Mr. Hazlehurst, in his position of father of a family, had been so long
accustomed to consider his will law, that the possibility of his being
in the wrong was one which he never contemplated; the fact, therefore,
of any one having proved him to be so, constituted in his eyes a
high and unpardonable misdemeanour. Of this capital crime had Harry
Coverdale, on the occasion just described, been guilty; and Mr.
Hazlehurst, albeit outwardly he resumed his usual manner towards
his guest, could not in his secret soul either forget or forgive his
offence--more especially as the circumstance of Mr. Crane’s present
being demonstrated to be unsafe for a lady to ride (and that it was so,
even Mr. Hazlehurst’s powers of self-deception could not conceal
from him), was at that particular juncture of affairs singularly
embarrassing. Of this change of sentiment straightforward, unsuspicious
Harry never dreamed; accordingly, he continued to behave towards the
old gentleman as freely as he had hitherto done, maintaining his own
opinions, even when they entirely differed from those of his host,
courteously, indeed, but with the sturdy independence natural to his
character--a sturdiness which, until it was exerted in opposition to his
sovereign will and pleasure, Mr. Hazlehurst had particularly admired.
So for the rest of the week affairs (with this single exception) went on
most agreeably and satisfactorily to all parties.
Harry, having once broken the ice, contrived speedily to win the good
opinions (to use no stronger term) of all the female portion of the
community. From the kind attention he paid Mrs. Hazlehurst, he soon
acquired so much influence over that amiable lady that, to please him,
she consented to various schemes devised for her benefit and amusement,
which her daughters had previously urged upon her in vain;--for
instance, when Harry, instructed by Alice in regard to times and seasons
and the like minor particulars, came at the _very_ moment when she was
going to decide that she did not feel equal to going out at all that
day, to tell her that the pony-phaeton was waiting at the door, and
that he should really think her unkind, and imagine he must have done
something to offend her, if she refused to allow him the pleasure of
carrying her to the chaise, and driving her just far enough to do her
good, and not to tire her,--what could she do but consent? _Ce n’est que
le premier pas qui coûte_. This point gained, if was easy to persuade
the invalid to take a short excursion daily; and as her complaint was in
some degree on the nerves, the beneficial effects of the fresh air and
exercise soon became apparent. Moreover, as Alice knew how to drive a
little, and wished to improve in that useful accomplishment, Harry could
do no less, when he had brought Mrs. Hazlehurst safely home from her
daily drive, than take out the young lady, and give her a lesson; and as
these lessons usually lasted some two hours at a stretch, the fat
ponies began to get into excellent working condition, and considering
themselves put upon, wondered why the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals neglected to interfere in their behalf. Emily, too,
had quite altered her opinion of their guest, and entirely sympathised
with Tom’s declaration that he was “a stunning good fellow, and no
mistake!” Kate Marsden said little, but observed the progress of events
with calm approval; for she perceived that to be going on, which would
greatly facilitate the execution of certain schemes which she had
devised.
At length arrived the important day of the dinner-party. Were we
called upon to define the meaning of the term dinner-party, we should
denominate it an awful immolation of mind to matter, a wanton sacrifice
of the head to the stomach. Why, on a hot summer’s day, eighteen
individuals, supposed to be in their proper senses, who might dine at
home if they chose, should agree of their own free-will to victimise
themselves and each other by congregating together in one room, for the
space of two mortal hours, to eat--and, in the case of the lords of the
creation, probably to drink also--a great deal more than is good for
them, is one of those social problems of which we expect to arrive at
the solution about the time when mankind is thoroughly regenerated by
Miss Martineau’s _a_theological views (to coin a word), but not before.
If there were no other argument against this insane system of monster
dinner-parties, the frightful state of discomfort into which the family
of the giver of the feast is thrown by the coming event, would alone
be sufficient to prove our case. Unless the establishment be on a scale
proportionable to that of the individual who, on finding the number of
his guests exceeded the means of conveyance provided for them, coolly
ordered round “more phaetons!” anarchy and confusion reign predominant
throughout the devoted mansion for at least four-and-twenty hours before
the affair comes off. In the first place the servants, male and female,
all go mad; if you give an order, the recipient stares you vacantly in
the face, and does something else immediately; if you lay down a book,
or any similar article, in its proper place, somebody instantly removes
it and hides it in an improper one, where you are fortunate if you
stumble upon it by accident in the course of the following six months.
