For Charley Melton's father was better, hence his presence in town,
where he had sped as soon as he found that the Diphoos family had left
the Hurst, where Lady Barmouth hatched matrimony.
That cut in the Park was unpleasant, but nothing daunted in his
determination not to be thrown over, the young man made his way next day
to Portland Place, eager, anxious, and wondering whether Maude would be
firm, or allow herself to be influenced by her ladyship to his downfall.
Robbins unclosed the door at the great family mansion looking very
severe and uncompromising. So stern was his countenance, and so stiff
the bristles on his head, that any one with bribery in his heart would
have felt that silver would be an insult.
"Not at home."
He left his card, and called next day.
"Not at home."
He waited two days, and called again.
"Not at home."
Another two days, and another call. The same answer.
"Not at home."
Charley Melton turned away with his brow knit, and then thought over the
past, and determined that, come what might, he would not be beaten.
The next day he went again, with his dog trotting closely at his heels.
He knocked; the door was opened by Robbins the butler, and to the usual
inquiry, that individual responded as before--
"Not at home, sir."
As Melton left his card and turned to go away, Joby quietly walked in,
crossed the hall, and went upstairs, while his master, who was biting
his lips, turned sharply back and slipped half a sovereign into the
butler's hand.
"Look here, Robbins," he said; "you may trust me; what does this mean?"
The butler glanced behind him, and let the door swing nearly to as he
stood upon the step.
"Fact is, sir, her ladyship said they was never to be at home to you."
A curious smile crossed Melton's lip as he nodded shortly and turned
away, going straight back to his chambers in Duke Street, Saint James's,
and walking impatiently up and down till he was fain to cease from utter
exhaustion, when he flung himself impatiently in his chair, and sat
trying to make plans for the future.
Meanwhile Joby, feeling himself quite at home in the Portland Place
mansion, had walked straight into the dining-room, where the luncheon
was not yet cleared away. The dog settled himself under the table,
till, hearing a halting step, he had come slowly out to stand watching
Lord Barmouth, who toddled in hastily, and helped himself to three or
four slices of cold ham, which he was in the act of placing in his
pocket as the dog touched him on the leg.
"Eh! I'm very sorry, Robbins--I--eh? Oh dear, how you frightened me,
my good dog," he said; "I thought it was the butler."
He was hurrying out when, thinking that perhaps the visitor might also
like a little extra refreshment, he hastily took up a couple of cutlets
and threw them one by one to the dog, who caught them, and seemed to
swallow them with one and the same movement, pill-fashion, for they
disappeared, and Joby waited for more.
"I dare not take any more, my good dog," said his lordship, stooping
down and patting him; and then, feeling that there was nothing more to
be done here, Joby quietly trotted upstairs into the drawing-room, where
Maude was seated alone, with her head resting upon her hand, and the
tears silently stealing down her cheeks.
She uttered a faint cry, for the dog's great blunt muzzle was laid upon
her soft white hand, when, seeing who it was, the poor girl, with a
hysterical sob, threw herself down upon her knees beside the great ugly
brute, flung her arms round his neck, and hugged him to her breast. "Oh
Joby, Joby, Joby, you dear good dog," she sobbed, "how did you come
here?" and then, with flushed cheeks, and a faint hope in her breast
that the dog's master might be at hand, she paused with her head thrown
back, listening intently.
But there was not a sound to be heard, and she once more caressed the
dog, who, with his head resting upon her shoulder, blinked his great
eyes and licked his black muzzle as if he liked it all amazingly.
Maude sobbed bitterly as she knelt by the dog, and then a thought seemed
to strike her, for she felt its collar, and hesitated; then going to the
table she opened a blotter, seized a sheet of note paper, and began to
write.
At the end of a few moments she stopped though.
"I dare not--I dare not," she sighed. "It would certainly be found out,
and what would he think of me? What does he think of me?" she wailed.
"He must believe me not worth a thought. I will send--just a line."
She wrote a few words, folded the paper up small, and was taking some
silk from her work-basket, when a cough on the stairs made her start and
return to her chair.
