JACK BRAG.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
JACK BRAG.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“SAYINGS AND DOINGS,”--“MAXWELL,” &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1837.
JACK BRAG.
CHAPTER I.
Having given the reader a brief and succinct account of the prosperous
progress of Mr. Brown, and deposited him in safety with his mother
and sister, it now becomes necessary to give a glance at our hero
Jack, and the measures he adopted under the peculiar and embarrassing
circumstance of being accepted by two very charming women in the course
of one afternoon.
For a few moments after the arrival of the second note--that from
Blanche--the little man was greatly puzzled how to act. That the
answers to his declarations were jokes he had not the slightest
suspicion, and therefore his difficulty arose from the necessity of at
once making up his mind. Unlike Gay’s hero, he felt that he _must_ say
“a word” to both his captives: in fact, he was forced on the instant to
decide, yea or nay--widow or maid. This was really a puzzler even for
Jack, who scratched his hair half out of curl before he had got near a
conclusion. At length he determined to postpone the _éclaircissement_
until the evening, and in the mean time to throw himself in the way of
Sir Charles Lydiard, in order, if he could, to extract from him his
opinion of the widow’s merits, and ascertain, if possible, the extent
of his anger and vengeance if Jack should make _her_ his choice.
For this purpose Jack began what he called his tour of the Clubs--but,
in truth, that of their doors--for Jack had not as yet achieved the
_right_ of crossing the threshold of any one of them. Nevertheless, he
was not an unfrequent occupant of their halls, into which, by asking
after some man whom he knew to be out of town, or who did not belong
to that particular society, he made his way; and having performed that
evolution once or twice, without, or, as he considered, with, perfect
success, he at length encountered Sir Charles, and immediately joined
him in his walk towards Grosvenor Street.
In one of those amusing and instructive works upon natural history, in
which we find recorded the traits of character peculiar to different
animals, there is an account of a goose which had formed so strong an
attachment to a Newfoundland dog belonging to the same master, that
she never was easy out of his society. Neptune was conscious of this
kindly feeling, and reciprocated it to a certain extent; and whenever
they were together in the yard, _he_ feeding, and goosey looking
affectionately on, or _vice versâ_, it was all very well; but when
Neptune took the air in the street of the village or by the road-side,
or went to refresh himself in a neighbouring pond, goosey _would_
accompany him. Then it was too, that, after enduring the waddle and
quack of his admiring companion for a certain period of time, Neptune
invariably, as soon as he saw any dogs of condition or puppies of
quality coming, put himself into a long trot, and dart round a corner
or over a gate, in order to exhibit his dislike of the connexion. Sir
Charles Lydiard felt very much like dog Neptune, when goosey Brag
joined him: however, as it was impossible, without rudeness perfectly
inconsistent with Sir Charles’s character and disposition, to shake him
off, he endured the commencement of a conversation, which in the end
excited the best feelings of his nature, and awakened in his heart the
tenderest sympathy for a much-injured friend.
As the reader will hereafter be referred to this important dialogue,
he shall not be troubled with a repetition of it, here: that it _was_
important may easily be imagined from the fact, that when Sir Charles
reached the door of his hotel he invited Brag to come in, and that they
remained in conversation in his drawing-room for more than an hour.
The impression left upon Jack’s mind by what he had heard from his
“friend” Sir Charles was, that the loss of the widow would neither
cause the breaking of the baronet’s heart nor of his own head; and he
was, as the reader may imagine, proportionably elated and elevated, and
more particularly confirmed in his original intentions respecting his
choice of that lady.
Jack felt as if he were treading on air as he paced down Bond Street
to call on some other friend, in order to make a new confidence, no
doubt; however, the Fates decided otherwise, for, in turning the
corner of Hanover Square, whom should he stumble upon, but Rushton!--a
meeting which, as he had magnanimously determined to leave him in the
quiet possession of the elegant Blanche, rather pleased him than not.
Rushton, whose “affection” for Jack was, if possible, stronger than
that of Sir Charles Lydiard, made a desperate attempt to get away from
him, not only because upon a general principle he wished to avoid him,
but because the impression on his mind was, that ridiculous as the idea
might at first appear, _he_ actually was the creature for whom Blanche
had withdrawn her affections from him, and that if they had much
conversation, his temper would get the better of the prudence he meant
to adopt until his suspicions were confirmed, and that he might resort
to the expedient of kicking Jack somewhat prematurely. The rencontre
was, however, inevitable.
“On your way to the ladies, I presume,” said Rushton.
“No,” said Jack, “not till the evening; I suppose we shall meet.”
“Perhaps not,” said Rushton, to whom Jack’s air and manner appeared
peculiarly pert and vulgar,--and he passed on. Jack turned and kept up
with him.
“Strange creatures, the females!” said Jack, perking up his head and
smirking.
“They _are_, indeed!” said Rushton, as the thought of Blanche’s
affection for the burr which was sticking to him, flashed across his
mind.
“’Gad, Rushton,” said Jack--(Rushton shuddered at the
familiarity)--“wonders will never cease!--_you_ are a happy man, with
such a creature as Blanche Englefield your own.”
“That’s a sore subject,” said Rushton, “and we had better not touch it.
I know you are an admirable joker,--but jokes, especially practical
ones, not unfrequently turn out ill.”
“I know what you are up to,” said Jack:--“down upon you in half no
time, smack, smooth, and no mistake.”
“I dare say you may comprehend my meaning,” said Rushton; “but I
repeat, that if you do, my present feelings are not to be trifled with;
and if you do not, this is neither the time nor place to enlighten you.”
“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” said Jack; “you never were more
mistaken in your life.”
“Upon what point?” said Rushton.
