THE BLIND BOY
THE GRUB BECOMES A BUTTERFLY--FAREWELL AND HOW D’YE DO--NOT
WHAT WAS EXPECTED--THE GENERAL’S HOBBY--BLANCHE’S
BIRTHDAY--FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS--“GIVE YOU JOY”--A COUNTRY
DINNER-PARTY--TURNING THE TABLES--“THE COQUETTE”
Meanwhile the eventful Friday has arrived which has promoted “Cousin
Charlie” to the rank of manhood. The _Gazette_ of that day has
announced the appointment of “Charles Kettering, Gentleman, to be
Cornet in the 20th Lancers, vice Slack, who retires,” and the young
one, who has been cultivating the down on his upper lip for months, in
anticipation of this triumph, turns up those ends, of which there is
scarcely enough to take hold, and revels in the consciousness that he
is a boy no longer, but an officer, a cavalry officer, and a
gentleman. Old Nobottle, whom the pupil has attached to himself as an
imaginative boy often does a sober old gentleman, is of the same mind,
and has confided to Mr. Hardingstone his opinion of Charlie, and the
bright deeds he expects from him. “The lad has all the makings of a
soldier, sir,” said the clergyman; “the cheerful spirits, the gallant
bearing, the love of action, and the chivalrous vanity--half
courageous, half coxcombical--which form the military character; and
if he has a chance, he will distinguish himself. _If_ he has a chance,
do I say? he’ll make himself a chance, sir; the boy is cut out for a
recruit, and he’ll learn his drill and know his men, and keep his
troop-accounts smarter than any of ’em.” Nobottle was waxing
enthusiastic, as the old recollections stole over him, and he saw, in
fancy, a certain young artillery officer, gay amongst the gayest, and
brave amongst the bravest, consulted by his seniors for his science
and professional knowledge, and thanked in general orders for “his
distinguished gallantry” in more than one decisive action. How
different from the slouching, slovenly old man, in yesterday’s white
neckcloth, who may now be seen budding his roses, poking about his
parish, and stuffing stupid young gentlemen with as much learning as
shall enable them to pass their dreaded examinations. Poor old
Nobottle, you _would_ marry for love, you _would_ sacrifice your
profession and your commission, your prospects and your all, for the
red-nosed lady, then, to do her justice, a very pretty girl, who now
occupies the top of your table. Like Antony, you were “all for love
and the world well lost,” and, after a time, you found that the
exchange was against you: what you took for gold turned out to be
dross,--that which was honey in the mouth became bitter as gall in the
digestion; in short, you discovered Mrs. N. was a failure, and that
you did not care two pins for each other. Then came poverty and
recrimination and the gnawing remorse of chances thrown away, that
could not possibly recur again. Fortunately for you, a classical
education and Church interest enabled you to take orders and get a
living, so you work on, contentedly enough, now that your sensations
are deadened and yourself half torpid; and although, when your better
feelings obtain the mastery, you cannot but acknowledge the
superiority of the present warfare in which you are engaged over that
in which you spent your gaudy youth, yet, ever and anon, that foolish
old heart still pines for the marshalling of men and the tramp of
steeds, “the plumed troop and the big wars, that make ambition
virtue.”
Hardingstone breakfasted at the rectory on the morning of Charlie’s
departure; he was to drive him to the station, and our young friend
must indubitably have been late for the train, had he not been
rescued, by a man of decision, from the prolonged farewells of the
inconsolables he left behind. Binks, the butler, was overwhelmed by
sorrow and strong beer; Tim, the tea-boy, who had never before seen a
half-sovereign, sobbed aloud; the maids, on whom Charlie’s good looks
had made an impression proportionable to the softness of each
damsel’s heart, laughed and wept by turns; whilst Mrs. Nobottle,
generally a lady of austere and inflexible disposition, weakened the
very tea which she was pouring out for breakfast with her tears, and,
finally, embraced Charlie with hysterical affection, and a nose redder
than ever. The good rector took him aside into his study, and blessed
him as a father blesses a son. “You have never given me a moment’s
uneasiness, my dear boy, since you came here,” said the old man, with
a trembling voice; “you have been a credit to me as a pupil, and a
comfort as a friend; and now, perhaps, I shall never see you again.
