"CIS AND CHARLIE."
Again the spring sunshine was lending perennial youth even to London's
dingy streets, and making the very best winter garments look dim and
shabby. Hunting was over, and Colonel Ormonde found himself by the will
of his wife, once more established in London lodgings--of a dingier and
obscurer order than those in which they had enjoyed last season.
Mrs. Ormonde was neither intellectually nor morally strong, but she had
one reflex ingredient in her nature, which was to her both a shield and
spear. She knew what she wanted, and was perfectly unscrupulous as to
the means of getting it. A woman who is pleasantly indifferent to the
wants and wishes of her associates, if they happen to clash with her
own, is tolerably sure to have her own way on the whole. Now and then,
to be sure, she comes to grief; but in her general success these
failures can be afforded.
When first the tidings of George Liddell's return and his assertion of
his rights reached her, she was terrified and undone by Colonel
Ormonde's fury against Katherine, herself, her boys, every one. In
short, that gallant officer thought he had done a generous and manly
thing, when he married the piquant little widow who had attracted him,
although she could only meet her personal expenses and those of her two
sons, without contributing to the general house-keeping. This sense of
his own magnanimity, backed by the consciousness that it did not cost
him too dear, had kept Colonel Ormonde in the happiest of moods for the
first years of his married life. Terrible was the awakening from the
dream of his own good luck and general "fine-fellowism"; and heavily
would the punishment have fallen on his wife had she been a sensitive or
high-minded woman. Being, however, admirably suited to the partner of
her life, she looked round, as soon as the first burst of despair was
over, to see how she could make the best of her position.
She was really vexed and irritated to find how little tenderness or
regard her husband felt for her, for she had always believed that he was
greatly devoted to her. To both of them the outside world was all in
all, and on this Mrs. Ormonde counted largely. Colonel Ormonde could not
put her away or lock her up because the provision made by Katherine for
the boys failed her, so while she was mistress of Castleford she must
have dresses and carriages and consideration. Knowing herself secure on
these points, she fearlessly adopted the system of counter-irritation
she described to Katherine; and to do her justice, her consciousness
that the boys were safe under the care of their aunt, who would be sure
to treat them well and kindly, made her the more ready to brave the
dangers of her husband's wrath.
"He must behave well before people, or men will say he is a 'cad' to
visit his disappointment on his poor little simple-hearted wife," she
thought. "He knows that. Then it is an enormous relief that Katherine
still clings to the boys, poor dears! She really is a trump; so I have
only myself to think of; and Duke shall find that his shabbiness and
ill-temper do him no good. It's like drawing his teeth to get my
quarter's allowance, beggarly as it is, from him."
Colonel Ormonde's reflections, as he composed a letter to his steward,
were by no means soothing. Though it was all but impossible for him to
hold his tongue respecting his disappointment, whenever a shade of
difference occurred between him and his wife, he was uncomfortably
conscious that he often acted like a brute toward the mother of his boy,
of whom he was so proud; he was not therefore the more disposed to rule
his hasty, inconsiderate temper. The fact that Mrs. Ormonde had her own
methods of paying him back disposed him to respect her, and it could not
be doubted that in time the friction of their natures would rub off the
angles of each, and they would settle down into tolerable harmony,
whereas a proud, true-hearted woman in her place would have been utterly
crushed and never forgiven.
Ormonde, then, was meditating on his undeserved misfortunes, when the
door was somewhat suddenly and vehemently pushed open, and Mrs. Ormonde
came in, her eyes sparkling, and evidently in some excitement.
"What's the matter?" asked her husband, not too amiably. "Has that
rascally, intruding fellow Liddell kicked the bucket?"
"No; but whom do you think I saw as I was leaving Mrs. Bennett's in Hyde
Park Square, you know?"
"How can I tell? The policeman perhaps."
"Nonsense, Duke! I had just come down the steps, and was turn turning
toward Paddington, for, as it was early, I thought I would take the
omnibus to Oxford Circus (see how careful I am!), when I saw a beautiful
dark brougham, drawn by splendid black horse--the coachman, the whole
turn-out, quite first rate--come at a dashing pace towards me. I
recognized Lord de Burgh inside, and who do you think was sitting beside
him?"
"God knows! The Saratoffski perhaps."
"Really, Ormonde, I am astonished at your mentioning that dreadful woman
to me.
"Oh! are you? Well, _who_ was De Burgh's companion?"
"Charlie! my Charlie! and Cis was on the front seat. Cis saw me, for he
clapped his hands and pointed as they flew past. What do you think of
that?"
"By George!" he exclaimed, in capital letters. "I believe he is still
after Katherine. If so, she'll have the devil's own luck."
"Now listen to me. As Wilton Street was quite near, I went on there to
gather what I could from Miss Payne. She was at home, and a little less
sour and silent then usual. She was sorry, she said, the boys were out.