“About Blanche,” replied Brag.
“Really, sir,” said Rushton, “you are treading upon very delicate
ground. You have entrapped me into a conversation which it was my
particular wish and desire to avoid in the present state of affairs;
but you have now led me to a point at which I cannot stop. You have
alluded to a young lady in the most familiar manner, who, in my
opinion, has been exceedingly civil to you, and I really do consider,
under the circumstances in which I am placed, I ought to know exactly
the character of your intimacy with her.”
“I shouldn’t wonder!” said Jack: “it only shows how the longest
heads may be puzzled. You’ll find out all how and about it, before
to-morrow--eh!--are you awake?”
“Awake!--I am,” said Rushton, “yet I seem to be dreaming. Do you
then admit that your acquaintance with Miss Englefield, whom you so
unceremoniously call Blanche, is so near its favourable termination?”
“My dear Mr. Rushton,” said Brag, “you are safe--at least, as far as I
am concerned: there are more horses in the stable than one--eh!--are
you awake now? No? I’ll put you out of your pain then--I hate to be
cruel;--never am, even to dumb animals, except when I want ’em to stir
their stumps a bit. No, no: if anybody in the house has cause for
jealousy, it isn’t _you_. Will that do for you--eh?”
“What!” said Rushton, “am I to understand that Mrs. Dallington----”
“Mum!” said Brag, bursting to proclaim his wonderful success--“dumb as
a Dutchman:--the widow’s the winner, fifty to one.”
“You are joking!” said Rushton.
“Not I,” said Jack:--“thing settled, snug--smack smooth, and no
mistake. I know you don’t half like Sir Charles. I’ll settle _his_
affair: I speak, of course, in confidence--but so it is:--the thing is
what the French call a _finny affair_.”
“Surely, this never _can_ be!” said Rushton. “What! after all the
declarations I have heard her make--all her regrets that his coldness
of manner so much damped her natural affection for him: after----”
“Lord bless your heart!” said Brag, “there’s no accounting for
females--weathercocks--eh!”
“I cannot comprehend it,” said Rushton: “even had--”
“Do you believe it?” said Brag.
“You say it, Mr. Brag,” said Rushton;--“it must be so.”
“I’ll do more,” said Jack: “we are both in the same boat, and shall be
near connexions.”
“Yes,” said Rushton, in a tone not expressive of the feelings which the
anticipation really excited, “so we shall;--well?”
“Well then,” said Jack, “you must keep the secret:--when a female is
concerned, a man ought to be as still as a dead horse. I’ll show you
her own note,--in course, not a word to anybody.”
Saying which, he took out his pocket-book, and selected with more
than ordinary care the widow’s favourable billet. Rushton would have
seized it, such was his anxiety to convince himself of the truth of his
companion’s statement, but Jack would not part with it. Rushton saw it
was her writing, and read enough to satisfy himself not only that it
was a genuine document, but actually the identical letter which he had
seen her despatch in the presence of Sir Charles Lydiard and himself--a
fact which, however much it might relieve him from all apprehension of
Brag’s further interference with his proceedings, was in an instant
coupled in his mind with the circumstance of Blanche having upon the
same occasion also sent off a hateful three-cornered note to somebody
else. How subtle are the workings of a jealous mind!--one evil
overcome, up starts another: one doubt is removed only to make room for
its instant successor.
“You see what she says,” said Brag. “What d’ye think of Sir Charles
now--eh?--_he_ hasn’t been awake! That, I think, is a finisher for
_him_. I shouldn’t have shown you this, but I know--I am sure, you
thought I was beating about after Blanche--and fancied that _she_--eh?”
“I fancy nothing now,” said Rushton--“Blanche is all faith and
truth!”--(“Umph!” said Brag, dying, but not daring, to show _her_ up
too.)--“But Mrs. Dallington,” continued he--“well! I have often told
Lydiard that he was taking it too easy, and too calmly, and all the
return I got was his reproach for being too hasty and too _exigeant_ in
my demands upon the reason and consistency of women in general. I knew
what would happen.”
“Was that since I became acquainted with her?” said Brag.
“Long before,” said Rushton: “and as for Blanche,” continued he, still
‘harping’ upon the letter, “mild and amiable as she is, I dare say even
_she_ deceives me sometimes.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jack, looking excessively cunning.
“You are a comforter to a doubting man,” said Rushton.
“Well, good-bye!” said Jack. “In course, you’ll take no notice of what
I have said. I think we had better have the double marriage the same
day--eh! Mrs. Dallington Brag will sound well. I think I shall startle
Lord Tom:--so, mum! as I say:--keep my counsel, and it will all come
off smack smooth, right up, straight down, and no mistake!”
Saying which, Brag quitted his wondering companion at the top of Harley
Street, to which this dialogue had extended their walk; and darted
across the New road to a livery stable, where two or three of his
horses, which did _not_ belong to him, were standing at livery.
Rushton’s feelings were considerably excited by the disclosure which
his companion had made. His indignation was roused by the assurance
and vanity of the coxcomb, ready to sacrifice the character of a woman
who had owned her affection for him, to the gratification of boasting
of her good opinion; while his sympathy was seriously awakened for Sir
Charles Lydiard. That he had been, as he had long suspected, made the
dupe of a heartless woman, was now a fact incontrovertibly established;
and Rushton considered it his duty to Sir Charles, for whom, however
uncongenial their characters and opposed their dispositions might be,
he could not fail to entertain a high respect and esteem, to make him
acquainted with what he had heard from Brag,--or rather, which was most
convincing, that which he had seen in his possession, in order that he
might spare himself the needless mortification of receiving a formal
dismissal from the widow, as well as to rescue him from a further
continuance of a system of hypocrisy and deception, for which, although
it was impossible not to admit it, it was most difficult reasonably to
account.
