St. Barbe was not disappointed in his hopes. It was an evening of
glorious success for him. He had even the honour of sitting for a time
by the side of Mrs. Neuchatel, and being full of good claret, he, as he
phrased it, showed his paces; that is to say, delivered himself of some
sarcastic paradoxes duly blended with fulsome flattery. Later in the
evening, he contrived to be presented both to the ambassador and the
cabinet minister, and treated them as if they were demigods; listened
to them as if with an admiration which he vainly endeavoured to repress;
never spoke except to enforce and illustrate the views which they had
condescended to intimate; successfully conveyed to his excellency that
he was conversing with an enthusiast for his exalted profession; and
to the minister that he had met an ardent sympathiser with his noble
career. The ambassador was not dissatisfied with the impression he had
made on one of the foreign correspondents of the “Chuck-Farthing,” and
the minister flattered himself that both the literary and the graphic
representations of himself in “Scaramouch” might possibly for the future
be mitigated.
“I have done business to-night,” said St. Barbe to Endymion, towards the
close of the evening. “You did not know I had left the old shop? I kept
it close. I could stand it no longer. One has energies, sir, though not
recognised--at least not recognised much,” he added thoughtfully. “But
who knows what may happen? The age of mediocrity is not eternal. You see
this thing offered, and I saw an opening. It has come already. You
saw the big-wigs all talking to me? I shall go to Paris now with some
_eclat_. I shall invent a new profession; the literary diplomatist. The
bore is, I know nothing about foreign politics. My line has been the
other way. Never mind; I will read the ‘Debats’ and the ‘Revue des Deux
Mondes,’ and make out something. Foreign affairs are all the future, and
my views may be as right as anybody else’s; probably more correct, not
so conventional. What a fool I was, Ferrars! I was asked to remain here
to-night and refused! The truth is, I could not stand those powdered
gentlemen, and I should have been under their care. They seem so haughty
and supercilious. And yet I was wrong. I spoke to one of them very
rudely just now, when he was handing coffee, to show I was not afraid,
and he answered me like a seraph. I felt remorse.”
“Well, I have made the acquaintance of Mr. St. Barbe,” said Myra to
Endymion. “Strange as he is, he seemed quite familiar to me, and he was
so full of himself that he never found me out. I hope some day to know
Mr. Trenchard and Mr. Waldershare. Those I look upon as your chief
friends.”
On the following afternoon, Adriana, Myra, and Endymion took a long
walk together in the forest. The green glades in the autumnal woods were
inviting, and sometimes they stood before the vast form of some doddered
oak. The air was fresh and the sun was bright. Adriana was always gay
and happy in the company of her adored Myra, and her happiness and her
gaiety were not diminished by the presence of Myra’s brother. So it was
a lively and pleasant walk.
At the end of a long glade they observed a horseman followed by a groom
approaching them. Endymion was some little way behind, gathering wild
flowers for Adriana. Cantering along, the cavalier soon reached them,
and then he suddenly pulled up his horse. It was Colonel Albert.
“You are walking, ladies? Permit me to join you,” and he was by their
side. “I delight in forests and in green alleys,” said Colonel Albert.
“Two wandering nymphs make the scene perfect.”
“We are not alone,” said Adriana, “but our guardian is picking some wild
flowers for us, which we fancied. I think it is time to return. You are
going to Hainault, I believe, Colonel Albert, so we can all walk home
together.”
So they turned, and Endymion with his graceful offering in a moment met
them. Full of his successful quest, he offered with eager triumph the
flowers to Adriana, without casting a glance at her new companion.
“Beautiful!” exclaimed Adriana, and she stopped to admire and arrange
them. “See, dear Myra, is not this lovely? How superior to anything in
our glass-houses!”
Myra took the flower and examined it. Colonel Albert, who was silent,
was watching all this time Endymion with intentness, who now looked
up and encountered the gaze of the new comer. Their eyes met, their
countenances were agitated, they seemed perplexed, and then it seemed
that at the same time both extended their hands.
“It is a long time since we met,” said Colonel Albert, and he retained
the hand of Endymion with affection. But Endymion, who was apparently
much moved, said nothing, or rather only murmured an echo to the remarks
of his new friend. And then they all walked on, but Myra fell a little
back and made a signal to Endymion to join her.
“You never told me, darling, that you knew Colonel Albert.”
“Colonel Albert!” said Endymion, looking amazed, and then he added, “Who
is Colonel Albert?”
“That gentleman before us,” said Myra.
“That is the Count of Otranto, whose fag I was at Eton.”
“The Count of Otranto!”