They have been with her for a week, and Lord de Burgh had been most
kind. He had taken them to the Zoological Gardens and Madame Tussaud's,
and just now had called for them to go to the circus. Isn't it
wonderful? Do try and picture De Burgh at Madame Tussaud's."
"There is only one way of accounting for such strange conduct," returned
the Colonel, thoughtfully. "He means to marry your sister. This would
change the face of affairs considerably."
"Yes; it would be delightful."
"I'm not so sure of that," returned Ormonde, seriously. "Now that he is
in love--and you know he is all fire and tow--he makes a fuss about the
boys; but wait till he is married, and he will try to shift them back on
you. Why should he put up with his wife's nephews any more than I do
with _my_ wife's sons?"
"Because he is more in love, and a good deal richer," returned Mrs.
Ormonde.
"More in love! Bosh! In the middle of the fever, you mean. Of course
that will pass over."
"Really men are great brutes," observed Mrs. Ormonde, philosophically.
"And women awful fools," added her husband.
"Well, perhaps so," she returned, with a slight smile and a sharp
glance.
"Seriously, though," resumed Colonel Ormonde, "it's all very well for
Katherine to make a good match, and if De Burgh is fool enough to be in
earnest, it will be a splendid match for her; but things may be made
rather rough for me. That fellow De Burgh has the queerest crotchets,
and doesn't hesitate to air them. He'd think nothing of slapping my
shoulder in the club before a dozen members, and asking me if I meant to
leave my wife's brats on his hands."
"Do you really think so? Oh, Katherine would never let him. She dearly
loves the boys."
"Wait till she has a son of her own."
"Even so. She has her faults, I know. Her temper is rather violent, her
ideas are too high-flown and nonsensical, and she won't take advice, but
she never would injure _me_, I am sure of that."
An inarticulate grunt from Colonel Ormonde, as he fixed his double glass
on his nose and took up his pen again.
"Duke," resumed Mrs. Ormonde, after a pause, "don't you think I had
better go and see Katherine? You know we never had any quarrel, and that
Mrs. Needham she lives with gives very nice parties."
"Parties! By Jove! you'd go to old Nick for a party. What good will it
do you to meet a pack of beggarly scribblers?"
"They may not have money, Duke, but they have _manners_, and something
to say for themselves," she retorted. "Never mind about the parties.
Don't you think I would better call on Katherine?"
"Do as you like but consider that she has behaved very badly--with
extreme insolence; but I don't want to influence you." This in a tone of
magnanimity, as he began to write with an air of profound attention.
Mrs. Ormonde made a swift contemptuous grimace at his back, and said, in
mellifluous tones: "Very well, dear. I may as well go at once, and
perhaps she will come with me to that dressmaking ally of hers, Miss
Trant. I hear she is raising her prices, but she will not do so to me if
I am with her original patroness."
"Oh, do as you like; only don't send me in a long milliner's bill."
"I am sure, Duke, my clothes never cost you much."
"Not so far, but the future looks rather blue."
To this she made no reply. Leaving the room noiselessly, she retired to
give a touch of kohl to her eyes, a dust of pearl powder to her cheeks,
and then started on her mission of inquiry and reconciliation.
It is not to be denied that Katherine was greatly touched by De Burgh's
thoughtful kindness to her boys. She had been a good deal troubled about
their holidays, for she did not like to take full advantage of Mrs.
Needham's kind permission to absent herself as much as she liked in
order to be with them, and she well knew that in Miss Payne's very
orderly establishment the two restless, active little fellows would be
a most discordant ingredient. Above all, she wanted them to have a very
happy holiday, as she feared their cloudless sunny days were numbered.
The second morning, therefore, after she had deposited them in Wilton
Street, when she went to inquire for them, and found that Lord de Burgh
had called and carried them off to have luncheon with him first, and to
spend the afternoon at the Zoological Gardens after, she could hardly
credit her ears.
"I must say," observed Miss Payne, "that I am agreeably surprised. I had
no idea Lord de Burgh was so straightforward and well-disposed a man. A
little abrupt, and would not stand any nonsense, I fancy, but a sterling
character. He has tact too. He always spoke of the boys as his cousin
Colonel Ormonde's step-sons. He might be a good friend to them,
Katherine."
"No doubt," she replied, thoughtfully.
"He will send his butler or house-steward to take them to Kew Gardens
to-morrow; but I dare say he will call and tell you himself."
"He is wonderfully good," said Katherine, feeling puzzled and oppressed.
"I will go back, then, as fast as I can, and get my work done by six
o'clock; then I may spend the evening here with you and the boys."
"Pray do, if you can manage it."