Naturally enough, these considerations upon Sir Charles Lydiard’s
affair led to some reflections upon his own. Blanche, the gentle and
the mild, was the sister of the woman who had conducted herself with
such heartless levity and indelicate duplicity--not only her sister,
but her constant associate--her confidante, no doubt. The last pert
toss of Brag’s empty head had its weight in these calculations: it was
most unquestionably to be inferred that there was no great difference
between the conduct or character of the two sisters. But what was a
hint or innuendo from such a person? Nothing!--unless backed up and
corroborated by testimony so convincing as that which he had afforded
of the widow’s levity and fickleness.
Rushton’s thoughts, however, still rested on Sir Charles Lydiard. A
little more reflection upon the matter strengthened him in his first
intention, of imparting all he knew to the worthy baronet--an intention
which he more particularly determined to put in practice, inasmuch as
a communication between them might elicit something beneficial to both.
Accordingly Rushton proceeded to the hotel at which Sir Charles was
living, and found him at home and alone. When he entered the room where
he was sitting, he was sensibly struck by an unusual embarrassment in
his manner, and a kind of affectionate air in his reception of him.
Rushton felt assured that he knew the worst. They sat down; but the
difficulty which Rushton naturally experienced in opening the subject
uppermost in his mind, was increased by the evident agitation of the
baronet. A few commonplace observations, and questions about riding, or
walking, or dining, were soon exhausted. At length Rushton asked his
friend if he should be at Mrs. Dallington’s during the day or evening.
“I think I shall go there in the evening,” said Sir Charles, and his
voice faltered:--a pause ensued.
“Have you heard from either of the ladies this morning?” asked Rushton.
“No,” replied Lydiard, looking earnestly at his friend--“have _you_?”
“Not I,” said Rushton--and then came another pause. “What extraordinary
creatures women are!”
“They are indeed, Rushton,” said Sir Charles. “Pray, have you happened
to meet that most odious of persons, Mr. Brag, in the course of your
walk or ride to-day?”
“I have,” said Rushton, in a tone much more serious than the subject
seemed to require, at the same time fixing his eyes steadily upon the
unhappy victim before him.
“He is extremely popular with the women,” said Sir Charles, “which
strikes me as one of the strongest proofs of the impossibility of
comprehending the nature of their minds and tastes.”
“It does seem curious,” said Rushton, “that anything so vain and so
vulgar should have the power to induce women of sense, education, rank,
and character, to forfeit all claims to respect and esteem by favouring
his pretensions.”
“Pray, Rushton, did the fellow make any communication to you?” asked
Sir Charles.
“Upon what subject?” said Rushton.
“A very tender and important one,” replied the baronet: “indeed, if you
had not called, I should have endeavoured to find you before dinner, to
have spoken to you upon it.”
“Why, he certainly did say something,” said Rushton,--“and that
something was very important.”
“Did he show you a letter?” said Sir Charles.
“He did,” replied Rushton.
“Well, then, we can speak without further disguise,” said Sir
Charles;--“were you not thunder-stricken?”
“It merely confirmed me in my often repeated opinion,--that we know
nothing of women,” said Rushton.
“You have often told me you thought there was something of the sort
going on between them,” said Sir Charles; “but I take matters so much
more coolly than you do, that, I confess, it appeared to me little else
than the common _badinage_ in which a pretty woman dearly loves to
engage.”
“Ah! Sir Charles,” said Rushton, “it is that very coolness of which you
boast that has done all the mischief.”
“I don’t exactly see that,” said Sir Charles. “You will find that I
shall bring my young widow into perfect subjection, more especially
after this adventure of the chattering Brag.”
“After!” said Rushton--“why, my dear Sir Charles, what on earth do you
mean? That after the exposure of falsehood and flightiness, delusion
and deception, which this fellow has had the good fortune to excite,
and has now the vanity to exhibit in the public streets, you would
marry Mrs. Dallington, if you could?”
“My dear friend, why not?” said the baronet. “I may, and do, feel
deeply for all the results which you enumerate, and agree with you
in your surprise that such results should have occurred: it seems
perfectly miraculous!--but, however much I may sympathize with you,
there can be no reason why I should give up Mrs. Dallington.”
“Did you read the letter Brag received?” said Rushton.
“I did,” replied Sir Charles, “twice over--and, I assure you, was
exceedingly shocked and amazed.”
“My dear Sir Charles,” exclaimed Rushton, “are you made of
ice?--‘exceedingly shocked!’ is _that_ a phrase consistent with the
discovery of such a proof of infidelity as _this_?”
“What can I say more, Rushton!” said Sir Charles. “You must feel
the blow most severely, especially with your vivid imagination and
excessive sensibility; but for _me_, I have only to thank my stars that
my fair widow is still my own.”
“Your own!” cried Rushton:--“what! after she has accepted Brag!”
“_She_ accept Brag!” said the baronet, opening his eyes rather wider
than usual--“no, no--that would be rather too much of a joke!”
“Why, she _has_ accepted him!” said Rushton, dashing his hand on the
table.
“In your circumstances, Frank,” said Sir Charles, “one would
not venture to suspect a joke:--but, whatever may have been the
indiscretions of the meek and modest Miss Englefield, Mrs. Dallington
has, I flatter myself, too much good sense to be betrayed into any such
absurdity.”
“Why, you told me you had seen the letter,” said Rushton.
“So I have,” replied Sir Charles, “but most assuredly no letter of
her’s.”
“Whose then?” exclaimed Frank.
“Why,” said Sir Charles, “Blanche’s letter.”