But you won’t forget your old pedagogue, and if ever you are in
difficulties, if ever you are in distress, remember there is a home
here to which you may always apply for advice and assistance. God be
with you, my boy, in the temptations of a barrack, as, if it should be
your lot, in the perilous excitement of a battle. Do your duty
wherever you are, and think, sometimes, of old Nobottle.”
Why was it Charlie’s cigar would _not_ light, as he was borne away on
the wheels of Frank Hardingstone’s dog-cart? The tinder was quite
wet, though there was not a drop of rain in the sky, and he turned
away his head from his companion, and bent sedulously over the
refractory tobacco. Could it be that Charlie was crying? ’Tis not
improbable. Despite his recently-acquired manhood, he had a soft,
affectionate heart, and if it now gave way, and came unbidden to his
eyes, Frank liked him all the better for it.
And as he was whirled along on the London and North-Western, how the
young soldier’s thoughts ran riot in the future. Would he have changed
places with any dignitary in the world, monarch, prince, or peer, or
even with the heretofore much-admired Frank Hardingstone? Not he. None
of these held a commission in the 20th Lancers; and were to be pitied,
if not despised, accordingly. What a lot was his! Two months’ leave at
least, and at his time of life two months is an age, to be spent in
the gaieties of Newton-Hollows, and the attenuation of Haphazard,
Hyacinth, and Mayfly, the mettle of which very excellent steeds Master
Charlie had fully resolved to prove. All the delights of Bubbleton
and the county gaieties, with the companionship of Blanche, that more
than sister, without whom, from his earliest boyhood, no enjoyment
could be half enjoyed. And then the flattering pride she would feel in
her officer-cousin (Charlie felt for his moustaches so perseveringly,
that a short-sighted fellow-traveller thought he had a sore lip), and
the request he should be in amongst the young ladies of the
neighbourhood, with a romantic conviction that love was not for him,
that “the sword was the soldier’s bride,” etc. Then the dreamer looked
forward into the vistas of the future; the parade, the bivouac, and
the charge; night-watches in a savage country--for the 20th were even
then in Kaffirland--the trumpet alarum, the pawing troop-horses, the
death-shock and the glittering blade; a certain cornet hurraing in the
van, the admiration of brother officers, and the veteran colonel’s
applause; a _Gazette_ promotion and honourable mention in dispatches;
Uncle Baldwin’s uproarious glee at home; and Blanche’s quiet smile.
Who would not be a boy again? Yet not with the stipulation we hear so
often urged, of knowing as much as we do now. That knowledge would
destroy it all. No, let us have boyhood once more, with its vigorous
credulity and its impossible romance, with that glorious ignorance
which turns everything to gold, that sanguine temperament which sheds
its rosy hues even over the bleak landscape of future old age. “Poor
lad! how green he is,” says worldly experience, with a sneer of
affected pity at those raptures it would give its very existence to
feel again. “Happy fellow; he’s a boy still!” says good-natured
philosophy with a smile, half saddened at the thoughts of the coming
clouds, which shall too surely darken that sunny horizon. But each has
been through the crucible, each recognises that sparkle of the virgin
gold which shall never again appear on the dead surface of the metal,
beaten and stamped and fabricated into a mere conventional coin. The
train whizzes on, the early evening sets in, tired post-horses grope
their way up the dark avenue, wheels are heard grinding round the
gravel sweep before the house, and the expected guest arrives at
Newton-Hallows.
“Goodness! Charlie, how you _have_ been smoking,” exclaims Blanche,
after their first affectionate greeting, while she shrinks a little
from the cousinly embrace somewhat redolent of tobacco; “and how
you’re grown, dear--I suppose you don’t like to be told you are grown
now--and moustaches, I declare,” she adds, bursting out laughing, as
she catches Charlie’s budding honours _en profil_; “’pon my word
they’re a great improvement.” Charlie winced a little. There is always
a degree of awkwardness even amongst the nearest and dearest, when
people meet after a long absence, and the less artificial the
character, the more it betrays itself; but Blanche was in great
spirits and rattled on, till the General made his appearance, bustling
in perfectly radiant with hospitality.
“Glad to see ye, my lad--glad to see ye; have been expecting ye this
half-hour--trains always late--and always _will_ be till they hang a
director--I’ve hanged many a man for less, myself, ‘up the country.’
