AN UNEXPECTED HONOUR.
A dapper man-servant (hired) next came upon the scene, and his
astonishment was no less profound, though more skilfully concealed.
He looked politely at Madeline, and said in his most proper and
parrot-like tone of voice, “Who shall I say, ma’am?”
“Say,” returned the young lady, giving her fringe a little pat, her
chiffon frill a little twitch, and smiling slightly all the time, “say
Miss West.”
“Miss West!” bawled the waiter, flinging the door open with a violence
that nearly tore it from its ancient hinges, and then stood back, eager
to witness the effect of his announcement on the company.
Madeline was scarcely less surprised than they were. She beheld
a round table, decorated with flowers, wax candles, and coloured
shades--really, a most civilized-looking little table--the room well
lit up, its shabbiness concealed by the tender rose-coloured light,
looking quite venerable and respectable, and, seated at table, Laurence
and two other men--one of whom she knew! Horror! This was a great deal
more than she had bargained for. She had never dreamt of dropping in
thus upon a cosy little bachelor party!
And who shall paint their amazement? They were talking away, just
between the soup and fish, and Wynne had been regretting the absence
through illness of Mr. Jessop, whose vacant place awaited him. There
had been a little professional discussion, an allusion to a big race,
a society scandal, a commendation of some excellent dry sherry, and
they were all most genial and comfortable, when the door was flung wide
open, and “Miss West” was announced in a stentorian voice.
And who the deuce was Miss West? thought the two guests. All looked up
and beheld a lady--a young lady--in full evening dress, and literally
blazing with diamonds, standing rather doubtfully just within the
doorway. Laurence Wynne felt as if he was turned to stone.
“_Madeline!_” he ejaculated under his breath. Madeline, looking like a
fairy princess--but surely Madeline gone mad?
What could he say--what could he do? He might cut the Gordian knot
by explaining, “Gentlemen, this beautiful girl, who has dropped, as
it were, from the skies, is Mrs. Wynne--my wife”--if she had not
heralded her entrance by her maiden name. He might have done this,
but now, as matters stood, his lips were sealed. He must take some
step immediately. His friends and the waiter were staring at him
expectantly. They evidently thought that there had been a mistake.
“Miss West!” he said, suddenly pushing back his chair and rising. “This
is, indeed, an unexpected honour. What can I do for you? There is
nothing wrong at--at home, I hope?” now approaching her, and shaking
hands.
“No, no,” trying to speak calmly, and casting wildly about for some
plausible excuse. “I thought I should have found you alone.” Then,
colouring violently, “I--I mean disengaged, and I wished to consult you
on some--some family business.”
“If you will honour me by taking a seat at table, and partaking of
our--er--bachelor fare, Miss West, I shall be entirely at your service
afterwards,” he said, conducting her to a vacant place opposite his
own. “May I introduce my friend Mr. Treherne”--(Mr. Treherne had seen
her on the stairs, and hugged himself as he noted the fact)--“and Mr.
Fitzherbert?”
“I think Miss West and I have met before,” said Mr. Fitzherbert,
smiling and bowing as he rose simultaneously with Mr. Treherne, and
then subsided into his chair. This was nuts. The beautiful Miss West
coming quite on the sly to Wynne’s chambers--and Wynne such a staid
and proper Johnnie too!--and finding, to her horror, company! It was
altogether most peculiar.
However, Mr. Fitzherbert had his wits about him, and was full of
society small-talk and presence of mind, and soon he and the lady were
conversing vivaciously of mutual friends, and the awkward edge of this
extraordinary incident had been blunted.
Soup was brought back for Miss West. The waiter waited as a waiter
should wait. The dinner was well chosen and excellent (supplied from a
neighbouring restaurant).
Meanwhile the good laundress watched the whole proceedings with her eye
glued to a crack in the door, and suffered no look or gesture to escape
her. She owed this to the whole of her acquaintance, for surely such a
sight as she enjoyed was rarely seen. Three young bachelors, in evening
dress, sitting by themselves so nice and proper, and then a grand young
lady, in a beautiful dress and jewels, walking in unasked, and taking a
place among them! What could it mean? It was surely not the thing for a
lady--and she looked that--to be coming alone, and on foot, to chambers
in the Temple, and especially to see Mr. Wynne, of all the quiet,
reasonable-like men, who never looked at a woman! Oh, it beat all, that
it did! And how grave he seemed, though he was talking away pleasant
enough.
Thus we leave her, with her eye to the door, thoroughly enjoying
herself for once in her life.
It was more than could be said for Laurence Wynne. Never had he felt
so uncomfortable. What would Fitzherbert and Treherne think of Miss
West? If the story got round the clubs, Madeline’s reputation was at
the mercy of every old woman--ay, and old man--in London. What on earth
did she mean by descending on him at this hour, and dressed as if she
was going to the opera?
He stole a glance across the candle-shades. She was conversing quite at
her ease with Mr. Treherne, who was looking all the admiration he no
doubt felt--and no doubt Madeline was beautiful.
What a complexion, what eyes, what clean-cut features, what a radiant,
vivacious expression--and all set off by youth, a good milliner, and
diamonds.
“Who would dream,” he said, as he slowly withdrew his gaze, “that she
was the same Madeline who, two years previously, had been Miss Selina’s
slave, and had attracted his notice and commiseration in her darned
and shabby black gown? or that she was the same Madeline who had pawned
the very dress off her back not twelve months ago? She could not be the
same.” He looked at her again. The idea of such a thing was grotesque
nonsense. She, this brilliant being who had suddenly presented herself
at his humble entertainment, had surely never been his hard-working,
poverty-stricken, struggling wife. If she _had_, he could not realize
the fact. This magnificent-looking young lady was a stranger to him.
This was a woman--or girl--of the world.
There she sat, this charming, unchaperoned young person, dining with
three bachelors in the Temple with as much _sangfroid_ as if it were a
most conventional and everyday occurrence.
The truth was that, the first shock recovered, the fair guest was
actually enjoying herself extremely. She was extraordinarily adaptable.
For one thing, she liked the _risqué_, unusual situation--her two
amusing, clever, mystified supporters on either hand, who were doing
their utmost to take it all as a matter of course, and to be unusually
agreeable and entertaining. And she liked looking across the table at
her husband’s handsome, gloomy face, and remarked to herself that this
was positively their first dinner-party, and that it should not be her
fault if it did not go off well!
Laurence’s silence and gravity implied that it was all very wrong; but
it was, nevertheless, delightful. She felt quite carried out of herself
with excitement and high spirits, and more than once the idea flashed
across her mind--
“Shall I tell--shall I tell? Oh, it would be worth anything to see
their faces when they hear that I am Mrs. Wynne!”
But Mrs. Wynne was not very good at telling, as we know, and, without
any exhausting effort of self-restraint, she was enabled to hold her
peace.