and begs me, in broken accents, to allow
LOUISE to visit his tomb occasionally. If he were only _there_!
[Illustration: "Uneven is the course. I like it not!"--_Shakspeare_.]
To-day LOUISE appeared, for the first time, in a striped yachting-cap.
I merely hinted, very gently, that, as she had never been on board a
yacht in her life, and the cap did not even suit her, I preferred her
ordinary style of head-dress, when she grew angry at once.
_Everybody_, she informed me, was not of my opinion--Mr. PONKING had
complimented her particularly--hang PONKING!
I find myself constantly greeting and being greeted by Blazers. I am
sure _I_ don't know how I have come to be acquainted with so
many--they all ask me "How is myself," and, in answer to my polite,
but scarcely warm, inquiries after their health, reply that they are
"ter-rific"--which they _are_! PONKING was asked by LOUISE the other
afternoon whether he was "ready for his tea;" and answered briefly,
but emphatically, "Wait till I get _'old_ of it!" LOUISE remarked
afterwards that he was "so quick." I doubt very much whether she would
say as much of _me_. I am as fond of her as ever--in some respects,
fonder--but I cannot help noticing these things--I cannot help seeing
that Starmouth is not doing her any good.
_Afternoon: on the Sands._--LOUISE and ALF have been scooping a pit.
When it is dug, she says coquettishly that there is just room for me.
I decline, a little curtly perhaps--but I really am surprised at
LOUISE--such extremely bad style! Her Aunt, who is eating plums
hard-by, says "some people seem to think themselves too grand for
anything." I can hear ALF whispering that LOUISE would not have to ask
"poor old PONK" twice.
LOUISE says, pouting, that she shall not ask _me_ again. I can see I
have hurt her feelings. After all, it is possible to be _too_
particular--there is no harm in it--countless couples around us are
making themselves at least equally conspicuous. Somehow I never can be
as firm with LOUISE as I am with most people.... I _ought_ to be
comfortable, with her head resting upon my shoulder and my arm
encircling her waist (_she_ insists on this)--but, as a matter of
fact, I catch myself remarking how very much LOUISE has caught the sun
of late. And she has developed quite a _twang_ within the last few
days!
PONKING has just come up; he has arranged with a photographer to take
us all, just as we are, in a group. As PONKING and ALF consider it
humorous to be taken in the act of making horrible grimaces, we
promptly become objects of general interest. I should _not_ like to be
seen by any of the fellows at the office just now.
[Illustration: Coming with a Rush!]
We are all posed--and a nice picture we shall make!--when, on the
outskirts of the crowd, I see a slender stately figure, which does not
seem quite to belong to Starmouth.
There is actually a sort of resemblance--but that is absurd! She
notices the crowd, and as she pauses with a half-indifferent
curiosity, I see her full face.... It is almost too terrible to be
true--but I am under no delusion,--_it is ETHEL DERING!_
"Quite steady all, for one moment, please," says the photographer. If
I could only bury my head in the sand like an ostrich,--but _that_
would excite remark, I suppose, and, besides, there is no time!
* * * * *
Theatrical Noes to Queries.
Mrs. JOHN WOOD is not engaged with a sequel to _East Lynne_, but with
JOHN CLAYTON.
ARTHUR CECIL was not a favourite of Queen ELIZABETH; and she never
received him at the Court in his life.
WILSON BARRETT does not always make a speech after an earthquake.
And lastly it is not true that Mrs. JAMES BROWN-POTTER was instructed
in her art by Mrs. SIDDONS, Mrs. JORDAN, Miss ELLEN TERRY, Mme. SARAH
BERNHARDT, and Miss MINNIE PALMER.
* * * * *
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