"The company of our protector can't be disagreeable--'tis a favour. But,
Sir, I will be frank with you: we are in Dublin _incognita_; our
lodging is not equal to our pretensions to birth; and in short--"
She hesitated, with her eyes dropped and the lashes like night upon her
cheek. The crimson bow of her upper lip trembled--a seductive picture of
troubled beauty. Anyhow it did Mr Harry's business for him. He could no
more have tore himself away at that moment than he could have embraced the
barge-man swearing blue murder at his feet.
"Madam, these are misfortunes that may happen to the greatest, and 'tis
easy seen that in your case breeding and birth combine with--beauty. Is it
indiscreet to ask the name of the ladies I have the honour to address?"
"'Tis very indiscreet," says Miss Maria, with one of her bright
side-glances; "but yet--should we withhold it, sister?"
"Surely not from so kind a friend." Elizabeth spoke eagerly. "Our name,
Sir, is Gunning, and we are granddaughters to the late Viscount Mayo and
nieces to his present Lordship. And when I add that our parents have
fallen into poverty, you will comprehend--"
Her voice paused on a silver note, which had the beginning of a sob; and
when Elizabeth saddened, the world must sadden with her, so lovely were
her long eyes and the drooping head. Pity poor Mr Harry! Talk of Scylla
and Charybdis--he stood between the Sirens, and could he have halved his
heart (and many men have that power), one half had gone to either charmer.
"Madam," says he tenderly, "I feel for your sorrows more than I can
express. Might I but have the happiness to be presented to your mama; for
'tis the most prodigious circumstance--I am the son of Sir Francis Lepel
of Tarrington in Yorkshire, and I have heard him speak of my Lord Mayo
many a time. His Lordship stood second to my grandfather in his famous
duel with Lord Ayrshire thirty year since. My name will not be unknown.
Permit me--"
And again he saluted, very gallant, and the three proceeded down the
street, the girls on thorns for thinking of the dingy rooms, and their
mother down-at-heel, and the everlasting herrings sizzling on the grate,
and Lucy and Kitty screaming for their supper. 'Twas thinking thus that
Maria touched Elizabeth's arm, as much as to say: "Shall we let him go?"
For indeed these girls had a perfect language of signs between them,
elaborated in the shifts and devices of their life; and Miss Maria, at
least, was an accomplished little schemer. But Elizabeth responded not to
the pinch.
"Why, Sir," says she sweetly, "the name is indeed familiar. Sitting on his
Lordship's knee, often have I heard him discourse of Sir Francis. You are
no stranger. Yet truth is best. We are poor, Mr Lepel. My sister and I are
debarred from all the pleasures of our rank, and our only concern is how
to lighten our mama's burden if we could. 'Tis this makes us hesitate, for
we can't offer you the hospitality we would."
"Name it not, Madam, I entreat," says Mr Harry, trying to look into those
too seductive eyes. "God forbid I should add to your anxieties. But had I
the happiness to know your mama, whose beauty half Ireland knows by
repute, sure I might be permitted to open the way to some pleasures. There
is, for instance, a Birthnight ball to be celebrated at the Castle--"
"Sir, you are all goodness, but gentlemen understand little of the
difficulties of poor young ladies of quality. How should they? We have no
dresses fit for the eyes of his Excellency. Even shoes--"
She permitted a foot to appear beneath the edge of her petticoat and
ambushed it again. But it had done its work.
"You tear my heart, Madam. But since that little marvel of a foot recalls
Cinderella's, permit me to say that a fairy godmother smoothed the way for
that young lady to a certain ball, and there she met the prince whose
throne she afterwards shared."
"There are no fairies in Dublin, Sir." Her voice was like flowing honey,
while the little foot so commended was bestowing a sharp kick upon the
fair Maria, and thus it said:--
"Run ahead. Turn the corner and run like a lamp-lighter, and let mama know
what is toward. Hide the herrings. Bundle the children to bed. Fling
mama's Irish lace over her head. I can hold him fifteen minutes. Speed!"
