“There now, I consider I’ve done the polite in the first style of
fashion and elegance,” observed Harry, self-complacently, as he rejoined
his wife; “Horace D’Almayne himself could not have polished off the
young woman more handsomely, for all his moustaches.”
“How you do hate that poor Mr. D’Almayne!” returned Alice, laughing. “Do
you know, I think you are jealous of him.”
“I was once, and that’s the truth--very savage it made me too; for if
you could have been fascinated by such a puppy as that, I felt I had
mistaken your character _in toto_, and that the Alice I loved was a
creature of my own imagination, not a reality--but I soon saw my error.”
Alice glanced at him archly. “Are you _quite_ sure you did not fall
into a greater mistake when you fancied yourself so certain of my
indifference?” she inquired.
Harry fixed his eyes upon her with a look of inquiry, which, when he saw
that she was joking, changed to an expression of tenderness;--“I could
not look in that dear face, where every thought can be read as in a
book, and remain jealous for five minutes,” he answered.
Alice made no reply, unless placing her little hand in that of her
husband, with a confiding gesture, can be called so.
The wind continuing fresh, the unfortunate Countess did not re-appear;
but Coverdale and his wife, being so happily constituted that the
tossing produced no ill effects upon them, remained upon deck till the
vessel reached Dover. Amid the scene of confusion attending the arrival
of a steamer, Harry, having secured his luggage, was standing sentinel
over a moderately-sized pyramid, which he had caused to be erected of
the same, when Alice, then seated upon a large black trunk, which she
had seduced her husband into buying in the Rue St. Honoré, and which
would very easily have held her, bonnet, cloak, and all, suddenly
exclaimed, “Oh, Harry! do look at that young exquisite who has just come
on board; why he’s the very moral, as the old women say, of the person
we’ve been discussing--Mr. D’Almayne!”
“By Jove, he’s more than the moral!” returned Coverdale, as the
individual thus alluded to advanced towards them bowing and smiling,
“it’s the veritable Horace himself, I vow--talk of the devil----. My
dear fellow, how are you? who’d have thought of seeing you here! You’ve
not turned Custom-house officer, have you? I’ve nothing contraband
about me, except this morning’s _Galignani;_ if you are inclined to make a
seizure of that, you’re very welcome.”
“You’re nearer the mark than you imagine, my dear sir,” was the reply;
“though not exactly a professional _attaché_ to the Customs, I must
own that I am here as an amateur in that capacity--my object being to
facilitate the transmission of a lady’s luggage.”
“Yes?--how interesting! I hope she’s young and pretty,” observed Alice.
“Come Mr. D’Almayne, having let us so far into the secret, it’s no use
to affect the mysterious, so tell us who and where she is.”
“Where she is, perhaps you may be able to inform me, my dear Mrs.
Coverdale,” replied D’Almayne, smoothing his moustaches. “The object of
my search is a young German lady, the Countess Bertha von Rosenthal, to
whom I have promised my friend, the Honourable Mrs. Botherby, to act
as _preux chevalier_. Accordingly I came down by train this morning,
provided with an order from the Board of Customs to the people here to
pass the Countess’s luggage unexamined, and show her every attention
which may facilitate her transit; thence I am to escort her and her
property to Park Lane; by all which ‘double, double, toil and trouble,’
I secure an early introduction to, and confer a favour upon, a young and
lovely heiress.”
“That’s my Countess, as sure as fate!” exclaimed Harry. “She said her
name was Bertha”--and he then related to D’Almayne the circumstances
with which the reader has already been made acquainted. “And,” he
continued in conclusion, as a female figure, leaning on the arms of the
_soubrette_ and Don Whiskerandos, emerged from the ladies’ cabin--“and
here she comes, looking rather poorly still--nothing of the water-witch
about her, at all events. Have you met before, or shall I introduce
you?”
“Do, by all means, _mon cher_; we are total strangers to each other,”
was the reply. And with an injunction to Alice to remain where she was
till he should return, Harry seized D’Almayne’s arm, and hurried him
away. Before two minutes had elapsed, Coverdale returned alone.
“It’s all right,” he said: “but come along; D’Almayne’s order will clear
our luggage also, and we can all get away together.”
Then ensued a grand _scena_ of bustle and confusion, during which,
supported by her husband’s stalwart arm, Alice caught glimpses of
D’Almayne smiling to show his white teeth, and striving vigorously to
enact the part of guardian angel to the rich young heiress.
“That puppy is in his glory now,” observed Coverdale, snappishly; “I
dare say that silly woman will take him at his own price, and believe
in him to any extent to which he may like to lead her--perhaps marry
him after all, and make him Count von Rosenthal: that would suit his
complaint exactly, the fortune-hunting young humbug!”
“My dear Harry, what words!” exclaimed Alice. “You are really quite
savage to-day; I shall be obliged to take Mr. D’Almayne under my
protection, if you go on so.”
“No need to do that, my dear,” returned Harry, his face resuming its
usual bright, kind expression, as his glance fell upon his wife;
“your _protégé_ is quite certain to take the best possible care of
himself--now come along;” and in another five minutes they had left
the vessel and entered a railroad-carriage, in which the Countess and
D’Almayne had already established themselves.
The journey to London was a very agreeable one;--the Countess, having
recovered with marvellous celerity the moment she placed her pretty
little foot on _terra firma_, exerted herself to make up for lost
time, and succeeded so well that D’Almayne, who became more and more
_empressé_ and devoted every moment, determined, if he should be able
to ascertain beyond a doubt that her fortune was as large as it had
been represented, to give up every other speculation, and devote all his
energies to secure the hand and purse of this fascinating foreigner. As
they approached the London Bridge terminus the Countess, turning to her
new guardian, inquired whether it was very far to Park Lane:
“About half an hour’s drive. The carriage will, I trust, be there to
meet this train; though, owing to our having avoided all delay at the
Custom-house, we shall be in town some two hours sooner than the other
steam-boat passengers. However, if we arrive earlier than is expected,
it will only be an agreeable surprise to our kind friend, Mrs.
Botherby.”
“_Mais oui!_” returned the Countess with a look of innocent perplexity;
“and who may be _cette chere_ Madame Bodairebie?”
“Mrs. Botherby, my dear Countess,” returned D’Almayne, who began to
think his charming friend must be slightly insane, “Mrs. Botherby--the
Honourable Mrs. Botherby--is the lady who obtained for me the pleasure
of rendering you this slight service.”
“_Quelle drôle de chose_. I shall not know some Mrs. Bodairebie no
veres,” was the astounding reply.
“But--but--” stammered D’Almayne, as an idea occurred to him
sufficiently alarming to surprise him out of his usual _sang froid_,
“excuse me--but surely you _are_ the Countess Bertha von Rosenthal?”
A peal of silvery laughter was the only reply the unhappy exquisite was
at first able to obtain; but, as soon as she could recover herself, the
mysterious lady began: “_Milles pardons!_ I am so rude to make a laugh
at you, but I am so gay I alvays must laugh ven I see a ridiculous thing
in front of--bah--vot you call before me. _Mon cher Monsieur_, you have,
I know not how, tumbled into a delusion. I am not at all zie Countess
Bertha von Rosenthal, but zie Countess Bertha Hasimoff, _en route_
to stay viz my friend, Lady St. Clare, in Park Lane, London, till my
hosband shall capture zie permission of die Czar to leave Petersburg and
transport himselfs after me.”
Coverdale, Alice, and the Countess Hasimoff, glanced first at D’Almayne,
then at one another, and then--but if they were heartless enough to
laugh consumedly, we will draw a veil over such unfeeling conduct.