SOMETHING OUT OF THE WAY.
The Brake hounds went out four days a week, Monday, Wednesday,
Friday, and Saturday; but the hunting party on this Saturday was very
small. None of the ladies joined in it, and when Lord Chiltern came
down to breakfast at half-past eight he met no one but Gerard Maule.
"Where's Spooner?" he asked. But neither Maule nor the servant could
answer the question. Mr. Spooner was a man who never missed a day
from the beginning of cubbing to the end of the season, and who,
when April came, could give you an account of the death of every fox
killed. Chiltern cracked his eggs, and said nothing more for the
moment, but Gerard Maule had his suspicions. "He must be coming,"
said Maule; "suppose you send up to him." The servant was sent, and
came down with Mr. Spooner's compliments. Mr. Spooner didn't mean
to hunt to-day. He had something of a headache. He would see Lord
Chiltern at the meet on Monday.
Maule immediately declared that neither would he hunt; but Lord
Chiltern looked at him, and he hesitated. "I don't care about your
knowing," said Gerard.
"Oh,--I know. Don't you be an ass."
"I don't see why I should give him an opportunity."
"You're to go and pull your boots and breeches off because he has not
put his on, and everybody is to be told of it! Why shouldn't he have
an opportunity, as you call it? If the opportunity can do him any
good, you may afford to be very indifferent."
"It's a piece of d---- impertinence," said Maule, with most unusual
energy.
"Do you finish your breakfast, and come and get into the trap. We've
twenty miles to go. You can ask Spooner on Monday how he spent his
morning."
At ten o'clock the ladies came down to breakfast, and the whole party
were assembled. "Mr. Spooner!" said Lady Chiltern to that gentleman,
who was the last to enter the room. "This is a marvel!" He was
dressed in a dark-blue frock-coat, with a coloured silk handkerchief
round his neck, and had brushed his hair down close to his head. He
looked quite unlike himself, and would hardly have been known by
those who had never seen him out of the hunting field. In his dress
clothes of an evening, or in his shooting coat, he was still himself.
But in the garb he wore on the present occasion he was quite unlike
Spooner of Spoon Hall, whose only pride in regard to clothes had
hitherto been that he possessed more pairs of breeches than any
other man in the county. It was ascertained afterwards, when
the circumstances came to be investigated, that he had sent
a man all the way across to Spoon Hall for that coat and the
coloured neck-handkerchief on the previous day; and some one, most
maliciously, told the story abroad. Lady Chiltern, however, always
declared that her secrecy on the matter had always been inviolable.
"Yes, Lady Chiltern; yes," said Mr. Spooner, as he took a seat at the
table; "wonders never cease, do they?" He had prepared himself even
for this moment, and had determined to show Miss Palliser that he
could be sprightly and engaging even without his hunting habiliments.
"What will Lord Chiltern do without you?" one of the ladies asked.
"He'll have to do his best."
"He'll never kill a fox," said Miss Palliser.
"Oh, yes; he knows what he's about. I was so fond of my pillow this
morning that I thought I'd let the hunting slide for once. A man
should not make a toil of his pleasure."
Lady Chiltern knew all about it, but Adelaide Palliser knew nothing.
Madame Goesler, when she observed the light-blue necktie, at once
suspected the execution of some great intention. Phineas was absorbed
in his observation of the difference in the man. In his pink coat
he always looked as though he had been born to wear it, but his
appearance was now that of an amateur actor got up in a miscellaneous
middle-age costume. He was sprightly, but the effort was painfully
visible. Lady Baldock said something afterwards, very ill-natured,
about a hog in armour, and old Mrs. Burnaby spoke the truth when she
declared that all the comfort of her tea and toast was sacrificed
to Mr. Spooner's frock coat. But what was to be done with him when
breakfast was over? For a while he was fixed upon poor Phineas, with
whom he walked across to the stables. He seemed to feel that he could
hardly hope to pounce upon his prey at once, and that he must bide
his time.