Fact, Blanche, I assure you. You’ll have lots of time to dress,” he
observed, glancing at the clock’s white face shining in the
fire-light--and adding, with a playful dig of his fingers into
Charlie’s lean ribs, “We dine in half-an-hour, _temps militaire_, you
dog! We must teach you that punctuality and good commissariat are the
two first essentials for a soldier.” So the General rang a peal for
hand candles that might have brought a house down.
And Charlie was well acquainted with all the inmates of Newton-Hollows
save Mrs. Delaval. Of her he had often heard Blanche speak as the most
delightful of companions, and indulgent of governesses, but he had
never set eyes on her in person; so as he effected his tie before the
glass, and drew his fingers over those precious moustaches to discover
if change of air had already influenced their growth, he began to
speculate on the character and appearance of the lady who was to
complete their family party. “A middle-aged woman,” thought
Charlie--for Blanche, on whom some ten years of seniority made a great
impression, had always described her as such--“forty, or
thereabouts--stout, jolly-looking and good-humoured, I’ll be bound--I
know I shall like her--wears a cap, I’ve no doubt, and a front, too,
most probably--sits very upright, and talks like a book, till one
knows her well--spectacles, I shouldn’t wonder (it’s no use making
much of a tie for _her_)--pats Blanche on the shoulder when she gives
her precedence, and keeps her hands in black lace mittens, I’ll bet a
hundred!” With which mental wager Master Charlie blew his candles out,
and swaggered down-stairs, feeling in his light evening costume, as
indeed he looked, well-made, well-dressed, and extremely like a
gentleman.
Mischievous Blanche was enchanted at the obvious start of astonishment
with which her introduction was received by her cousin--“Mr.
Kettering, Mrs. Delaval.” Charlie looked positively dismayed. Was this
the comfortable, round-about, good-humoured body he had expected to
see?--was that tall, stately figure, dressed in the most perfect
taste, with an air of more than high-breeding, almost of command, such
as duchesses may be much admired without possessing--was that the
dowdy middle-aged governess?--were those long, deep-set eyes, the orbs
that should have glared at him through spectacles, and would black
lace mittens have been an improvement on those white taper hands,
beautiful in their perfect symmetry without a single ornament? Charlie
bowed low to conceal the blush that overspread his countenance. The
boy was completely taken aback, and, when he led her in to dinner, and
heard those thrilling tones murmuring in his ear, the spell, we may be
sure, lost none of its power. “She is beautiful,” thought Charlie,
“and nearly as tall as I am;” and he was pleased to recollect that
Blanche had thought him grown. Ladies, we opine, are not so
impressionable as men--at least they do not allow themselves to appear
so. Either they are more cautious in their judgments, which we have
heard denied by those who plume themselves on knowledge of the sex, or
their hypocrisy is more perfect; certainly a young lady’s education is
based upon principles of the most frigid reserve, and her decorous
bearing, we believe, is never laid aside, even in tea-rooms,
conservatories, shaded walks, and other such resorts, fatal to the
equanimity of masculine understanding; therefore Mary Delaval did by
no means lose her presence of mind on being introduced to the young
gentleman, of whose deeds and sentiments she had heard so much. Woman
as she was, she could not but be gratified at the evident admiration
her appearance created in this new acquaintance, and truth to speak,
“Cousin Charlie” was a youth whose allegiance few female hearts would
have entirely scorned to possess; yet there was no occasion to tell
the young gentleman as much to his face.
A very good-looking face it was too, with its wide, intellectual brow,
round which the brown silky hair waved in such becoming clusters--its
perfect oval and delicate high-bred features, if they had a fault, too
girlish in their soft, winning expression--in fact, he was as like
Blanche as possible; and had his moustaches been shaved, could he
indeed have submitted to the sacrifice, his stature lowered, and a
bonnet and shawl put on, he might well have passed for his pretty
cousin. There was nothing effeminate though about Charlie, save his
countenance and his smile. That slender, graceful figure was lithe and
wiry as the panther’s--those symmetrical limbs could toil, those
little feet could walk and run, after a Hercules would have been blown
and overpowered; and when standing up to his wicket, rousing a horse,
or putting him at a fence, there was a game sparkle in his eye that,
to use Frank Hardingstone’s expression, “meant mischief.” Some of
these good-looking young gentlemen are “ugly customers” enough when
their blood is up, and Cousin Charlie, like the rest, had quite as
much “devil” in his composition as was good for him. The “pretty page”
only wanted a few years over his head, a little more beard upon his
lip, to be a perfect Paladin.