The lunacy of the servants reacts upon their betters--everybody is a
little out of temper, everybody is over-officious, and has a way of his
or her own for doing everything diametrically opposed to the variously
diverging ways of everybody else. From the earliest dawn the very
garrets are redolent of “making soup,” which odour remains in possession
of the house till about the time at which luncheon should be, but of
course is not, forthcoming, when it is superseded, and retires _vice_
the venison put down to roast, which we would rather decree should be
“put down” as a nuisance--at least, as far as regards our olfactory
nerves. But it were an endless task to attempt to sum up all the
miseries incidental to the preparations for celebrating one of those
“feasts of _un_-reason,” nor do we expect very many of the gentle public
to sympathise in our views; for in every society which we have as yet
frequented, “_L’Amphitryon où l’on dine_,” though he be heavy as his own
dinners, is certain to be a popular man.
However this may be, one thing is certain, that Harry Coverdale, on the
morning preceding the dinner-party at the Grange, experiencing in his
proper person many of the inconveniences alluded to, and having made
several attempts to improve his position, by seeking to induce somebody
to do something sensible or agreeable, all of which proved abortive, by
reason of the impossibility of extracting even Alice from the vortex of
preparation--Harry Coverdale, thus victimised, _faute de mieux_, mounted
his good steed, and set off to ride away from the blue devils; but the
remedy did not succeed--the devils followed him, and grew bluer and
bluer with every mile he passed over, and, at last, the bluest of them
all assumed the likeness of Mr. Crane!
“Confound Mr. Crane!”--thus ran Harry’s thoughts--“confound the old
fellow! he’s coming to marry Alice--my nice, warm-hearted little friend,
Alice! I don’t by any means approve of it. He’s old enough to be
her father, or anybody else’s, for that matter: the thing is
ridiculous--quite absurd!--Besides, the dear little girl dislikes
him--naturally she does: there’s nothing to like in him. Why, she cares
more about me than she does about him!” He paused in thought, removed
his hat, pushed back his thick, clustering hair, put his hat on again,
and continued: “I declare, if I’d not entirely made up my mind against
marrying, I’d enter for the stakes myself, and see if one could not
jockey the old fellow and governor Hazlehurst too. Alice is a prize well
worth winning; but it’s too late to change one’s mind! I ought to have
behaved differently to her at first, if I’d wanted her to fall in love
with me--though I think I’ve got over all that pretty thoroughly, too.
Ah! well, I’ve chosen my line, and must stick to it; and as the shooting
season isn’t so very far off now, thank goodness, I shall contrive to
make it out somehow, I dare say. And, by Jove, there’s a whole pack of
birds sunning themselves in that great field--five or six coveys all got
together--and stunning good coveys they must be, too. There’s a gap
in the hedge; I’ll leap over and see if I can get near enough to
count them. Now, Lancelot--steady, sir!--you _must_ do it--over we go!
Famously cleared! I wouldn’t take five hundred guineas for you, you
beauty! that I wouldn’t. We’ll show some of ’em the way across country
when the hunting begins; won’t we astonish their weak minds for them,
rather!” and so, patting and caressing his horse, Harry made a wide
circuit, and availing himself of the shelter of a belt of trees,
contrived to get near enough to the partridges to count them; by which
process he arrived at the interesting discovery that there were exactly
thirty brace, with one bird over; which ornithological irregularity
rather distressed and provoked him, though why it should have done so
neither he nor, as we imagine, any one else, could possibly conceive.
But the partridges being counted, back came the blue devils in greater
force than ever: and his thoughts grew so troublesome, not to say
unbearable, that Harry began to imagine he must be bewitched--a
supposition in which, perhaps, he was not so very far wrong after all.
As a last refuge against his persecutors, he resolved on a good gallop;
and so made his way across country, a distance of some eight miles, as
straight as the crow flies, leaping gates and crashing through hedges in
a very reckless and steeple-chasing kind of manner, which obtained for
him a more than sufficient amount of hard British swearing from sundry
irate members of the Agricultural Association, who, for once in their
lives, had a real grievance to complain of. As he cleared the last fence
leading into the park in which the Grange was situated, the village
clock struck six, and he could perceive a carriage, with the Crane
liveries (green turned up with yellow), winding slowly through the
trees. Three minutes more found him in the stable-yard, and flinging
the bridle of his reeking steed to his groom, while he uttered the hasty
caution, “You see the state he’s in; take proper care of him,” he made
his way to his bedroom by a back staircase, overturning a water-can, and
running into the arms of a pretty housemaid (to whom he apologised by
mentioning that he was sorry he was in too great a hurry to give her a
kiss), in the course of his rapid career. And so, very hot, very
dusty, considerably tired, and with a most unromantic appetite, he set
vigorously to work to (as servants inelegantly, but graphically term it)
clean himself.
