MR. RICHARD TALLANT INTERRUPTS A CHARMING
TÊTE-À-TÊTE.
“Ahem! pleasant occupation truly,” said Mr. Richard Tallant, planting
himself in the centre of the summer-house doorway, and contemplating
the ladies, who stared in astonishment at the apparition.
“Any objection to take me into your embraces?” he went on, smiling,
walking up to Miss Tallant, kissing her on the forehead, and bowing
very politely to her companion.
“Why, how long have you been standing there, Richard?” asked Miss
Tallant, in some confusion.
“Not long,” said Richard, fixing his eyes on Miss Somerton; “but long
enough to be delighted at the charming picture of affection which you
presented to the view.”
“You have brought your town compliments with you, Richard,” said Phœbe.
“I fear they will be wasted upon us poor provincials.”
“I hope not; as I have come down to spend a couple of days with you,”
said Richard.
Miss Somerton said nothing, but she was convinced, by Mr. Tallant’s
manner, that he had heard at least a portion of her conversation with
his sister.
“I am sorry I interrupted your _tête-à-tête_,” said Mr. Tallant. “I
fear my sudden presence has not pleased Miss Somerton. You see, I
wanted a little rest and quiet, and hearing that Mr. Hammerton was at
home I thought I would first run down, spend a couple of days with you
and the governor, and then ride over to Montem and see a certain noble
swell, who has a little business with me. When I got to the house, I
found nobody in; so I followed you up here and smoked my cigar. I have
enjoyed the walk, I assure you; ’pon my honour, I have not had such a
treat for a long time.”
Mr. Tallant and Amy Somerton eyed each other more than once during this
little speech, and Amy was more and more convinced that Richard Tallant
had played the listener, which made her for a time constrained in her
manner; by-and-by she threw over her anxiety a forced liveliness, which
did not escape the notice of Mr. Tallant.
“Shall I have the honour of escorting you to Barton Hall?” he said; for
by this time the ladies had left the summer-house.
“We shall be honoured by so much condescension,” said Phœbe, smiling
archly. “Shall we not, Amy?”
“Very much so indeed,” said Miss Somerton; “and perhaps Mr. Tallant
will entertain us with the latest fashionable news.”
“By all means,” said Richard. “Lady Cooling has run away with her
groom; Viscount Fusswell has married the _piquante_ Miss Morris,--she
was a governess, I think, or something of the sort, and she’s a deuced
jolly girl. Do you care about scandal, Miss Somerton, by the way, or
will you have another sort of gossip?”
“Ask Miss Tallant, sir,” said Amy. “I have no right of choice in this
matter.”
“Then I don’t like it,” said Phœbe. “What is that little poem I was
reading the other day somewhere?” she said stopping, and tapping her
foot with her climbing-staff.
“Ah, what is it, Phœbe?
‘Phœbe, dearest,
Tell, oh tell me,’”
said Richard, humming one of the English tenor’s favourite ballads.
“‘A whisper broke the air,”--
said Phœbe, pausing. “Now I remember:--
‘A whisper broke the air,--
A soft light tone, and low,
Yet barb’d with shame and woe;
Now, might it only perish there,
Nor further go!
Ah me! a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little meaning sound!
Another voice has breathed it clear,
And so it wander’d round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reach’d a gentle heart,
And that--_it broke_.’”
“Bravo, sis! bravo Phœbe!--delivered with fine effect,” said Mr.
Tallant. “May I smoke one cigar, just one?”
“With pleasure,” said Phœbe. “What do you say, Amy dear?”
“I have not the smallest objection; I rather like it.”
“It is better than scandal, infinitely,--eh, Miss Somerton?” said Mr.
Tallant, lighting a Cabana.
“Much,” said Amy.
“What do you think now,” said Richard, “they have been saying about me?”
“I seldom go to London,” said Amy.
“Why, a fellow told me that some scandal-monger or other was setting it
about that I am very fast, that I gamble.”
“Oh! that is dreadful,” said Miss Somerton, quickly. “That you are a
gambler?”
“Yes--fact, ’pon my life,” said Richard.
“They could not say anything worse about you than that, Mr. Tallant. A
gambler, I think, is the most despicable creature.”
“Of course,” said Richard, looking at Miss Somerton with a curious
expression of face.
“Since we have had one quotation, perhaps you will pardon another that
has direct reference to this point--a line from Talfourd. I have been
reading about gaming lately.”
Miss Somerton looked earnestly at Mr. Tallant, for now she was sure he
had heard what she had said in the summer-house.
“Indeed! Pray enlighten us,” said Mr. Tallant.
“Gaming, sir, for its own sake, will destroy the noblest nature, and
ruin the wealthiest.