Lord de Burgh's remarkable conduct troubled Katherine a good deal. How
ought she to act? Certainly he would not put himself out of the way for
Cis and Charlie, had he not wished to please her, or really interested
himself in them for her sake. Ought she to encourage him by accepting
these very useful and kindly attentions? How could she reject them
without saying as plainly by action as in words, "I know you are
pressing your suit upon me, and I will not have it," which, after all,
might be a mistake; besides, she would thus deprive her nephews of much
pleasure. She could not come to a conclusion; she must let herself
drift. But the question tormented her, and it was with an effort she
banished it, and applied herself to her task of arranging her chief's
notes.
Mrs. Needham was exceedingly busy that afternoon, and did not go out, as
she had some provincial and colonial letters to finish, and had a couple
of engagements in the evening. She and her secretary therefore wrote
diligently till about half-past five, when Ford, the smart parlor-maid,
announced that "the gentleman" and two little boys were in the
drawing-room.
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Needham, slipping off her glasses. "This is
growing interesting. I shall go and speak to Lord de Burgh myself.
Besides, I want to see your boys, my dear. How funny it sounds!"
"Do, Mrs. Needham. I will come."
Lord de Burgh was glaring absently out of the window, and the boys were
eagerly examining the diverse and sundry objects thickly scattered
around. They had wonderfully dirty hands and faces, their jackets were
splashed as if with some foaming beverage, the knees of their
knickerbockers were grubby with gravel and grass, and they had generally
the aspect of having done wildly what they listed for some hours.
"Lord de Burgh, I suppose?" said Mrs. Needham, in loud and cheerful
accents. "I am very pleased to see you" (De Burgh bowed); "and you, my
dears--I am very glad to see you too, especially if you will be so good
as not to touch my china!"
"We haven't broken anything!" cried Cecil, coming up to her and giving
her a dingy little paw, while he stared in her face. "Where is auntie?"
"She'll be here directly. This is Charlie: what a sweet little fellow!
Why, your eyes are like your aunt's."
"Do you think so?" said De Burgh, drawing near. "They are lighter--a
good deal lighter."
"Perhaps so. The shape and expression are like, though. And so you have
been to see the lions and tigers?"
"And the bears," put in Charlie.
"Isn't Lord de Burgh kind to take you--"
"He _is!_ he's a jolly chap!" cried Cecil, warmly. "I shouldn't mind
living with him."
"Nor I either," added Charlie.
Here Katherine made her appearance, a conscious look in her eyes, a
flitting blush on her cheek. The boys immediately flew to hug and kiss
her, barely allowing her to shake hands with De Burgh. Then, when she
sat down on the sofa, Charlie established himself on her knee and Cecil
knelt on the sofa, the better to put his arms round her neck.
"What dreadfully dirty little boys! What have you been doing to
yourselves?"
"Oh, we have been on the elephant and the camel, and in the ostrich
cart. Then Charlie tumbled down in the monkey-house. Oh, how funny the
monkeys are! and he" (pointing to Lord de Burgh) "took us to dinner.
Such a beautiful dinner in a lovely room! He says he will take us to the
circus."
"I'll ask him to take you too, auntie!" cried Charlie.
"Oh yes!" echoed Cecil. "You'll take her, Lord de Burgh, won't you? I
don't think auntie ever saw a circus."
"If you promise to be _very_ good, and that your aunt too will be quiet
and well-behaved, I may be induced to let her come," returned De Burgh,
his deep-set eyes glittering with fun and anticipated pleasure.
"Thank you," said Katherine, laughing, as soon as her delighted nephew
ceased kissing her.
"And you'll come?--the day after to-morrow? I will call for the boys,
bring them round here."
"If I have nothing special--" she began.
"Certainly not; I will take care of that," cried Mrs. Needham, "It is
such a great thing to get a little amusement for the poor little
fellows, and so very kind of Lord de Burgh to take so much trouble."
"It is indeed. I really don't know how to thank you enough," said
Katherine. "Mrs. Needham, I must really take them to wash their hands;
they are so terribly dirty!"
"No; ring the bell; Ford will manage them nicely, and bring them back in
a few minutes." Mrs. Needham rang energetically as she spoke, and the
young gentlemen were speedily marched off.
"I am afraid I am not a wise child's guide," said De Burgh, laughing;
"but they ran and tumbled about till they got into an awful pickle. They
are really capital little fellows, and most amusing. When do they go
back to school?"
"In about ten days--on the 25th. I assure you I quite dread their going
to this Wandsworth place. They have been asking, entreating me to let
them go back to Sandbourne, but I think Cis at last grasps the idea that
it is a question of money."
"It's an early initiation for him," observed De Burgh, as if to himself.
Then, eagerly: "You'll be sure to come with us on Friday, Miss Liddell?
The boys will enjoy the performance ever so much more if you are with
them."
Katherine looked for half a second at Mrs. Needham, who nodded and
frowned in a very energetic and affirmative way. "I shall be very glad
to enjoy it with them," she said, hesitatingly, "if Mrs. Needham can
spare me."
