First floor only. _Dieci otto_--a door in a corridor whose rooms looked
out upon the tranquil sea.
A lady and gentleman started from their seats as the couple rushed in;
and in a moment Viscount Diphoos had seen that they were right--that he
was in the presence of his sister and the man with whom she had eloped.
He saw too in the same rapid glance why they had been so long off the
scent. For there was no black curly hair, no long black beard, but all
was brown, and flashed as it were with gold.
This was all seen as the young man literally hurled himself upon the
tall, sturdy man, who rose to meet him, and in a twinkling they had one
another by the throat.
"Take her away, father, quick, quick," cried Tom; and the next moment,
in choking tones--"No, stop!" as he loosed his hold, staggered back to a
chair, and uttered a shriek.
Wounded? Stabbed by the treacherous Italian?
Oh, no; it was a shriek of the laughter with which his frame was
convulsed, as he rolled from side to side, while Lord Barmouth stared
from one to the other.
"Tom, my son--are you hurt?"
"Hurt!" shrieked Tom, in inarticulate tones. "Sold--sold--sold!"
"But what does it mean?" stammered Lord Barmouth.
"Mean!" shrieked Tom--"why, that that confounded old humbug Charley has
stolen a march on us.--Charley, old fellow, God bless you--I never felt
so happy in my life. Here, Maudey, give us a kiss."
Before the young man had commenced hugging his sister, Charley Melton
had moved to the door, closed and locked it against the inquiring looks
of waiters, and taking Maude's hand in his he then asked Lord Barmouth
in a few manly words to forgive him and his wife their clandestine
proceedings.
"Forgive you, Charley," cried the viscount, "of course he will--won't
you, dad?"
"Well--well--yes, my boy, I think so," said his lordship feebly, as he
shook his new son-in-law's hand. "I think I'm very glad, for I never
liked that Sir Reginald."
"Grantley, father--Grantley Wilters," cried Tom.
"To be sure, my boy; yes, of course, Sir Grantley."
"But why the dickens didn't you write to us, and let us know?"
"Well, we were going to write every day," said Charley, with a peculiar
look at Maude; "but we could never agree as to whose duty it was. We
should have written though."
"But--but--I think you ought to have written, Charley Melton. You see
I've been very anxious about my darling Maude."
"It was very cruel, papa dear; but really I did mean to write, soon."
"I'm very glad of that," said Lord Barmouth; "for really, Maude, my
darling, you have frightened me so. I shall have a horrible fit of the
gout after this."
"Never mind, dad; stop and have it here, and Maudey and I will nurse
you--won't we, old girl?" cried Tom. "For gout at home just now would
be awful. Oh!" he shrieked, once more going off into convulsions,
"won't the old girl be mad!"
"Yes, my dears," said Lord Barmouth, shaking away very heartily at
Charley Melton's hands, "I'm afraid she'll be very cross. But do you
know, I fancy I've caught a bit o' cold."
"Never mind, father, we're going to catch it hot," said Tom.
"Yes, my boy; but--but I feel a little deaf, and my head is rather
thick."
"Never mind, old fellow, we've found her."
"Yes, my boy, yes, we've found her; but do you know I feel rather
confused and puzzled. I--I thought our Maude had gone off with that
handsome looking scoundrel who played the organ outside our house."
"Well, so she did," cried Tom; "I see it all now. Here he is, dad."
"No, no, my boy; don't be so foolish. I want to know why it's Charley
Melton, and not that Italian fellow?"
"Why, governor, can't you see through it?"
"No, my boy. It's all a puzzle to me."
"Nonsense, dad, Charley made a postman of that organ-grinder. Now do
you twig?"
"And--and a post-office of the organ? I think I am beginning to see."
"What was I to do?" said the young husband, appealingly. "I had been
abroad, and tried to forget her, but it was of no use. I was forbidden
the house, and at last I learned that this marriage was to come off. I
dared not trust the servants, so I practised this ruse. But there, it's
all over now. You forgive me, sir, do you not?"
"Well, yes, my boy," said Lord Barmouth, who was sitting fondling his
daughter's hand. "I think you are quite right. I should have done the
same, for I was a devil of a--Don't fidget, Maude, my darling. I'll
talk her ladyship round."
"She'd rather it had been the organ-grinder," choked and coughed
Viscount Diphoos, while his sister, blushing and happy, kept shaking her
finger at his mirthful face.
"But I will talk her round," said Lord Barmouth, rather pompously, to
the infinite risk of sending his son once more off into convulsions.
"But I say, Charley," cried Tom, who kept showing his delight by
slapping his brother-in-law on the back; "I want to know one thing
though; did the signore come that night to fetch Maude, and leave his
organ in the area?"
