Small matters make great excitements among idle seaside people, and as
Denville gracefully helped Lady Drelincourt to a chair, and stepped
mincingly to the side of the pier, he found that the little crowd were
gazing down upon the black, snub-nosed, immature bull-dog physiognomy of
an extremely fat Chinese pug dog, who, in a fit of playfulness with
another fashionable dog, had forgotten his proximity to the extreme edge
of the pier and gone in with a splash.
He had swum round and round, evidently mistrustful of his powers to
reach the shore, and, in a very stolid manner, appeared to enjoy his
bath; but growing tired, he had ceased to swim, and, throwing up his
glistening black muzzle, had begun to beat the water with his forepaws,
uttering from time to time a dismal yelp, while a bell attached to his
collar gave a ting. Ignorant of the fact that he was fat enough to
float if he only kept still, he was fast approaching the state when
chicken legs and macaroons would tempt in vain, when his stiffened jaws
would refuse to open to the tiny ratafia well soaked in milk, and
digestion pains would assail him no more, after too liberal an
indulgence in the well-fried cutlet of juicy veal. The bell-hung pagoda
in Lady Drelincourt's drawing-room was likely to be vacant till another
pet was bought, and as the Master of the Ceremonies gazed down at poor
Titi through his glass, it was in time to see a rough fisherman throw a
rope in rings to the drowning beast, evidently under the impression that
the dog would seize the rope and hold on till he was drawn up, for no
boat was near.
The rope was well aimed, for it struck the pet heavily, knocking him
under, and the rough boatman took off his glazed hat, and scratched a
very rough head, staring in wonderment at the effect of his well-meant
effort.
But Titi came up again and yelped loudly, this time with a sweet,
silvery, watery gurgle in his throat.
Then he turned over, and a lady shrieked. Then he paddled about on his
side, and made a foam in the water, and in spite of the helpless,
sympathising glances given through the gold-rimmed eyeglass of the
Master of the Ceremonies, Titi must have been drowned had there not been
a sudden splash from the staging of the pier somewhere below, a loud
exciting cry, and a figure seen to rise from its plunge, swim steadily
to the drowning dog, reach it amidst a storm of delighted cries, swim
back to the staging, and disappear.
This was the correct time, and Lady Drelincourt fainted dead away, with
her head resting upon her shoulder, and her shoulder on the back of her
chair. Immediately there was a rustling in bow-decked reticules,
smelling salts were drawn, and Lady Drelincourt's nose was attacked.
She was almost encircled with cut-glass bottles.
The Master of the Ceremonies looked on, posed in an attitude full of
eager interest, and he saw, what was nothing new to his attentive gaze,
that Time had behaved rudely to Lady Drelincourt; that art had been
called in to hide his ravages, and that her ladyship's attitude caused
cracks in the thickened powder, and that it differed in tone from the
skin beneath; that there was a boniness of bust, and an angularity of
shoulder where it should have been round and soft; and that if her
ladyship fainted much more he would not be answerable for the
consequences to her head of hair.
But Lady Drelincourt was not going to faint much more. The dog had been
saved, and she had fainted enough, so that at the first approach of a
rude hand to loosen the fastenings at her throat, she sighed and gasped,
struggled faintly, opened her eyes of belladonna brilliancy, stared
wildly round, recovered her senses, and exclaimed:
"Where is he? Where is my Titi? Where is his preserver?" and somebody
said, "Here!"
There was a hurried opening of the circle, and Stuart Denville, Esquire,
Master of the Ceremonies, struck a fresh attitude full of astonishment,
but, like the rest of the well-dressed throng, he shrank away, as a
tall, fair youth, dripping with water, which made his hair and clothes
cling closely, came from an opening that led to the piles below,
squeezing the pug to free him from moisture, and gazing from face to
face.
"You rascally prodigal!" whispered the Master of the Ceremonies, as the
youth came abreast, "you've been fishing for dabs again!"
"Well, suppose I have," said the youth sulkily.
"Where is his preserver? Give me back my darling Titi," wailed Lady
Drelincourt; and catching the wet fat dog to her breast, regardless of
the effect upon her rich black silk dress and crape, the little beast
uttered a satisfied yelp and nestled up to her, making a fat jump
upwards so as to lick a little of the red off the lady's lips.
"And who was it saved you, my precious?" sobbed the lady.
"Lady Drelincourt," said the Master of the Ceremonies, taking the
youth's hand gingerly, with one glove, "allow me to introduce your dear
pet's preserver--it was Morton Denville, Lady Drelincourt, my son. I am
sorry he is so very wet."
"Bless you--bless you!" cried Lady Drelincourt with effusion. "I could
embrace you, you brave and gallant man, but--but--not now."
"No, no--not now. Lady Drelincourt, let me assist you to your chair.
Morton," he whispered, "you're like a scarecrow: quick, be off. You
dog, if you mind me now, your fortune's made."
"Oh, is it, father? Well, I'm precious glad. I say, isn't it cold?"
"Yes: quick--home, and change your things. Stop; where are you going?"
"Down below, to fetch the dabs."
"Damn the dabs, sir," whispered the Master of the Ceremonies excitedly;
"you'll spoil the effect. Run, sir, run!"
The youth hesitated a moment and then started and ran swiftly towards
the cliff, amidst a shrill burst of cheers, the ladies fluttering their
handkerchiefs, and fisherman Dick Miggles wishing he had been that there
boy.
"Denville--dear Denville," said her ladyship, "how proud you must be of
such a son!"
"The idol of my life, dear Lady Drelincourt," said the Master of the
Ceremonies, arranging her dress in the bath-chair. "Shall I carry the
poor dog?"
"No, no--no, no, my darling Titi!" cried the lady, to his great relief.
"Thomas, take me home quickly," she said, as the wet dog nestled in her
crape lap and uttered a few snuffles of satisfaction. "Quick, or Titi
will take cold Denville, see me safely home. My nerves are gone."
"The shock, of course."
"Yes, Denville, and I shall never forget your gallant son," sobbed her
ladyship hysterically, as they passed through a lane of promenaders;
"but I must not cry."
It was indeed quite evident that such a giving way to natural feeling
would have had serious results, and she was not veiled. So the rising
tear was sent back, and Denville saw her safely home, forgetting for the
moment his domestic troubles in his exultation, and making out a future
for his son, as the rich Lady Drelincourt's protege--a commission--a
handsome allowance. Perhaps--ah, who knew! Such unions had taken place
before now.
For the next half-hour he was living artificially, seeing his son
advanced in life, and his daughter dwelling in a kind of fairy castle
that had been raised through Lady Drelincourt's introduction.
Then as he approached home a black cloud seemed to come down and close
him in, the artificiality was gone, age seemed to be attacking him, and
he moaned as he reached the door.
"Heaven help me, and give me strength to keep up this actor's life, for
I'm very, very weak."
Volume One, Chapter XI.