'Tis much to be said in one kick, and it takes a woman to say and a woman
to hear; but Miss Maria was a woman, though but eighteen. She smiled like
Truth's self.
"Sister, if 'tis not disagreeable to you to spare me, I have the message
to leave at Mrs Flaherty's, and will go forward and meet with you at our
door. Excuse me, Mr Lepel. My sister is a slow walker and I a swift. I
knew not 'twas so late."
Off went Miss Maria. Turning the corner, she picked up her petticoats and
legged it along like a hare at dawn.
It may be thought that the acquaintance ripened in those fifteen minutes,
which doubled into thirty. Elizabeth's step was slower, her voice more
musical, even as a nightingale sings her sweetest to the moon. The shade
of my Lord Mayo might hover about them to safeguard propriety, but Mr
Harry drew as near as the rampart of the lady's hoop would permit, bending
his head to catch her murmurs, and his nostrils inhaling the faint perfume
of silken hair rolled back from the whitest brow in the world. They made a
pair that many would have remarked, but for the ill-lit streets.
Maria awaited them at the shabby door in Britain Street.
"I would not go in, sister, lest mama should scold me for leaving you; and
indeed I am but just arrived," says she demurely. And since she had not
entered, 'twas singular how neat was the appearance of that dingy room;
for 'twas dingy, do what you would.
The fire burned brightly, and if there was a delicate odour of herrings
and onions, 'twas the worst could be said, for none were to be seen.
Indeed, a rich perfume fought with it, as if a hasty hand had dashed the
odours of Araby here and there to discourage the herrings. A large velvet
cloak, the worse for wear, disguised the rents of the sofa, whereon sat
Mrs Gunning, majestic in another of faded purple satin, beneath which her
dress remained conjectural. A noble square of Limerick point was flung
over her head and hung veil-like by each ear; and, indeed, with the little
cherub Lucy at her feet, she might have sat for an aging Madonna.
Kitty was bundled off to the camp-bed in the back room; and sure the
picture was homelike, if you studied the handsome lady rather than the
ragged chairs. 'Twas the best they could do, poor souls, in fifteen
minutes, and wonderful in the time. 'Tis women for quick thinking and
quick acting where men are concerned; and, indeed, the look of
astonishment Mrs Gunning gave as the three entered was inimitable, though
already she had every particular set down in her mind. She swept the
stateliest curtsey, and cast a rebuking maternal eye on her daughters, ere
she addressed Mr Lepel.
But, when explanations were made, how did her brow clear and a
fair-weather smile efface the frost! She welcomed him with cordial
kindness, with such reminiscences of his family as warmed his heart; and
though no hospitality was offered save one,--a bottle of generous claret
in a silver cup enriched with the Mayo arms,--'twas given with such
good-will, and served by so lovely a cup-bearer, the fair Maria, that
the man does not breathe but must feel it worthy of the three ladies who
tendered it. He toasted them one and all in turn, and if his bow to
Elizabeth was a little lower, that circumstance did not displease Mrs
Gunning.
"I leave you to judge, Mr Lepel," says she, "what it costs a mother to see
her dear ones exiled from all the little gay scenes where it would become
them to appear. But what can I do? My father's grandchildren, Mr Gunning's
daughters, can't appear except with propriety; and why should I hesitate
to tell so kind a friend that 'tis beyond my power?"
'Twas discussed between them all for an hour as to the Birthnight ball;
but Mrs Gunning was resolute, nor could Mr Harry dare to make the offers
that trembled on his lips. He could have groaned aloud to think on the
sums he wasted nightly on gaming--one half of which would have adorned
these beauties and set them free to flutter their wings in the sunshine of
fashion. Later Maria, half-smiling, half-sad, told how they were promised
luck by the old witch of Dublin, though she gave not all the particulars.
She built not on it, she declared, nor yet did Elizabeth; and she, a soft
sigh parting her lips, confirmed her sister: "the more so," says she,
"that none of us can imagine what is the Golden Vanity. Is there such a
ship, to be the ship of our fortunes? 'Tis that it sounds most like."