But the spell went on working the whole of dinner-time; in vain the
General told his most wondrous anecdotes, scolded his servants at
intervals, and pressed his good cheer on the little party--Charlie
_could_ not get over his astonishment. Mrs. Delaval sat by him,
looking like a queen, and talked in her own peculiarly winning voice
and impressive manner, just enough to make him wish for more. She was
one of those women who, speaking but little, seem always to mean more
than they say, and on whom conscious mental superiority, and the calm
subdued air worn by those who have known affliction, confer a certain
mysterious charm, which makes fearful havoc in a young gentleman’s
heart. There is nothing enslaves a boy so completely as a spice of
romance. An elderly Strephon will go on his knees to a romping
schoolgirl, and the more hoydenish and unsophisticated the object, the
more will the old reprobate adore her; but beardless youth loves to
own superiority where it worships, loves to invest its idol with the
fabulous attributes that compose its own ideal; and of all the
_liaisons_, honourable and otherwise, that have bound their votaries
in silken fetters, those have been the most fatal, and the most
invincible, which have dated their existence from an earnest boyish
heart’s first devotion to a woman some years his senior, of whom the
good-natured world says, “To be sure she _is_ handsome, but Lor’!
she’s old enough to be his mother!”
Not that Charlie was as far gone as this: on the contrary, his was an
imaginative poetical disposition, easily scorched enough, but almost
incapable of being thoroughly _done brown_. Of such men, ladies, we
would warn you to beware; the very temperament that clothes you in all
the winning attributes of its own ideal can the most easily transfer
those fancied attractions to a rival, inasmuch as the charm is not so
much yours as his, exists not in your sweet face, but in his heated
and inconstant brain. No, the real prize, depend upon it, is a
sensible, phlegmatic, matter-of-fact gentleman, anything but “wax to
receive,” yet if you can succeed in making an impression, most
assuredly “marble to retain.” Such a captive clings to his affections
as to his prejudices, and is properly subjected into a tame and
willing Benedict in half the time it takes to guess at the intentions
of the faithless rover, offering on a dozen shrines an adoration that,
however brilliant, is
“Like light straw on fire,
A fierce but fading flame.”
Again was Charlie struck, as he swaggered off to open the door for the
ladies, by the graceful movements of Mary’s majestic figure. Again the
half-bow with which, as she passed out, she acknowledged his courtesy,
made a pleasing impression on the boy’s fancy; and as he lingered for
a moment, ere he shut out the rustle of their dresses and the pleasant
tones of the women’s voices, and returned to the arm-chair and the
claret decanter, he could not help hoping “Uncle Baldwin” would be a
little less profuse than usual in his hospitality, and a little less
prolix in his narrative.
“The young ones drink no wine at all now-a-days,” remarked the
General, as Charlie a second time passed the bottle untouched, and his
host filled his glass to the brim. “Fault on the right side, my lad;
we used to drink too hard formerly--why, bless you, when I encountered
Tortoise, of the Queen’s, at the mess of the Kedjeree Irregulars, we
sat for seven hours and a half to see one another out, and the two
black fellows fainted who were ‘told off’ to bring in claret and pale
ale as they were wanted. Tortoise recovered himself wonderfully about
the eighth bottle; and if he hadn’t been obliged to be careful on
account of a wound in his head, we should have been there now. Drunk!
how d’ye mean? Not the least--fact, I assure you.”
Charlie got up and fidgeted about, with his back to the fire, but the
General would not let him off so easily.
“Show you the farm to-morrow, my boy, you’ll be delighted with my
pigs--Neapolitans every hair of ’em. What? no man alive shall presume
to tell me they’re not the best breed! And I’ll tell you what,
Charlie, I’ve secured the handsomest short-horned bull in this
country. Two hundred, you dog!--dirt cheap--and if you’re fond of
stock you’ll be charmed with him. Poultry too--real Cochin
Chinese--got three prizes at the last show; average height two feet
seven inches--rare beauties. Hens and chickens in knee-breeches, and a
cock in trunk-hose!” With which conclusion the chuckling old warrior
permitted Charlie to wheedle him off into the drawing-room, whither
they entered to find the ladies, as usual, absorbed in worsted work
and sunk in solemn silence.