Out of the full heart the mouth speaks. "Nice girl, Miss Palliser,"
he said to Phineas, forgetting that he had expressed himself nearly
in the same way to the same man on a former occasion.
"Very nice, indeed. It seems to me that you are sweet upon her
yourself."
"Who? I! Oh, no--I don't think of those sort of things. I suppose I
shall marry some day. I've a house fit for a lady to-morrow, from top
to bottom, linen and all. And my property's my own."
"That's a comfort."
"I believe you. There isn't a mortgage on an acre of it, and that's
what very few men can say. As for Miss Palliser, I don't know that
a man could do better; only I don't think much of those things. If
ever I do pop the question, I shall do it on the spur of the moment.
There'll be no preparation with me, nor yet any beating about the
bush. 'Would it suit your views, my dear, to be Mrs. Spooner?' that's
about the long and the short of it. A clean-made little mare, isn't
she?" This last observation did not refer to Adelaide Palliser, but
to an animal standing in Lord Chiltern's stables. "He bought her from
Charlie Dickers for a twenty pound note last April. The mare hadn't
a leg to stand upon. Charlie had been stagging with her for the last
two months, and knocked her all to pieces. She's a screw, of course,
but there isn't anything carries Chiltern so well. There's nothing
like a good screw. A man'll often go with two hundred and fifty
guineas between his legs, supposed to be all there because the
animal's sound, and yet he don't know his work. If you like schooling
a young 'un, that's all very well. I used to be fond of it myself;
but I've come to feel that being carried to hounds without much
thinking about it is the cream of hunting, after all. I wonder what
the ladies are at? Shall we go back and see?" Then they turned to the
house, and Mr. Spooner began to be a little fidgety. "Do they sit
altogether mostly all the morning?"
"I fancy they do."
"I suppose there's some way of dividing them. They tell me you know
all about women. If you want to get one to yourself, how do you
manage it?"
"In perpetuity, do you mean, Mr. Spooner?"
"Any way;--in the morning, you know."
"Just to say a few words to her?"
"Exactly that;--just to say a few words. I don't mind asking you,
because you've done this kind of thing before."
"I should watch my opportunity," said Phineas, remembering a period
of his life in which he had watched much and had found it very
difficult to get an opportunity.
"But I must go after lunch," said Mr. Spooner; "I'm expected home to
dinner, and I don't know much whether they'll like me to stop over
Sunday."
"If you were to tell Lady Chiltern--"
"I was to have gone on Thursday, you know. You won't tell anybody?"
"Oh dear no."
"I think I shall propose to that girl. I've about made up my mind to
do it, only a fellow can't call her out before half-a-dozen of them.
Couldn't you get Lady C. to trot her out into the garden? You and she
are as thick as thieves."
"I should think Miss Palliser was rather difficult to be managed."
Phineas declined to interfere, taking upon himself to assure
Mr. Spooner that attempts to arrange matters in that way never
succeeded. He went in and settled himself to the work of answering
correspondents at Tankerville, while Mr. Spooner hung about the
drawing-room, hoping that circumstances and time might favour him. It
is to be feared that he made himself extremely disagreeable to poor
Lady Chiltern, to whom he was intending to open his heart could he
only find an opportunity for so much as that. But Lady Chiltern was
determined not to have his confidence, and at last withdrew from the
scene in order that she might not be entrapped. Before lunch had come
all the party knew what was to happen,--except Adelaide herself. She,
too, perceived that something was in the wind, that there was some
stir, some discomfort, some secret affair forward, or some event
expected which made them all uneasy;--and she did connect it with
the presence of Mr. Spooner. But, in pitiable ignorance of the facts
that were clear enough to everybody else, she went on watching and
wondering, with a half-formed idea that the house would be more
pleasant as soon as Mr. Spooner should have taken his departure. He
was to go after lunch. But on such occasions there is, of course, a
latitude, and "after lunch" may be stretched at any rate to the five
o'clock tea. At three o'clock Mr. Spooner was still hanging about.