"No, of course not," cried Charley, eagerly; "I bought the organ, and
came myself."
"With the organ?"
"For this time only on any stage."
"As they say in the play-bills," cried Tom. "Hooray!"
At that moment the door was tried, and then shaken by her ladyship, who
had been waiting till the first part of the storm was over, after which
she ascended with Tryphie, whose face wore a peculiarly mocking look as
she stood behind her aunt.
"Open this door," cried Lady Barmouth.
A dead silence fell upon the group.
"Oh, papa!" cried Maude.
"Yes, my dear," said his lordship, looking round for a way of escape.
"I--I--I think it is her ladyship."
"Not much doubt about it," said Tom. "Now, Charley, old chap, take your
header and get out of your misery."
"Yes," said Charley, "I suppose I must get it over."
"Open this door!" cried Lady Barmouth, shaking it furiously.
"It isn't a hanging matter," said Tom, laughing.
"No," said Charley, rather uneasily, "it isn't a hanging matter."
"And her ladyship can't undo it."
"No," said Charley firmly, as he crossed the room to where the door was
being shaken violently, "her ladyship cannot undo it."
"Would--would you like to take hold of my hand, Maudey, my dear?" said
Lord Barmouth in a faltering voice.
"Yes, papa, dear; and you will intercede for my dear husband," said the
young wife, clinging to him affectionately.
"I will, my dear, I will. I feel as brave as a lion now. I--I--oh,
here she is."
"What is the meaning of all this?" cried her ladyship, staring round at
the scene, as Tryphie rushed at Maude, kissed her, and then at Charley
Melton, and jumped up and kissed him.
"I always fancied that's how it was," she whispered.
"What's the meaning of it?" cried Tom. "Why, we've found them. Here,
allow me to take round the hat for the coppers; or will you do it now,
Maude?"
"I repeat," cried Lady Barmouth, "what is the meaning of this? Mr
Melton, what are you doing here?"
"Asking your ladyship's pardon for myself and my dear wife," said
Charley, taking Maude's hand.
"Wife? Then! You! Oh, Maude, you wicked, wicked girl!"
"But, my dear," said Lord Barmouth.
"Silence!" cried her ladyship, "Maude, you have utterly broken my heart,
and--"
"Don't you believe it, Maudey," said Tom, grinning. "She's only saying
that to keep up appearances."
"Tom!"
"All right! but you know you are. There, Charley, old boy, kiss your
dear mother. Come, gov'nor, say Bless you, my children!"
"Certainly, my dear boy," said the old man, earnestly. "Bless you
indeed, my dear children. Charley Melton, you can't tell how glad I am,
my boy."
"Barmouth!"
"Yes, my love, but I can't help it. I do feel very glad; but oh, you
young dog, to come playing us a trick like that!"
"Barmouth!"
"There, hang it all, mother," cried Tom, "what's the good of holding
out. You've behaved very nicely, but, as we say in refined circles--I
mean rings--it's quite time you threw up the sponge."
"Mamma, dear, I would sooner have died than marry Sir Grantley."
"Such a cruel _ruse_," sobbed her ladyship, in hystero-tragic tones.
"Maude! Maude!"
"Don't blame her, dearest mother," said Tom, in mock-heroic style, "it
was the troubadour. _Il trovatore_! and his playing was magnificent.
It would have won the heart of a female saint, or charmed a nun from her
cell, let alone our Maude."
"Justine, my drops, my drops."
"She caves in! Charley, old chap, you may kiss her now," cried Tom,
"she won't bite. There, take him to your heart, old lady; and I say,
mamma, some day if you do faint, Charley could carry you to a sofa:
Grantley Wilters would have doubled up like a two-foot rule."
"I can never show my face in society again," said her ladyship, "never,
Mr Melton."
"What!" cried Tom, who grinned with delight as he saw his mother seated
upon a couch between Charley and Maude. "What? why, it'll be no end of
a game. It's all right, Maudey; you've won."
"Ah," sighed her ladyship, "let Justine bring my drops."
"Drops be hanged! Champagne," cried Tom. "Here, ring the bell,
gov'nor; no _table-d'hote_ to-day, mamma's going to order a wedding
dinner--a screamer."
"No, no, Tom!"
"Yes, yes, my dear mother."
Her ladyship sighed, smiled, ordered the dinner, and Lord Barmouth
rubbed his leg.
"Tom, my boy," he whispered, "you really are a wonder."
"Am I, gov'nor? Then you tell Tryphie so, and back me up, for I mean,
as the old song says, `to marry she.'"
"Do you, my boy?"
"Yes, gov'nor. Do you consent?"
"Certainly, my dear boy, certainly. When is it to be?"
"Barmouth," said her ladyship in her deep contralto, "would you be kind
enough to ring for Justine?"