Pleasantly the evenings always passed at Newton-Hollows even with a
small party like the present. Music, cards, cockamaroo, and the
eternal racing game, of course, which gives gentle woman an insight
into the two fiercest pleasures of the other sex--horse-racing and
gambling--and introduces into the drawing-room the slang and confusion
of the betting-ring and the hazard-table, served to while away the
time. And though the General was even more diffuse than was his wont
in personal recollections and autobiography, Blanche scarcely
listened, so absorbed was she in her delight at having got Cousin
Charlie back again, whilst that young gentleman and Mary Delaval were
progressing rapidly in each other’s good opinion, and exclaiming, in
their respective minds, “What an agreeable person! and so _different
from what I expected_!”
Blanche’s birthday was always kept as a period of great rejoicing at
Newton-Hollows, and a very short time after Charlie’s arrival that
auspicious anniversary was ushered in, as usual, by the General’s
appearance at the breakfast-table bearing a cotton-stuffed white and
green card-box, highly suggestive of Storr and Mortimer. This was
quietly placed by the side of Blanche’s plate, and when the young lady
made her appearance, and exclaimed, “Dear, kind Uncle Baldwin, what a
love of a bracelet!” though we might have envied, we could not have
grudged the General the grateful kiss bestowed on him by his
affectionate niece. Uncle Baldwin’s mind, however, was intent upon
weightier matters than jewels and “happy returns.” He was to celebrate
the festival with a dinner-party; and whilst he had invited several of
the _élite_ of Bubbleton to celebrate his niece’s birthday, he was
anxious so to dispose and welcome his guests as that none should have
reason to consider himself especially favoured or encouraged in the
advances which all were too eager to make towards the good graces of
the heiress; therefore the General held a solemn conclave, as was his
wont, consisting of himself and Mrs. Delaval, who on such occasions
was requested, with great pomp, to accompany him to his study, an
apartment adorned with every description of weapon used in civilised
or savage warfare, and to take her seat in his own huge arm-chair,
while he walked up and down the room, and held forth in his usual
abrupt and discursive manner.
“I have such confidence in your sound sense, Mrs. Delaval,” said he,
looking very insinuating, and pausing for an instant in his short,
quick strides, “that I always consult you in my difficulties.” This
was said piano, but the forte addition immediately succeeded.
“Reserving to myself the option of acting, for dictation I cannot
submit to, even from you, my dear Mrs. Delaval. You are aware, I
believe, of my intentions regarding Blanche. _Are_ you aware of my
intentions?” he interrupted himself to demand in a voice of thunder.
Mary, who was used to his manner, answered calmly, “that she was not;”
and the General proceeded, in a gentle and confidential tone--
“The fact is, my dear madam, I have set my heart on a family
arrangement, which I mention to you as a personal friend, and a lady
for whom I entertain the greatest regard.”
Mary bowed again, and could hardly suppress a smile at the manner in
which the old gentleman assured her of his consideration.
“Well, though an unmarried man _as yet_, I am keenly alive to the
advantages of the married state. I never told you, I think, Mrs.
Delaval, of an adventure that befell me at Cheltenham--never mind
now--but, believe me, I am no stranger to those tender feelings, Mrs.
Delaval, to which we men of the sword--ah, ah--are _infernally_
addicted. What? Well, ma’am, there’s my niece now, they all want to
marry her. Every scoundrel within fifty miles wants to lead Blanche to
the altar. Zounds, I’ll weather ’em, the villains--excuse me, Mrs.
Delaval, but to proceed--I am extremely anxious to confide my
intentions to you, as I hope I may calculate on your assistance. My
nephew, Charlie, to be explicit, is the----Holloa! you woman, come
back--come back, I say; you’re carrying off the wrong coop. The dolt
has mistaken my orders about the Cochin Chinas. In the afternoon, if
you please, Mrs. Delaval, we’ll discuss the point more at leisure.”