“Letter to whom?” cried Rushton, starting from his chair.
“To her accepted lover, Brag,” replied the baronet.
“_Her_ lover!” cried, or rather screamed, the infuriate Rushton. “My
dear friend, what do you mean?--what does it all mean?”
“I mean merely,” replied Sir Charles, “that Mr. Brag was good enough
to show me the letter in question, which was written to him by Miss
Blanche Englefield, accepting the offer of his hand,--and that I read
it twice over.”
“Why, then, the world’s at an end, Lydiard!” cried Rushton. “Blanche
false!--Blanche!--Oh! why was I deceived?--why was I duped?”
“I really don’t know,” said Sir Charles, in a tone which, by the
contrast it afforded to the convulsive exclamations of his agitated
friend, seemed to imply that he did not very much care.
“But how do _you_ bear it, Sir Charles?” said Rushton. “These women
are worse than women usually are. He showed me a letter from the
widow,--your widow! Sir Charles,--couched in exactly the same terms.”
“What!--accepting him?” said Sir Charles.
“Upon my honour and life! yes,” said Rushton. “What on earth does it
mean? That dear, calm, mild--I shall go mad--raving mad!--Wretch that I
am!”
“Stop, Rushton,” said Sir Charles; “follow my advice; sit down, and
take rest and comfort.”
“Comfort!”
“Yes, comfort,” said the baronet. “I see through all this in a moment.
While there was but one letter, and one traitress, it was all possible,
though not probable; the two settle the affair:--it’s a trick.”
“A trick! my dear Sir Charles,” said Rushton--“no, no! To think that
that fair creature should so far forget herself--no, no:--I am sure she
never could have written--”
“My dear friend, I saw and read the letter,” said Sir Charles, “and I
repeat it is all a trick. How could two women, living on the terms upon
which Blanche and her sister live, accept the same man in one day? No
doubt, this wretched little creature has been persecuting them with his
attentions, and they have undertaken this scheme as the precursor of
his unceremonious rejection.”
“But why write?” said Rushton--“why--”
“For the better carrying on of the plot,” continued the
baronet:--“_you_ trust their letters--_I_, their hearts. That very
empty coxcombs may, and do, succeed sometimes, is too notorious to be
denied; but here the case is totally different, in my opinion. The fat
knight, in the hands of the Windsor wives, was in a more enviable
position than our little steeple-hunter is at this moment in those of
one maid and widow.”
“Do you really think so?” said Rushton, his rage moderating a little.
“Think!” replied Sir Charles--“consult your own common sense; a
moment’s reflection proves it.”
“Upon my life! I begin to think so too,” said Rushton. “But there is
one thing which seems to me absolutely necessary, not only to assure
us of their good intentions, but to vindicate our own characters and
worry them in their turn,--I mean, that whether these notes are or
are not intended to entrap and expose Mr. Brag, _we_ should consider
them serious, and act upon the information we have received from their
adorable imp.”
“I shall go to Mrs. Dallington’s,” said Sir Charles, “this evening, as
usual, see how things look, and proceed accordingly.”
“Yes, but don’t let us believe everything we hear too readily,” said
Frank.
“What! still jealous--still doubting?” said the baronet.
“No, not that,”--said Rushton, “I will be there too; and while you
touch upon the subject, I will watch their eyes.”
“The telegraphs again,” said Sir Charles.
“Yes, there one may read the language of the heart,” said Rushton.
“Leave the management of the affair to me,” said Sir Charles: “I can
conduct myself more calmly and moderately than some people. Rely upon
it, my widow shall not get out of this little manœuvre without some
trouble.”
“You will not distress her?” said Rushton.
“A woman in tears looks remarkably interesting,” said the baronet.
“I love to see her dear countenance drest in smiles,” said Rushton,
“and I do hope you--”
“We will go this evening together,” said the baronet. “See how I
conduct myself towards Mrs. Dallington, and if you do not choose to
follow my example, at least profit by experience.”
“I confess,” said Rushton, “I am by no means satisfied; yet all you
say--”
“Is all that is to be said on the subject,” said Sir Charles. “So now
I am at your service for a walk or ride till dressing-time, and, if
you have nothing better to do afterwards, for a _tête-à-tête_ cutlet
at Crocky’s; we can there talk over our future proceedings for the
evening, and suggest some method of utterly exterminating John Brag,
Esq.”
“Kicking him first, and shooting him afterwards,” said Rushton, “is
what I should respectfully recommend.”
“Oh! dear no,” said Sir Charles, “most assuredly neither the one
nor the other; he shall live to amuse us upon some other occasion:
without a few tigers and lions, society would be ‘flat, stale, and
unprofitable.’ So, come away, and, I flatter myself, you will see
me this evening at Mrs. Dallington’s in something very like a new
character.”
It was under this engagement the friends proceeded on their stroll,
Rushton feeling infinitely less at ease than the baronet, who viewed
the affair in its true light, and was fully resolved upon having his
_revanche_ after his own plan.
What the state of Brag’s feelings might have been during the few hours
which preceded the deciding visit to the same scene, it is scarcely
possible to imagine. Mr. Ducrow can ride two, or even three, horses at
once; and some other equally astounding artist is able to dance upon
two tight ropes at the same time; but to manage two ladies under the
circumstances in which Brag had placed himself, seems to be a task
Herculean by comparison with either of the others. A man less conceited
and self-assured would either have seen through the trick which they
had so justly played upon him, or if he could have imagined the result
possible, would have excused himself from accepting the invitation
of either lady, when both were for the same night; but Jack took it
for granted that he had, as he called it, “knocked them both over,”
and that, as the “females” were “cunning creturs,” each one would so
contrive to play her own game, as not to awaken the suspicions of the
other.
