_How George Bellew sought counsel of his Valet_
The first intimation Bellew received of the futility of his hopes was
the following letter which he received one morning as he sat at
breakfast in his chambers in St. James Street, W.
MY DEAR GEORGE--I am writing to tell you that I like you so much that I
am quite sure I could never marry you, it would be too ridiculous.
Liking, you see George, is not love, is it? Though, personally, I think
all that sort of thing went out of fashion with our great-grandmother's
hoops, and crinolines. So George, I have decided to marry the Duke of
Ryde. The ceremony will take place in three weeks time at St. George's,
Hanover Square, and everyone will be there, of course. If you care to
come too, so much the better. I won't say that I hope you will forget
me, because I don't; but I am sure you will find someone to console you
because you are such a dear, good fellow, and so ridiculously rich.
So good-bye, and best wishes,
Ever yours most sincerely,
SYLVIA.
Now under such circumstances, had Bellew sought oblivion and consolation
from bottles, or gone headlong to the devil in any of other numerous
ways that are more or less inviting, deluded people would have pitied
him, and shaken grave heads over him; for it seems that disappointment
(more especially in love) may condone many offences, and cover as many
sins as Charity.
But Bellew, knowing nothing of that latter-day hysteria which wears the
disguise, and calls itself "Temperament," and being only a rather
ordinary young man, did nothing of the kind. Having lighted his pipe,
and read the letter through again, he rang instead for Baxter,
his valet.
Baxter was small, and slight, and dapper as to person, clean-shaven,
alert of eye, and soft of movement,--in a word, Baxter was the cream of
gentlemen's gentlemen, and the very acme of what a valet should be, from
the very precise parting of his glossy hair, to the trim toes of his
glossy boots. Baxter as has been said, was his valet, and had been his
father's valet, before him, and as to age, might have been thirty, or
forty, or fifty, as he stood there beside the table, with one eye-brow
raised a trifle higher than the other, waiting for Bellew to speak.
"Baxter."
"Sir?"
"Take a seat."
"Thank you sir." And Baxter sat down, not too near his master, nor too
far off, but exactly at the right, and proper distance.
"Baxter, I wish to consult with you."
"As between Master and Servant, sir?"
"As between man and man, Baxter."
"Very good, Mr. George, sir!"
"I should like to hear your opinion, Baxter, as to what is the proper,
and most accredited course to adopt when one has been--er--crossed
in love?"
"Why sir," began Baxter, slightly wrinkling his smooth brow, "so far as
I can call to mind, the courses usually adopted by despairing lovers,
are, in number, four."
"Name them, Baxter."
"First, Mr. George, there is what I may term, the Course
Retaliatory,--which is Marriage--"
"Marriage?"
"With--another party, sir,--on the principle that there are as good fish
in the sea as ever came out, and--er--pebbles on beaches, sir; you
understand me, sir?"
"Perfectly, go on."
"Secondly, there is the Army, sir, I have known of a good many
enlistments on account of blighted affections, Mr. George, sir; indeed,
the Army is very popular."
"Ah?" said Bellew, settling the tobacco in his pipe with the aid of the
salt-spoon, "Proceed, Baxter."
"Thirdly, Mr. George, there are those who are content to--to merely
disappear."
"Hum!" said Bellew.
"And lastly sir, though it is usually the first,--there is dissipation,
Mr. George. Drink, sir,--the consolation of bottles, and--"
"Exactly!" nodded Bellew. "Now Baxter," he pursued, beginning to draw
diagrams on the table-cloth with the salt-spoon, "knowing me as you do,
what course should you advise me to adopt?"
"You mean, Mr. George,--speaking as between man and man of course,--you
mean that you are in the unfortunate position of being--crossed in your
affections, sir?"
"Also--heart-broken, Baxter."
"Certainly, sir!"
"Miss Marchmont marries the Duke of Hyde,--in three weeks, Baxter."
"Indeed, sir!"
"You were, I believe, aware of the fact that Miss Marchmont and I were
as good as engaged?"
"I had--hem!--gathered as much, sir."
"Then--confound it all, Baxter!--why aren't you surprised?"
"I am quite--over-come, sir!" said Baxter, stooping to recover the
salt-spoon which had slipped to the floor.
"Consequently," pursued Bellew, "I am--er--broken-hearted, as I told
you--"
"Certainly, sir."
"Crushed, despondent, and utterly hopeless, Baxter, and shall be,
henceforth, pursued by the--er--Haunting Spectre of the Might
Have Been."
"Very natural, sir, indeed!"
"I could have hoped, Baxter, that, having served me so long,--not to
mention my father, you would have shown just a--er shade more feeling in
the matter."
"And if you were to ask me,--as between man and man sir,--why I don't
show more feeling, then, speaking as the old servant of your respected
father, Master George, sir,--I should beg most respectfully to say that
regarding the lady in question, her conduct is not in the least
surprising, Miss Marchmont being a beauty, and aware of the fact, Master
George. Referring to your heart, sir, I am ready to swear that it is not
even cracked. And now, sir,--what clothes do you propose to wear
this morning?"
"And pray, why should you be so confident of regarding
the--er--condition of my heart?"
"Because, sir,--speaking as your father's old servant, Master George, I
make bold to say that I don't believe that you have ever been in love,
or even know what love is, Master George, sir."
Bellew picked up the salt-spoon, balanced it very carefully upon his
finger, and put it down again.
"Nevertheless," said he, shaking his head, "I can see for myself but the
dreary perspective of a hopeless future, Baxter, blasted by the Haunting
Spectre of the Might Have Been;--I'll trouble you to push the cigarettes
a little nearer."
"And now, sir," said Baxter, as he rose to strike, and apply the
necessary match, "what suit will you wear to-day?"
"Something in tweeds."
"Tweeds, sir! surely you forget your appointment with the Lady Cecily
Prynne, and her party? Lord Mountclair had me on the telephone,
last night--"
"Also a good, heavy walking-stick, Baxter, and a knap-sack."
"A knap-sack, sir?"
"I shall set out on a walking tour--in an hour's time."
"Certainly, sir,--where to, sir?"
"I haven't the least idea, Baxter, but I'm going--in an hour. On the
whole, of the four courses you describe for one whose life is blighted,
whose heart,--I say whose heart, Baxter, is broken,--utterly smashed,
and--er--shivered beyond repair, I prefer to disappear--in an
hour, Baxter."
"Shall you drive the touring car, sir, or the new racer?"
"I shall walk, Baxter, alone,--in an hour."