Madame Goesler and Phineas, with an openly declared intention of
friendly intercourse, had gone out to walk together. Lord and Lady
Baldock were on horseback. Two or three old ladies hung over the
fire and gossiped. Lady Chiltern had retired to her baby;--when on a
sudden Adelaide Palliser declared her intention of walking into the
village. "Might I accompany you, Miss Palliser?" said Mr. Spooner;
"I want a walk above all things." He was very brave, and persevered
though it was manifest that the lady did not desire his company.
Adelaide said something about an old woman whom she intended to
visit; whereupon Mr. Spooner declared that visiting old women was the
delight of his life. He would undertake to give half a sovereign to
the old woman if Miss Palliser would allow him to come. He was very
brave, and persevered in such a fashion that he carried his point.
Lady Chiltern from her nursery window saw them start through the
shrubbery together.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity all the morning," said Mr.
Spooner, gallantly.
But in spite of his gallantry, and although she had known, almost
from breakfast time, that he had been waiting for something, still
she did not suspect his purpose. It has been said that Mr. Spooner
was still young, being barely over forty years of age; but he had
unfortunately appeared to be old to Miss Palliser. To himself it
seemed as though the fountains of youth were still running through
all his veins. Though he had given up schooling young horses, he
could ride as hard as ever. He could shoot all day. He could take
"his whack of wine," as he called it, sit up smoking half the night,
and be on horseback the next morning after an early breakfast without
the slightest feeling of fatigue. He was a red-faced little man,
with broad shoulders, clean shaven, with small eyes, and a nose on
which incipient pimples began to show themselves. To himself and the
comrades of his life he was almost as young as he had ever been; but
the young ladies of the county called him Old Spooner, and regarded
him as a permanent assistant unpaid huntsman to the Brake hounds. It
was not within the compass of Miss Palliser's imagination to conceive
that this man should intend to propose himself to her as her lover.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity all the morning," said Mr.
Spooner. Adelaide Palliser turned round and looked at him, still
understanding nothing. Ride at any fence hard enough, and the chances
are you'll get over. The harder you ride the heavier the fall, if
you get a fall; but the greater the chance of your getting over.
This had been a precept in the life of Mr. Spooner, verified by much
experience, and he had resolved that he would be guided by it on this
occasion. "Ever since I first saw you, Miss Palliser, I have been so
much taken by you that,--that,--in point of fact, I love you better
than all the women in the world I ever saw; and will you,--will you
be Mrs. Spooner?"
He had at any rate ridden hard at his fence. There had been no
craning,--no looking about for an easy place, no hesitation as he
brought his horse up to it. No man ever rode straighter than he did
on this occasion. Adelaide stopped short on the path, and he stood
opposite to her, with his fingers inserted between the closed buttons
of his frock-coat. "Mr. Spooner!" exclaimed Adelaide.
"I am quite in earnest, Miss Palliser; no man ever was more in
earnest. I can offer you a comfortable well-furnished home, an
undivided heart, a good settlement, and no embarrassment on the
property. I'm fond of a country life myself, but I'll adapt myself
to you in everything reasonable."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Spooner; you are indeed."
"How mistaken?"
"I mean that it is altogether out of the question. You have surprised
me so much that I couldn't stop you sooner; but pray do not speak of
it again."
"It is a little sudden, but what is a man to do? If you will only
think of it--"
"I can't think of it at all. There is no need for thinking. Really,
Mr. Spooner, I can't go on with you. If you wouldn't mind turning
back I'll walk into the village by myself." Mr. Spooner, however, did
not seem inclined to obey this injunction, and stood his ground, and,
when she moved on, walked on beside her. "I must insist on being left
alone," she said.
"I haven't done anything out of the way," said the lover.
"I think it's very much out of the way. I have hardly ever spoken to
you before. If you will only leave me now there shall not be a word
more said about it."
But Mr. Spooner was a man of spirit. "I'm not in the least ashamed of
what I've done," he said.
"But you might as well go away, when it can't be of any use."