As the time approached, Johnny made the most careful preparations
for dressing. Never was anything so smart and spruce as the dapper
cockney in what he called his “genteel comedy” dress; and by nine
o’clock he was all ready for the conflict. Circumstances, however, as
we shall see, conspired to delay his appearance at the widow’s, and
Sir Charles and Rushton arrived before him. It was judged, however,
better, for the furtherance of their scheme, that Rushton should not
make his appearance in the drawing-room at the same time with his
friend; he therefore made an excuse to the servant, that he wished to
write a letter before he went up stairs, and bade him put lights in
the library in order that he might do so. Sir Charles proceeded to the
drawing-room at once, and found the ladies alone, evidently waiting the
arrival of Brag, whose exhibition was not intended by them to have been
witnessed by anybody but themselves. Their surprise at the appearance
of Sir Charles was, however, speedily changed into a feeling of a
very different nature, by finding him colder, more gloomy, and more
reserved than even _he_ was usually.
(“Rely upon it,” said Mrs. Dallington to her sister, “Mr. Brag has been
blabbing.”)--“My dear Sir Charles, you seem vastly out of spirits.”
“There are circumstances in the world which affect us to such a degree,
madam,” said Lydiard, “as to render a concealment of the feelings they
excite impossible.”
“To what do you allude, Sir Charles?” said Mrs. Dallington, really
concerned at perceiving what she could not doubt to be the successful
result of her manœuvre.
“I mean, madam,” said Lydiard, “that a woman who permits the
unequivocal attentions of a lover--encourages those attentions--nay,
goes the length of admitting her affection for him, and then betrays
him and accepts a rival, strikes a blow to his heart, the anguish of
which cannot be disguised.”
“Rely upon it,” said Mrs. Dallington, “_you_ have no cause for the
grief you describe.”
“I! madam,” said the baronet,--“I am not speaking of myself: no,
no--_my_ sorrow and anxiety are excited by a sympathy for my poor
friend, Rushton. Oh! Miss Englefield, what must your feelings be when
you know the state of mind to which he is reduced? He has discovered
all. He is aware of the transfer of your affections, and is, as I
verily believe--mad!”
“Mad!” said Blanche.
“Yes,” said Sir Charles; “his feelings, as you well know, are
strong--his passions violent. His conduct this afternoon I consider
very little short of insanity.”
“Under similar circumstances, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Dallington,
“_you_ perhaps would not be so violently affected.”
“Certainly not, madam,” replied Sir Charles; “but I can feel deeply for
a friend who is. To _my_ advice only will he be indebted for a speedy
restoration, as I hope, from his alarming state. I have found the
means, and I rejoice to know that he has adopted them.”
“What may they be, Sir Charles?” said Blanche, her eyes filling with
tears.
“Very simple, and, in my opinion, not particularly disagreeable,”
said Sir Charles. “There is a certain Miss Harrington, a most amiable,
beautiful girl, who is avowedly in love with him,--Julia Harrington, I
think, she is called.”
“Y-e-s,” stammered Blanche, “I--know--I have seen her--”
“Well,” said the baronet, “after what he had communicated to me of
your conduct, it appeared to me, that as you had thought proper to
reject him in a way so decided as by accepting another gentleman,
which--forgive me, if I am wrong--he told me you had done, it was the
most judicious thing in the world for him to transfer his affections
to the young lady of whose compassion he was perfectly secure, and for
whom, I happen to know, he entertains a very high regard, to call it by
no other or tenderer name.”
“And,” said Blanche, “did he take your advice, and fly to her at your
suggestion?”
“Not exactly,” said Sir Charles; “I had to drive him to her father’s
house in my cab; and although he certainly resisted at first, I
eventually succeeded in settling him into an invitation to a family
dinner with them, where, I conclude, he is now sipping his claret, and
making himself acceptable to the fair daughter of the house.”
“What on earth shall I do!” said Blanche to herself:--but her
ejaculation was not so completely “mental” as to escape the attentive
ears of the worthy baronet, who felt his own character change, and his
disposition alter, as he witnessed the gradual success of his stratagem.
“I think, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Dallington, who was now convinced
that _her_ proceedings with Brag were yet unknown to him, “that you
might have spent the last few hours of your life more profitably than
in separating two fond hearts.”
“Fond hearts!” said Sir Charles--“the acceptance of a rival is no
particularly strong proof of fondness. No--let him marry where he is
loved; and as for myself, Mrs. Dallington, I shall content myself with
waiting a little longer for the happiness which, I trust, my friend
will shortly enjoy. I hope, madam, some day to find, like Rushton,
a woman who will condescend to love me truly and faithfully. My
pretensions, I own, are inconsiderable; but I have at least the merit
of sincerity and honesty. I admit that these are not such striking
qualifications as those of Mr. Brag, a preference for whom I am aware
you have exhibited, and upon which I have the honour to congratulate
both you and myself. I wish you a very good evening, ladies.”
Saying which, Sir Charles walked out of the room, leaving Mrs.
Dallington and Miss Englefield in a state of stupor and amazement. That
Brag should be laughed at by them, and made the subject of a scene
which should in the end prove to their lovers the utter contempt they
had for the pretender of whom those lovers were both jealous, was, as
the reader knows, the main object of their scheme; but the mean opinion
even _they_ entertained of the man--if man he may be called--did not
induce them to suspect the possibility of his exhibiting their two
letters to his rivals.
Their own agitation, and the manner Sir Charles assumed during the
conversation, gave them no opportunity of explaining away the affair,
and they sat looking at each other for two or three minutes without
speaking, convinced that the anger of Sir Charles was genuine, and the
story he had told true; for although it was part of their object, or at
least of Mrs. Dallington’s, to agitate the feelings of their devoted
swains, it was most assuredly not their intention either to drive Sir
Charles into old bachelorism, or hurry Rushton into a marriage with
Miss Harrington.