When, some twenty minutes afterwards, Coverdale reached the
drawing-room, he found all the guests assembled. Many of them, to whom
he was personally known, immediately claimed acquaintance, recognising
him in spite of the improvements which his residence abroad had wrought
in his manners and appearance. Some two or three of the younger men were
old college chums, who were really overjoyed to see him again, and who
immediately gathered round him and besieged him with questions. Glancing
round the circle, he perceived D’Almayne bending tenderly over Alice;
but the sight no longer annoyed him--he had got over _that_. Alice
saw the exquisite in his true colours; Alice had laughed at him--poor
D’Almayne! But on her other hand sat the cotton-spinner, and he was
more formidable; for he did not (fortunately for himself) depend on
his personal attractions alone--there were twenty thousand solid good
reasons per annum why he should not be refused; reasons which rendered
his alliance with Mr. Hazlehurst’s family so desirable, that all that
gentleman’s paternal authority was certain to be stretched to its
uttermost limit to enable Mr. Crane to carry his point. Moreover, as
Harry entered the drawing-room, Tom had given him the following note:--
“_Dear Hal,--I have written to tell the governor that I shall be
detained in court so late that it will be impossible for me to get away
to-night (the truth, you heretic!). I shall start by the first train
to-morrow, and be with you to breakfast. Keep a sharp look-out upon the
cotton-spinner; and if at any moment he appears as if he were preparing
to pop, throw a book at his head without hesitation! So will you
continue to deserve the good opinion of,
“Arthur H._”
At dinner, Coverdale was seated next a fast young lady, who rather made
love to him than otherwise; but she did not take much by her motion,
for Harry had a good deal of business on his hands. First, there was his
appetite to satisfy, and the monster was very insatiate after his gallop
across country; next, he felt it incumbent upon him to keep a strict
watch over Mr. Crane and Alice, who were seated nearly opposite to him;
and he seriously debated in his own mind whether a finger-glass might
not be considered a legitimate substitute for a book, on one or two
occasions, when the cotton-spinner appeared to be attempting the
excessively tender. Good eating requires good drinking; thirst demands
Pale Ale, etiquette obliges Champagne, and the mixed duties of society
necessitate Port and Sherry; Hock is very refreshing in hot weather; it
is no use to hand round Curaçoa, if people won’t drink it; Hermitage and
Lunel are so nice, that everybody takes them; Claret is a necessity in
all properly ordered establishments; and if your host produces a bottle
of good old Burgundy, he must be a fool who refuses to taste it. But for
a man to do all this, and at the same time to think, feel, and express
himself as coolly and prudently as he would after a mutton-chop and
a glass of table-beer, would require him to possess a brain made of
cast-iron, and no heart at all, and such was by no means the physical
conformation of our hero. Harry, however, possessed a good strong head
of his own; and although, as dessert proceeded, his eyes grew brighter,
and he involuntarily emulated D’Almayne by smiling frequently, and
unconsciously displaying an even row of white teeth, these peculiarities
only served to make him look especially handsome. But the wine did
something else; for, as the ladies rose to leave the room, it inspired
him with a determination to jockey D’Almayne, who usually usurped
the privilege of opening the door on such occasions--a “cutting out”
expedition which Harry conducted with equal skill and success. As Alice,
who came last, passed him, some spirit (whether of wine, or another
equally favourite theme for minstrel’s lay, we cannot tell) urged him to
bend his head, and whisper the inquiry, “Have you been happy with your
delightful companion?”
A contemptuous smile, and a slight negative motion of the lips answered
the question; and, for a moment, their eyes met. Alice’s must have been
a singularly expressive glance, for Harry read therein that she was
anxious and dispirited, but felt a vague and general reliance on his
willingness and ability to afford her comfort and protection.
Had Mr. Crane known the exact feelings with which Coverdale grasped
a finger-glass, and mentally calculated the amount of force it would
require to launch the missile against the chinchilla-crowned head of
his opposite neighbour, that worthy man would scarcely have ventured to
continue his mild and meaningless prosing so contentedly.