‘What meaner vice
Crawls there than that which no affections urge,
And no delights refine?’
It
‘Changes enterprise
To squalid greediness, makes heaven-born hope
A shivering fever, and in vile collapse
Leaves the exhausted heart without one fibre
Impell’d by generous passion.’”
“Really, ’pon my honour--why, you two fair ladies must have been
studying elocution and all that sort of thing lately,” said Richard,
flicking off the top of a young ash-plant with his cane.
“I’m glad you condemn those scandalous aspersions of my character, Miss
Somerton; though, you see, all that pretty poetry is not much good, for
everybody gambles one way or another in turn. You should see the big
guns who do it in the City--real out-and-outers--members of Parliament,
and swells of the first water--I mean in buying and selling shares, and
what they call rigging the market, and all that sort of thing. Why, the
governor himself has done a little in that way in his time. But let
me see, where were we? Oh, about what people say. Well, I was told
the other day that young Hammerton was fond of cards; but, bless us,
there is always lots of scandalous things said about young fellows of
position; indeed, I heard something of Hammerton the other day which is
hardly proper to mention before ladies, and yet he’s as good a fellow
as there is going--don’t you think so, Miss Somerton?”
“That I certainly do,” said Amy, fully prepared for the sly attack;
“but many a good man has been led astray by ill-chosen companionship.”
“‘My son, if sinners tempt thee,’ &c.,--I see, yes,” said Richard, with
a slight sneer.
“You may laugh, Mr. Tallant,” said Amy, blushing at her own temerity;
“but many a free, generous-minded man has been brought to misery by the
companionship of a bad man, professing friendship which he never felt
or understood.”
“That reminds me,” said Mr. Tallant; “the same fellow who told me that
he had heard I gambled, told me that hard things were said of another
man whom I meet sometimes. Of course I cannot be answerable for the
character of every fellow I meet; it is all envy, hatred, and malice.”
“Bad company,” said Amy, “is like a nail driven into a post, which
after the first and second blow may be drawn out with little
difficulty; but being once driven up to the head, the pincers cannot
take hold to draw it out, but which can only be done by the destruction
of the wood. We had to turn that sentence into hexameters the other day
by order of Signor De Maury, our linguistic master,” said Amy; “I think
it rather a fine simile.”
“Indeed? yes, perhaps it is,” said Mr. Richard Tallant, thinking to
himself that the girl was “infernally impudent.”
By this time they had reached the last coppice, prior to coming out
into the open before Barton Hall; and at a picturesque bend in the
somewhat intricate footpath, they came suddenly upon Mr. Phillips, the
artist, who was sitting quietly contemplating a half-sketched-in clump
of spring foliage, pierced with a broad ray of sunlight.
The artist’s long black hair was thrown back, his hat lying on the
ground, and his sharply cut features were lit up with a smile of
satisfaction.
He had worked at this little sketch for many days, and had only just
accomplished what he considered to be a reasonable approach to the
production of a peculiar effect of sunlight upon firs and larches and
silver beech, with a background of rock and sky, in early spring.
For a moment he sat unconscious of the audience which stood before
him--one a lady, who had to make an effort to hide her agitation.
“Hope you’re satisfied, old boy,” said Mr. Tallant, approaching the
artist.
“Good-morning--good-morning, ladies,” said Mr. Phillips in his deep
mellow voice, and advancing to meet the party.
“Ah! deuced good--capital,” said Richard, standing in front of the
easel.
“Do you think so?” said the artist. “What do you think, Miss Tallant?
I have been working at this poor trifle of study, I am ashamed to say
how long.”
“I am sure you need not be ashamed,” said Miss Tallant, quietly.
“You have been highly successful, as you always are,” said Miss
Somerton.
“Come along, Phillips, come along; we are going to have luncheon. The
governor is away, and I’m master to-day. Come along, and we’ll talk
about the world and what it says. You ought to have been up the hill
with us; my lady friends have been wonderfully eloquent about good boys
and naughty boys, and all sorts of things. Tommy was a good boy; he
said his lessons, and never went into bad company, and he got some nice
cake. Billy was a bad boy, and he wouldn’t say his lessons, and he was
whipped, and he got no cake. There, don’t be angry, Miss Somerton,”
said Richard, rattling on and laughing at Amy, evidently glorying
in what he had heard; and yet piqued at her covert replies to his
pretended gossip.
“Angry! not I, Mr. Tallant. If Tommy is good, Tommy will be rewarded,
at any rate, with an approving conscience; and Billy--why, if he is
bad, he will assuredly be punished. And so let us go to luncheon.”
“Hear, hear! Come along, Phillips;” and as soon as the artist was
ready they all went together over the lawn, and disappeared within the
handsome portals of Mr. Tallant’s princely residence.