And the General bolted through the study window, and was presently
heard in violent altercation with the lady who presided over his
poultry yard.
Though not very explicit, Mary had gathered enough from the General’s
confidences to conclude he was anxious to arrange a marriage
eventually between the two cousins. Well! what was that to her? He
certainly was a very taking boy, handsome, gentle, and high-spirited;
nothing could be nicer for Blanche. And she was so fond of him; what a
charming couple they would make. “I am so glad,” thought Mary,
wondering when she might congratulate the bride-elect; “so _very_
glad; dear, how glad I am.” Why should Mary have taken such pains to
assure herself how glad she was? Why did she watch the _charming
couple_ with an interest she had never felt before, as she joined them
on their return from their morning walk? A walk, the object of which
(tell it not in Bubbleton) had been to pursue the sport of rat-hunting
in a certain barn, with a favourite terrier of Charlie’s, a sport that
Blanche was persuaded to patronise, notwithstanding her horror both of
the game and the mode of its destruction, by her affection for
Charlie, and her childish habit of joining him in all his pastimes and
amusements. How alike they were, with their delicate skin, their deep
blue eyes sparkling with exercise and excitement, and their waving
brown hair clustering round each flushed and smiling face. How alike
they were, and what a nice couple they certainly did make. And Mary
sighed, as again she thought how _very_ glad she was!
No further interview took place that day with the General, whose many
avocations scarcely permitted him time for the elaborate toilette
which, partly out of respect for Blanche’s birthday, partly in
consideration of his dinner-party, he thought it advisable to perform.
He certainly did take more pains with himself than usual; and as he
fixed an order or two in an unassuming place under the breast-lap of
his coat, a ray of satisfaction shot through his heart that beat
beneath those clasps and medals, while the old gentleman thought aloud
as usual, “Not such a bad arrangement after all! She certainly did
look very queer when I talked of Blanche’s marrying. No doubt she’s
smitten--just like the one at Cheltenham. Bounce! Bounce! you’ve a
deal to answer for. If ever I _do_, it’s time I thought of it; don’t
improve by keeping. ’Pon my life, I might go farther and fare worse.
Zounds! there’s the door-bell.”
“Lady Mount Helicon!” “Captain Lacquers!” “Sir Ascot Uppercrust!” and
a whole host of second-rate grandees were successively announced and
ushered into the brilliantly-lighted drawing-room, to be received by
the General with the _empressement_ of a bachelor, who is host and
hostess all in one. Blanche was too young and shy to take much part in
the proceedings. Charlie, of course, was late; but Bounce was in his
glory, bowing to the ladies, joking with the gentlemen, and telling
anecdotes to all, till the announcement of “dinner” started him across
the hall, convoying stately Lady Mount Helicon, and well-nigh lost
amidst the lappets and flounces of that magnificent dame, who would
not have been here at all unless she had owned an unmarried son, and a
jointure entirely out of proportion to the present lord’s finances.
The rest of the party paired off after their illustrious leaders. Sir
Ascot Uppercrust took Blanche, who was already lost in surprise at his
taciturnity. Miss Deeper skilfully contrived to entangle young
Cashley. Kate Carmine felt her heart beat happily against the arm of
Captain Laurel, of the Bays. Mr. Gotobed made a dash at Mary Delaval,
but “Cousin Charlie,” who that instant entered the room, quietly
interposed and led her off to the dining-room, leaving a heterogeneous
mass of unappropriated gentlemen to scramble in as they best might.
Mary was grateful for the rescue; she was glad to be near somebody she
knew. With a flush of shame and anger she had recognised Captain
Lacquers, though that worthy dipped his moustaches into his soup in
happy unconsciousness that the well-dressed aristocratic woman
opposite him was the same indignant damsel who would once have knocked
him down if she could. With all her self-possession, Mary was not
blind to the fact that her position was anomalous and ill-defined. She
had found that out already by the condescending manner in which Lady
Mount Helicon had bowed to her in the drawing-room. With the men she
was “that handsome lady-like Mrs. Delaval”; but with the women (your
true aristocrats after all) she was _only the governess_.