"She will see the dog and be so angry," thought Maude, as the rustling
of silk proclaimed the coming of her ladyship, when, to her great joy
Joby uttered a low growl and dived at once beneath the couch, where he
curled himself up completely out of sight.
"Maude," said her ladyship, in an ill-used tone, "you are not looking so
well as you should."
"Indeed, mamma?"
"By no means, child; and as I am speaking to you, I may as well say that
I could not help noticing last night that you were almost rude to Sir
Grantley Wilters. I must beg that it does not occur again."
"Mamma!"
"There, there, there, that will do," said her ladyship, "not a word. I
am going out, and I cannot be made nervous by your silly nonsense."
"Indeed, mamma, I--"
"I will not hear excuses," cried her ladyship. "I tell you I am going
out. If Sir Grantley Wilters calls, I insist upon your treating him
with proper consideration. As I have told you, and I repeat it once for
all, that silly flirtation with Mr Melton is quite at an end, and now
we must be serious."
"Serious, mamma!" cried Maude, rising; "I assure you--"
"That will do, child, that will do. You must let older people think for
you, if you please. Be silent."
Lady Barmouth sailed out of the room, and with a flush upon her
countenance Maude returned to her work-basket for the silk, starting as
she did so, for something touched her, and there was Joby's great head
with the prominent eyes staring up at her, as if to say, "Are you
ready?"
Folding her note very small, she tied it securely to the inside of the
dog's collar, and then, laying her hands upon his ears, kissed his great
ugly forehead.
"There, good dog, take that to your master," she said. "Go home."
The dog started up, uttered a low bark, and, as if he understood her
words, made for the door.
"No, no," cried Maude, who repented now that she had gone so far; "come
back, good dog, come back. What will he think of me? What shall I do!"
She ran to the door, but the dog had disappeared, and to her horror she
heard the front door open as the carriage wheels stopped at the door.
Trembling with dread she ran to the window and saw that the carriage was
waiting for Lady Barmouth; but what interested her far more was the
sight of Joby trotting across the wide thoroughfare, and evidently
making his way straight off home, where he arrived in due course, and
set to scratching at the door till Charley Melton got up impatiently and
let him in.
"Ah, Joby," he said, carelessly; and then, heedless of the dog--"But
I'll never give her up," he said sharply, as he rose and took an old
pipe from the chimney-piece, which he filled and then sat down.
As he did so, according to custom, Joby laid his head in his master's
hand, Melton pulling the dog's ears, and patting him with one hand,
thinking of something else the while. His thoughts did not come back,
even when his hand came in contact with the paper which now came off
easily at his touch.
Melton's thoughts were with the writer, and he had a pipe in the other
hand; but his brain suggested to him that he might just as well light
the pipe, incited probably thereto by the touch of the paper which he
began to open out, after putting his meerschaum in his mouth; and he was
then dreamily doubling the note, when his eyes fell upon the characters,
his pipe dropped from his lips and broke upon the floor, as he read with
increasing excitement--
"I am driven to communicate with you like this, for I dare not try to
post a note. Pray do not think ill of me; I cannot do as I would, and I
am very, very unhappy."
That was all; and Charley Melton read it through again, and then stood
looking puzzled, as if he could not comprehend how he came by the
letter.
"Why, Joby must have stayed behind to-day," he cried, "and--yes--no--of
course--here are the silken threads attached to his collar, and--and--
oh, you jolly old brute! I'll never repent of giving twenty pounds for
you again."
He patted Joby until the caresses grew too forcible to be pleasant, and
the dog slipped under his master's chair, while the note was read over
and over again, and then carefully placed in a pocket-book and
transferred to the owner's breast--a serious proceeding with a comic
side.
"No, my darling," he said, "I won't think ill of you; and as for you, my
dear Lady Barmouth, all stratagems are good in love and war. You have
thrown down the glove in casting me off in this cool and insolent
manner; I have taken it up. If I cannot win her by fair means, I must
by foul."
He walked up and down the room for a few minutes in a state of intense
excitement.
"I can't help the past," he said, half aloud. "I cannot help what I am,
but win her I must. I feel now as if I can stop at nothing to gain my
ends, and here is the way open at all events for a time. Joby, you are
going to prove your master's best friend."