“Well,” said Mrs. Dallington, “this has somehow taken a wrong turn.
I admit that Sir Charles’s agitation pleases me; it is what I hoped
for;--although certainly I did not think that Mr. Brag was quite so
great a monster:--but for _you_, Blanche--”
“I am lost,” said Blanche, “for ever! Oh, sister, sister!--why did I
lend myself to this scheme? If Rushton marries that Miss Harrington,
what on earth will become of me!”
“There it is, Blanche,” said Mrs. Dallington; “while you had him all
to yourself, you never were at rest,--always quarreling, always
reproaching, always accusing and defending.”
“True,” said Miss Englefield, “but what are such quarrels? I know his
heart--I know his good qualities--I can see his imperfections;--but
that I love him sincerely is now my greatest misfortune.”
Little did Miss Blanche Englefield think that this most unequivocal
declaration of the state of her heart and feelings was clearly and
distinctly heard by Mr. Francis Rushton himself, who having, instead
of dining at General Harrington’s, as Sir Charles had stated, entered
the boudoir, in which there was no light, from the staircase, at the
moment that his friend was giving his account of the proceedings of
the morning, and not venturing to interrupt the thread of a narrative
which was to form so important a feature of _their_ scheme, had dropped
himself quietly into a well-stuffed chair in a corner of the room,
where he lay _perdu_, not daring then to make his appearance, which
would, of course, overthrow the authenticity of Sir Charles’s story;
and afterwards being ashamed of admitting, by presenting himself to
the ladies, when the worthy baronet was gone, that he had, under such
circumstances, overheard the declaration which had given him such
unqualified delight.
“Well,” said Mrs. Dallington, “of one thing it assures us, at all
events, that however the warmth of the one and the coldness of the
other may at times have excited our suspicions of fidelity in one
instance, or affection in the other, it is now clearly established that
they are both sincerely attached to us.”
“And what consolation is that to _me_?” said Blanche--“or how can I
ever atone to myself for having, at your suggestion, answered the
impertinent note of that odious, foolish creature, Brag? What must
Frank think of me?--to prefer such an animal to _him_!”
“Well, but surely, Blanche,” said Mrs. Dallington, “Rushton’s devotion
to _you_ cannot have been so entirely exclusive. I have heard him
vowing that he would die if you rejected him; instead of which, he
immediately sets about making another match the moment he thinks you
have cast him off. If he had chosen to kill himself, you could not
help it, you know.”
“Oh! sister, sister,” said Blanche, “do not for the world talk of such
a thing:--Rushton kill himself for _me_!”
“Yes: it was his course of proceeding,” said Mrs. Dallington, “to
agitate, excite, and alarm you into loving him. Sir Charles’s line with
me has been totally different. It is our duty to ourselves to conceal
our feelings now, however strong they may be; our honour demands the
sacrifice.”
“Honour! my dear sister,” said Blanche,--“honour consists in deceiving
no one. As for Rushton, you would at this moment be delighted to find
Sir Charles as jealous of _you_ as you have often seen _him_ jealous
of _me_. Miss Harrington has long been attached to him, and now by
this silly scheme, as I must call it, I have driven him to return that
affection. If he could know the anguish I feel at this moment, he would
best know how to appreciate my regard and esteem.”
The tears that followed these words were more than Rushton could
bear. His apparent meanness in listening--the certain overthrow of
Sir Charles’s scheme--every consideration but one was forgotten; and
starting from his corner, he rushed into the drawing-room, and in an
instant was on his knees before his beloved Blanche.
“I am here!” said Rushton,--“is this enough?”
“Mercy on me!--Mr. Rushton!” cried Blanche.
“What!” said Frank, “did you--could you for a moment believe that I
should act as Lydiard has told you I had done? No, no, Blanche! I am at
your feet--your slave eternal: my heart--my hand--my fate, are all at
your disposal.”
“So,” said Mrs. Dallington, “Sir Charles Lydiard is the wise manager of
this scheme.”
“Yes,” said Rushton, “he saw through the trick you were playing, which
I was mad enough to believe a matter-of-fact.”
“And how might _you_ have become acquainted with the story?” asked Mrs.
Dallington.
“Your double victim,” said Rushton, “was so elated by his success,
that, in order to relieve Lydiard’s weak mind, he showed _him_
Blanche’s tender billet; and in order to prove what a dupe Lydiard was,
he exhibited yours to _me_.”
“Was there ever such a detestable wretch upon earth!” said Mrs.
Dallington.
“You know he is coming here this evening,” said Rushton.
“He shall not be let in,” said Mrs. Dallington.
“Oh! yes, by all means let him in,” said Rushton. “All care is now
banished from our hearts; let us celebrate the happy termination of all
our uncertainties by a sacrifice.”
“As you like,” said the fair widow. “And where is Sir Charles?--is he
gone?”
“Not he,” said Rushton: “he is in the library, I take it. His scheme
is not yet half complete, but he may now spare himself the trouble of
working it out.”
“I may indeed,” said the worthy baronet, entering the drawing-room
through the boudoir, where he hoped to have found Rushton still
ensconced, and the mystification still in progress.
“They know all,” said Rushton.
“As I did before,” said Sir Charles. “I was perfectly aware of the
character of their proceedings towards our formidable rival, but I am
equally satisfied with yourself that we deserved such a return for our
doubts of those we so dearly prize. I admit that I have been jealous,
from an excess of esteem; Frank has been jealous from an excess of
love. It is time to terminate these little bickerings; and if my dear
Mrs. Dallington will be content with such a heart as I have to offer,
it is hers, entire and undivided.”