"I don't know why it shouldn't be of use. Miss Palliser, I'm a man of
good property. My great-great-grandfather lived at Spoon Hall, and
we've been there ever since. My mother was one of the Platters of
Platter House. I don't see that I've done anything out of the way. As
for shilly-shallying, and hanging about, I never knew any good come
from it. Don't let us quarrel, Miss Palliser. Say that you'll take a
week to think of it."
"But I won't think of it at all; and I won't go on walking with you.
If you'll go one way, Mr. Spooner, I'll go the other."
Then Mr. Spooner waxed angry. "Why am I to be treated with disdain?"
he said.
"I don't want to treat you with disdain. I only want you to go away."
"You seem to think that I'm something,--something altogether beneath
you."
And so in truth she did. Miss Palliser had never analysed her own
feelings and emotions about the Spooners whom she met in society; but
she probably conceived that there were people in the world who, from
certain accidents, were accustomed to sit at dinner with her, but
who were no more fitted for her intimacy than were the servants who
waited upon her. Such people were to her little more than the tables
and chairs with which she was brought in contact. They were persons
with whom it seemed to her to be impossible that she should have
anything in common,--who were her inferiors, as completely as were
the menials around her. Why she should thus despise Mr. Spooner,
while in her heart of hearts she loved Gerard Maule, it would be
difficult to explain. It was not simply an affair of age,--nor of
good looks, nor altogether of education. Gerard Maule was by no means
wonderfully erudite. They were both addicted to hunting. Neither
of them did anything useful. In that respect Mr. Spooner stood the
higher, as he managed his own property successfully. But Gerard Maule
so wore his clothes, and so carried his limbs, and so pronounced his
words that he was to be regarded as one entitled to make love to any
lady; whereas poor Mr. Spooner was not justified in proposing to
marry any woman much more gifted than his own housemaid. Such, at
least, were Adelaide Palliser's ideas. "I don't think anything of the
kind," she said, "only I want you to go away. I shall go back to the
house, and I hope you won't accompany me. If you do, I shall turn
the other way." Whereupon she did retire at once, and he was left
standing in the path.
There was a seat there, and he sat down for a moment to think of it
all. Should he persevere in his suit, or should he rejoice that he
had escaped from such an ill-conditioned minx? He remembered that he
had read, in his younger days, that lovers in novels generally do
persevere, and that they are almost always successful at last. In
affairs of the heart, such perseverance was, he thought, the correct
thing. But in this instance the conduct of the lady had not given him
the slightest encouragement. When a horse balked with him at a fence,
it was his habit to force the animal till he jumped it,--as the
groom had recommended Phineas to do. But when he had encountered
a decided fall, it was not sensible practice to ride the horse at
the same place again. There was probably some occult cause for
failure. He could not but own that he had been thrown on the present
occasion,--and upon the whole, he thought that he had better give it
up. He found his way back to the house, put up his things, and got
away to Spoon Hall in time for dinner, without seeing Lady Chiltern
or any of her guests.
[Illustration: He sat down for a moment to think of it all.]
"What has become of Mr. Spooner?" Maule asked, as soon as he returned
to Harrington Hall.
"Nobody knows," said Lady Chiltern, "but I believe he has gone."
"Has anything happened?"
"I have heard no tidings; but, if you ask for my opinion, I think
something has happened. A certain lady seems to have been ruffled,
and a certain gentleman has disappeared. I am inclined to think that
a few unsuccessful words have been spoken." Gerard Maule saw that
there was a smile in her eye, and he was satisfied.
"My dear, what did Mr. Spooner say to you during his walk?" This
question was asked by the ill-natured old lady in the presence of
nearly all the party.
"We were talking of hunting," said Adelaide.
"And did the poor old woman get her half-sovereign?"
"No;--he forgot that. We did not go into the village at all. I was
tired and came back."
"Poor old woman;--and poor Mr. Spooner!"
Everybody in the house knew what had occurred, as Mr. Spooner's
discretion in the conduct of this affair had not been equal to his
valour; but Miss Palliser never confessed openly, and almost taught
herself to believe that the man had been mad or dreaming during that
special hour.