"Of course I can,"--briskly. "Lord de Burgh, if you care for music--not
severe classical music, you know--ballads, recitatives, and that sort of
thing--Hyacinth O'Hara, the new tenor, and Mr. Merrydew, that wonderful
mimic and singer, are coming to me next Tuesday; I shall be delighted to
see you."
"Not so delighted, I am sure, as I shall be to come," returned De Burgh,
with unusual suavity.
"Very well--half past nine. Don't be late, and don't forget."
"No danger of forgetting, I assure you."
"By-the-bye," resumed Mrs. Needham, as if seized with a happy thought,
"Angela Bradley receives on Sunday afternoons at their delightful villa
at Wimbledon all through the season. Her first 'at home' will be the
Sunday after next. I am sure she will be delighted to see any friend of
Miss Liddell's."
"If Miss Liddell will be so good as to answer for me, I shall be most
happy to present myself. To make sure of being properly backed up,
suppose I call here for Miss Liddell and yourself, and and drive you
down?
"Is it not rather far off to make arrangements?" asked Katherine,
growing somewhat uneasy at thus drifting into a succession of of
engagements with the man she half liked, half dreaded.
"Far off!" echoed Mrs. Needham. "You don't call ten days far off? But I
must run away and finish my letter. A journalist is the slave of her
pen. Good morning, Lord de Burgh. I'll send the boys to you, Katherine."
"That is an admirable and meritorious woman," and De Burgh, drawing a
chair beside the sofa where Katherine sat. "Why are you so savagely
opposed to anything like friendly intercourse with me--so reluctant to
let me do anything for you? Do you think I am such a cad as to think
that _anything_ I could do would entitle me to consider you under an
obligation?"
"No, indeed, Lord de Burgh! I believe you to be too true a gentleman
for--"
"For what? I see you are afraid of giving me what is called, in the
slang of the matrimonial market, encouragement. Just put all that out of
your mind, Let me have a little enjoyment, however things may end, and,
believe me, I'll never blame you. I am not going to trouble you with my
hopes and wishes, not at least for some time; and then, whatever the
upshot, on my head be it."
"But I cannot bear to give you pain."
"Then don't--"
"Auntie, we are quite clean. Won't you come back to tea at Miss Payne's?
Do make her come, Lord de Burgh."
"Ah, it is beyond my powers to make her do anything."
"I cannot come now, my darlings; but I will be with you about half past
six, and we'll have a game before you go to bed."
"Come along, boys; we have intruded on your aunt long enough. Don't
forget the circus on Friday, Miss Liddell."
Another hug from Cis and Charlie, a slight hand pressure from their
newly found playfellow, and Katherine was left to her own reflections.
The expedition to the circus was most successful. It was on his way from
Wilton Street to call for Katherine, on this occasion, that De Burgh
encountered Mrs. Ormonde. Need we say that she lost no time in making
the proposed call on her sister-in-law; unfortunately Katherine was out;
so Mrs. Ormonde was reduced to writing a requisition for an interview
with her boys and their aunt.
This was accordingly planned at Miss Payne's house, and Mrs. Ormonde was
quite charming, playful, affectionate, tearful, repentant, apologetic
for "Ormonde," and deeply moved at parting from her boys, who where
somewhat awed by this display of feeling. Still she did not succeed in
breaking the "cold chain of silence" which Katherine persisted in
"hanging" over the events of the past week.
"So De Burgh took the boys about everywhere?" said Mrs. Ormonde, as
Katherine went downstairs with her when she was leaving, and they were
alone together. "It is something new for him to play the part of
children's maid; and, do you know, he only left cards on us, and never
asked to come in."
"He was always good-natured," returned Katherine, with some
embarrassment; "and, you remember, he used to notice Cis and Charlie at
Castleford a good deal."
"Yes; after _you_ came," significantly. "Never mind, Katie dear, I am
not going to worry you with troublesome questions; but I am sure no one
in the world would be more delighted than myself _did_ you make a
brilliant match."
"Believe me, there will never be anything brilliant about me, Ada."
"Well, we'll see. When do you take the boys to school?
"On Wednesday; should you like to come and see the place?"
"I should like it of all things, but I mustn't, dear."
"I do hope the school may prove all I expect; but the change will be bad
for Charlie. He had lost nearly all his nervousness; strange teachers
and a new system may bring it back."
"Oh, I hope not. Does he still stop short and speechless, and then laugh
as if it were a good joke, when he is puzzled or frightened?"
"Very rarely, I believe. I will write to you the day after I leave the
boys at Wandsworth. They don't like going at all, poor dears.'
"Well, we shall not be much longer in town, I am sorry to say, and I
want a few things from Miss Trant before I go. I suppose she will not
raise her prices to me?"
"Oh no, I am sure she will not."