Dinner progressed in the weary protracted manner that the meal does
when it is one of state and ceremony. The guests did not know each
other well, and were dreadfully afraid (as is too often the case in
good society) of being over civil or attentive to those whose position
they had not exactly ascertained. It argues ill for one’s stock of
politeness when one cannot afford to part with ever so small a
portion, save in expectation of a return. So Lady Mount Helicon was
patronising and affable, and looked at everything, including the
company, through her eye-glass, but was very distant notwithstanding;
and the gentlemen hemmed and hawed, and voted the weather
detestable--aw! and the sport with the hounds--aw--very moderate--aw
(it was d----d bad after the ladies went away); and their fair
companions lisped and simpered, and ate very little, and drank as much
champagne as appearances would allow; and everybody felt it an
unspeakable relief when Blanche, drawing on her gloves, and blushing
crimson at the responsibility, made “the move” to Lady Mount Helicon;
and the muslins all sailed away, with their gloves and fans and
pocket-handkerchiefs rescued from under the table by their red-faced
cavaliers.
When they met again over tea and coffee, things had thawed
considerably. The most solemn high-breeding is not proof against an
abundance of claret, and the General’s hospitality was worthy of his
cellar. The men had found each other out to be “deuced good sort of
fellows,” and had moreover discovered mutual tastes and mutual
acquaintances, which much cemented their friendships. To be sure,
there was at first a partial reaction consequent upon the difficulty
of breaking through a formal circle of ladies; but this feat
accomplished, and the gentlemen grouped about cup-in-hand in becoming
attitudes, and disposed to look favourably on the world in general,
even Sir Ascot Uppercrust laid aside his usual reserve, and asked
Blanche whether she had seen anything of a round game called “turning
the tables,” which the juvenile philosopher further confided to her he
opined to be “infernal humbug.” In an instant every tongue was
unloosed. Drop a subject like this amongst a well-dressed crowd and it
is like a cracker--here and there it bounces, and fizzes, and
explodes, amongst serious exclamations and hearty laughter. Lady
Mount Helicon thought it wicked--Kate Carmine thought it “fun”--Miss
Deeper voted it charming--Lacquers considered it “aw--deuced
scientific--aw”--and the General in high glee exclaimed, “I vote we
try.” No sooner said than done; a round mahogany table was deprived of
its covering--a circle formed--hands joined with more energy than was
absolutely indispensable--white arms laid in juxtaposition to dark
coat sleeves--long ringlets bent over the polished mirror-like
surface; and amidst laughing entreaties to be grave, and voluble
injunctions to be silent, the incantation progressed, we are bound in
truth to state, with no definite result. Perhaps the spell was broken
by the bursts of laughter that greeted the pompous butler’s face of
consternation, as, entering the room to remove cups, etc., he found
the smartly-dressed party so strangely employed. Well-bred servants
never betray the slightest marks of emotion or astonishment, though we
fancy their self-command is sometimes severely put to the test. But
“turning the tables” was too much for the major-domo, and he was
obliged to make his exit in a paroxysm of unseemly mirth. Then came a
round game of forfeits--then music--then dancing, the ladies playing
by turns--then somebody found out the night was pouring with rain, and
the General declared it would be sure to clear in an hour or so, and
nobody must go away till after supper. So supper appeared and more
champagne; and even Lady Mount Helicon was ready to do anything to
oblige, so, being a fine musician, she volunteered to play “The
Coquette.” A chair was placed in the middle of the room, and everybody
danced, the General and all. Blanche laughed till she cried; and there
was but one feeling of regret when the announcement of her ladyship’s
carriage broke up the party, just at the moment when, in accordance
with the rules of the dance, Charlie sank upon one knee before the
Coquette’s chair, occupied by stately Mrs. Delaval. He looked like a
young knight prostrate before the Queen of Beauty.
When Blanche laid her head upon her pillow, she thought over all her
uncle’s guests in succession, and decided not one was to be compared
to Cousin Charlie; and none was half so agreeable as Mr. Hardingstone.
Mary Delaval, on the contrary, scarcely gave a thought to Captain
Lacquers, Sir Ascot Uppercrust, Captain Laurel, or even Mr. Gotobed,
who had paid her great attention. No, even as she closed her eyes she
was haunted by a young upturned face, with fair open brow and a
slight moustache--do what she would, she saw it still. She was,
besides, a little distracted about the loss of one of her gloves--a
white one, with velvet round the wrist--what could have become of it?