“This is a very extraordinary proceeding,” said Mrs. Dallington. “I am
taken entirely by surprise; however, Sir Charles, I know of no great
advantage in concealing a generous feeling of attachment which I admit
to exist--and so--we will consider of it to-morrow.”
“My dear sister,” said Blanche, “I began to be very angry with you at
one time.”
“When you thought you should lose Rushton,” said Mrs. Dallington. “But
I never was much agitated, because I did not give that implicit credit
to Sir Charles’s history of Julia Harrington, which you, who were so
much more interested, and therefore so much less able to form a just
opinion upon it, did; and I was at all events satisfied, that if your
devoted had, in the course of two hours, made up his mind to a new
_affaire du cœur_, his _cœur_ was not much worth caring for.”
“Well,” said Sir Charles, “I confess myself happier than I have been
for these two years.”
At that moment, it being about half-past ten o’clock, the drawing-room
door was thrown open, and--“Mr. Brag!” announced. The effect produced
was infinitely greater than the hero of the night himself imagined.
The cause of his being so late was this;--he had anticipated that
the “females,” each manœuvring in her own behalf, would not only
have contrived to find opportunities for separate _têtes-à-têtes_,
but that his widow, who, of course, had the control, would so have
arranged that there should be no visiters to interrupt them. When
he first reached the house, he found Sir Charles Lydiard’s carriage
at the door. This annoyed him considerably, and he retired for more
than an hour, thinking that the “bore” of a baronet might have dined
with his intended, and that he would go early. Upon his return at
the latest possible period at which he felt he could with propriety
seek admission into so regular a family as Mrs. Dallington’s, there
he still found the eternal carriage of Sir Charles Lydiard. In order
to show the earnestness of his feelings, and his anxiety to keep his
double appointment, he resolved to pay his visit, however inconvenient
the presence of other company might be. He grasped the knocker: the
thunder resounded through the hall. The door was opened; and after the
purgatorial process of mounting the stairs,--there he stood, in the
middle of the circle,--“as large,” or perhaps we had better say as
small, “as life!”
It is difficult to describe the various sensations created by his
appearance--the indignation of the women, or the sovereign contempt
of the men, increased tenfold by his vain, dirty, and unprincipled
exhibition of the letters. However, although there had been no time
for preconcerting any course of behaviour towards him, it seemed
simultaneously to strike the two happy couples, to treat him in that
sort of easy, commonplace manner, which might leave him without
the slightest suspicion that the whole of the affair was known or
understood, and so give him scope for a little of that admirable
management with which he used to boast he “carried on the war,” and
to which, it was evident, he must resort, to maintain his position
relatively to his two captives.
“You are late, Mr. Brag,” said Rushton.
“Yes,” said Brag, “I have been dining with some monsters who sit and
drink wine. Upon my life! we had to swallow four or five bottles after
dinner, before coffee was ordered:--that I call a bore, and no mistake.”
The time to which this description referred had been expended by this
exemplary man in walking up and down and round about the neighbouring
streets, until he should see the departure of the baronet’s carriage.
Little did he imagine what had occurred in that very drawing-room
during the period of his peregrinations.
“I ought to apologize to _you_,” said Brag, addressing himself to the
widow, with a look which the other three perfectly understood;--“but
Lord Tom had two or three young fellows to dine with him--wanted me
to do the honours and be _crowpee_; so I couldn’t say no,--for Tommy
is a right good fellow, and no mistake, although _some people_ don’t
patronize him.”
“I _thought_ Lord Tom, as you call him,” said Sir Charles, “was at
Dover.”
“Came to town this afternoon, and goes back to-morrow,” said Jack, not
in the slightest degree abashed or confounded.
Sir Charles whispered something to Mrs. Dallington, which seemed very
much to impugn the truth of Jack’s statement; during which little
_entretien_, Jack drew his chair close to Blanche’s, and with a look
which nearly destroyed the serenity of the rest of the party, said, in
a low tone, “I was determined to be here this evening, let what might
happen.”
“I appreciate your kindness and consideration,” said Miss Englefield.
“I was thinking,” said Brag, in that sort of confidential whisper
in which all the branches of the Brag family speak nothingnesses to
handsome women, in hopes that they may be mistaken for somethings,
“that you are too hard upon Rushton. What you say in your note is too
severe: give him a trial. There’s no accounting for temper. I had a
cover hack once,--as pretty an animal as ever stepped,--but his temper
was unaccountable bad. Instead of flogging or pulling him, I bore
with him, and humoured him,--tried him with a snaffle instead of a
curb,--and at last he went as quiet as a lamb.”
“What!” said Blanche, assuming the same tone,--“you recommend patience,
and advise forbearance!--I scarcely expected this.”
“Upon my honour!” said Jack, “you know I _can_ mean nothing but what’s
right up, straight down, and no mistake. I like Rushton very much, and,
I must say, I do think you don’t give him a fair chance. I mean, if
that’s the cause of your separating--”
“What,” said Rushton, “are you talking about me?”
“Nothing you need mind hearing,” said Brag. “You,” continued he, rising
from his seat, and leaning over Rushton’s chair,--“you are not like our
poor friend the baronet in the next room--he, he, he!--eh?”
“No,” said Rushton; “he seems entirely devoted.”
“Strange blindness!” said Jack. “But, I say, Rushton,--now that Blanche
is gone to join them,--upon my life, I cannot help congratulating
you upon that. She _is_ charming; so mild--so gentle--eh! Do _that_
off-hand--take my advice--hit the nail on the head--strike while the
iron’s hot: settle--sign--seal--eh!--black and white, and no mistake.”
“I think I shall,” said Rushton.
“Blanche, dear,” said Mrs. Dallington, “if you have any voice, sing us
one of those little things of Rossini’s.”
“Voice!” said Blanche,--“I have neither voice nor inclination to sing.”
“Do!” said Brag, taking her hand affectionately--“delight me! To-morrow
I will explain all I said just now.”
Blanche turned from him with a shudder, which he mistook for a mark
of sensitive affection, and proceeded to the piano-forte, to which,
much to her delight, Brag saw Rushton accompany her. It was evident to
the conspirators that Brag attributed Mrs. Dallington’s proposition
for singing to a desire for a few minutes’ conversation with _him_,
because he knew enough of society to know that a young lady’s song is
the signal for the general untying of tongues; and that people who have
been all the evening sitting as silent as the grave, immediately begin
to talk and flirt the moment the music begins. To favour Brag’s too
palpable design, Sir Charles left Mrs. Dallington’s side to make way
for the pretender, and joined the happy couple at the piano-forte.
The bait was swallowed--the baronet’s vacated place was instantly
occupied, and Brag as close as he could be to Mrs. Dallington in a
moment. The symphony was luckily long and loud.
“How shall I thank you enough,” said Brag, “for your note? It settles
my fate:--all done, snug and comfortable. I _could_ tell you such a
story!--but mum for the present. How you _can_ go on with that most
worthy Sir Charles! upon my life you are too bad;--he believes that you
are desperately in love with him at this minute--that I know;--and I
know more,--that he is desperately in love with _you_: however, he may
stay or go, now, just as he pleases. My dear Mrs. Dallington, you have
bound me in eternal gratitude:--all will go well--and, by Heavens! I
swear--”
“Sir Charles, Sir Charles!” said Mrs. Dallington, “do leave those
players and singers alone. Mr. Brag is getting so dreadfully tender,
that I don’t know what upon earth to do with him. I must have you, if
you please, to break the particularity of a _tête-à-tête_, and to play
propriety in that corner.”
“The devil!” said Brag, in more than a whisper--“what the deuce are you
about?”
“What! is our friend getting particularly animated?” said the baronet.
“Not particularly, Sir Charles,” said Brag; “I was merely saying
_that_, which, under the circumstances, is mere matter of business,
as I conceive. I may be wrong--but I like candour and openness
nevertheless, and no mistake.”
This sentiment, expressed in the loudest tone of voice, reached the
fair syren and her swain; the lady ceased playing, and the pair burst
out into a violent fit of laughing.
“Well,” said Brag, who began to get uncommonly angry, “that’s civil,
considering how things stand at present.”
This remark threw Mrs. Dallington and Sir Charles into an equally
powerful convulsion of mirth with that of the other couple.
“I can’t help laughing at _you_, Lydiard,” said Rushton.
“Nor I at _you_, Rushton,” said the baronet.
“Well, it is all very good fun, I dare say,” said Brag, “but, for _my_
part, I see no joke in your laughing at each other: there’s not much to
laugh about in any of it, if you come to that.”
Here the four members of the party all laughed ten times louder than
before.
“I am not aware,” said Brag, “what you are all so very merry about.”
“Why, Mr. Brag,” said Blanche, with one of her sweetest looks, “we are
all laughing at you!”
“At ME!” said Brag.
“Yes, Mr. Brag,” said the widow;--“when gentlemen choose to write
duplicate love-letters to two sisters, and then show their answers to
the two gentlemen to whom these ladies are engaged, don’t you think the
affair, when discovered, becomes rather ridiculous?”
The laugh which followed this question was so loud, that the voice of
the servant, who announced supper,--a light and social meal to which
the agreeable widow was strongly addicted, and to which her favourite
guests were always specially invited,--could scarcely be heard.
“What!” said Brag, “have you been hoaxing me? Why, this is too bad!”
“Not at all, Mr. Brag,” said the lady of the house. “Had the conduct of
either my sister or myself been such as to encourage your pretensions,
we might have excused your addressing either of us; but when you
undertake to make two proposals at once, the pity we might have been
inclined to feel for your blindness is turned into a sentiment which,
as supper is waiting, I will not stop to describe. Come, Sir Charles,
give me your arm; Mr. Rushton, take care of Blanche. We are going to
supper, Mr. Brag. Good evening!”
“Good evening, Mr. Brag!” said Blanche, making a low curtsey to the
astounded little man.
“Good night, Mr. Brag!” said Sir Charles, bowing formally.
“Brag, good night!” said Rushton, nodding to him familiarly; and the
happy quartett went laughing down stairs to their symposium, leaving
Mr. John Brag as cold as ice and as white as a sheet, standing on
the hearth-rug with his back to the fire-place, transfixed, as it
were, to the spot. The world was at an end! His eyes rested upon the
marquetrie and the buhl, and the ebony and the ivory, and the Sevres
and the Dresden, and the large looking-glasses, and the Louis-Quatorze
tables,--all of which he had, half an hour before, considered his own
goods and chattels; and there he would have stood till “morning’s
dawn,” had not one of the footmen, more considerate than the rest, gone
up to him and asked him if he should call a cab for him, for that it
had set in a very wet night.
It was all too true!--this appeal awakened him from his dream. He
declined the offer, took his hat, and descended the staircase to
the hall; passed the door of the library where the supper had been
served; heard the clatter of plates, and the peals of mirth which were
doubtless ringing at his cost, and stepped from the door of his lost
paradise into a thick mizzling rain with a sharp wind, which drifted
right into his blanched face, saturated his thin shoes, and made him as
bodily miserable as he was mentally unhappy.