The change at the Honourable Misses Dymcox's home was something so
startling that Ruth was almost bewildered. Even on the following
morning at breakfast, after Joseph had brought in the urn, the
alteration had begun.
The wine of the last night's party might have been fancied to be still
having its influence, the ladies were so much less austere.
"I'm very, very glad you enjoyed yourselves so much, my dears," said the
Honourable Philippa, smiling.
"You feel none the worse, my loves?" said the Honourable Isabella.
"Oh no, aunt," said Clotilde; "I feel better. Don't you, Marie?"
"Oh yes," said that young lady; "it was a delightful party."
"It was, my dears," said the Honourable Philippa, letting the water from
the urn run over the top of the teapot. "Bless me, how careless! I am
glad I consented to allow you both to go, for you see how necessary to a
proper state of existence a due amount of money becomes."
"How admirably dear Lady Littletown manages her income!" said the
Honourable Isabella.
"Yes, and how needful a good income really is! Yes, it was a very
_distingue_ dinner. Marie, my child, Lord Henry Moorpark is most
gentlemanly, is he not?"
"Oh yes, I like him very much," replied Marie, with animation, and a
slight flush in her cheek, for she had been suddenly appealed to when
thinking about Marcus Glen, and the way he had glanced at her more than
once. "He seems a very nice old gentleman."
"Hem!" coughed the Honourable Philippa austerely. "I do not think him
old."
"Certainly not!" exclaimed the Honourable Isabella; "hardly elderly."
"Decidedly no," continued the Honourable Philippa. "By the way,
Clotilde, my love, you found Mr Elbraham very pleasant?"
"Oh yes, aunt."
"I am glad of it," said the Honourable Philippa, smiling graciously,
while Ruth, open-eyed and listening, went on with her breakfast,
wondering at the change. "He is the great financier--enormously
wealthy. I hear that he is to be made a duke by the Austrian emperor.
He is already a chevalier."
"Indeed, aunt?" said Clotilde, who also was thinking of Captain Glen.
"Yes, my dear; his houses are a marvel, I believe, for their wealth and
display."
"Is he a Jew, aunt?" said Marie innocently.
"My dear child, no! How can you ask such a question, Marie? I have
heard something about his family being of Hebrew descent--Eastern Hebrew
descent--Elbraham, Abraham, very ancient, no doubt; but I don't know for
certain, and really I do not care to know: for what does it matter?"
"Yes, what indeed?" said her sister. "A very gentlemanly,
highly-cultured man."
"With a wonderful knowledge of the world and its ways. He has been a
deal in Egypt, did not Lady Littletown say, Isabella?"
"Yes, with the Khedive," was the reply. "Enormously wealthy."
The breakfast ended, the young ladies were dismissed.
"I would not go to the schoolroom this morning, my dears," said the
elder sister; "go and lie down for an hour or two and rest. After lunch
Lady Littletown is coming with the carriage to take you for a drive, and
I should like you to look your best."
"Rie," exclaimed Clotilde, as soon as they were in their room with Ruth,
who was debating in her own mind whether she ought not to take her
cousins into her confidence about Mr Montaigne, but shrinking from
relating the communication to such unsympathetic ears.
"Well?"
"You, Ruth, if you dare to say a word about what we talk about, I'll
kill you!" cried Clotilde.
"I think you may trust me," said Ruth, smiling.
"Then mind you do keep secret," continued Clotilde. "Rie," she cried
again, "I can see through it all; I know what it means."
"Do you?" said Marie quietly.
"Yes, they're going to sell us both--a bargain."
"Are they?" said Marie, who was thinking she would like to be sold to
Marcus Glen.
"Yes, it's going to be like it was in that novel of Georges Sand. We're
to be married to rich old men because we are young and beautiful; and if
they marry me to one, I'm sorry for the old man."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes, I do," exclaimed Clotilde: "else why were we dressed up, and sent
down to dinner with that old Jew, and that old, yellow Lord Henry
Moorpark, when there were those young officers there?"
"I don't know," said Marie thoughtfully, as once more her mind reverted
to Captain Glen.
"Then I do," cried Clotilde, with flashing eyes. "I should like to be
married, and have an establishment, and diamonds, and servants; but if
they make me marry that dreadful man--"
"Well, what?" said Marie, with a depth of thought in her handsome eyes.
"You'll see!" cried Clotilde; and thrusting her hand in between the
mattress and the palliasse, she dragged out the highly-moral
paper-covered French novel that had lain there _perdu_.
After the genial thawing of the ice there could be no more such severe
and cutting behaviour as that which marked the meeting of Captain Glen
and Richard Millet with the Dymcox family; and a day or two later, when
the two officers were idling about the broad walks, with the boy's eyes
watching in all directions, but only to be disappointed at every turn,
they came suddenly upon the party taking their morning walk.
"No, my dears," the Honourable Philippa was saying, in reply to a
request made by Clotilde; "the park is impassable, for the scenes that
take place there are a disgrace to humanity, and the Government ought to
be forced to interfere. It is not so very long ago that your aunt and I
were thoughtfully walking beneath the trees--that glorious avenue of
chestnuts, that we poor occupants of the Palace can only view free from
insult at early morn or late in the evening--I say your aunt and I were
pensively walking beneath the trees, when we stumbled full upon a
coarse-minded crew of people sitting eating and drinking upon the grass,
and a dreadful-looking man with a shiny head held up a great stone
bottle and wanted us to drink. You remember, Isabella?"
"Yes, sister; and we fled down the avenue, to come upon another party
engaged in some orgie. They had joined hands in a circle like savages,
and one dreadful man was pursuing a woman, whom he captured, and in
spite of her shrieks--"
"I think we had better not pursue the subject further, Isabella," said
the Honourable Philippa; "it is not a seemly one in the presence of
young ladies. I need only tell you, my dears, that they were engaged in
a rite popular among the lower orders--a sort of sport called
`kiss-in-the-ring'."
"Hush, sister!" whispered the Honourable Isabella; "the gentlemen."
Poor Isabella's hands began to tremble in a peculiar, nervous way as
tall, English-looking Marcus Glen approached, appearing so much the more
manly for having dapper Richard Millet by his side. The lady was not
foolish enough to imagine that Glen wished to be attentive to her, but
there was a sweet, regretful kind of pleasure in his presence, and when
he spoke her withered heart seemed to expand, and old affections that
had been laid up to dry, like sweet-scented flowers between leaves,
began to put forth once again their forgotten odours, as if they were
evoked by the presence of the sun.
The Honourable Philippa looked stern, and would have passed on with a
bow; but when her sister put forth her trembling hand, and smiled with
satisfaction at meeting the young officer again, such a line of conduct
was impossible; and, as a matter of course, there was a very friendly
greeting all round.
The Honourable Philippa felt frigid as she saw Marie's eyes brighten,
and that a charmingly ingenuous blush rose in her cheeks; she felt more
frigid as she saw the greeting between Clotilde and Glen; for if ever
girl looked her satisfaction at seeing anyone again, the
ascetically-reared Clotilde was that maiden, and, truth to tell, in the
innocency and guiltlessness of her heart she returned the pressure of
the young officer's hand as warmly as it was given.
As for Richard Millet, he began by blushing like a girl; then, making an
effort, he mastered his timidity, and shone almost as brightly as his
new patent-leather boots, thinking, too, how well he managed to get the
young ladies all to himself; while Marcus talked quietly, and in a
matter-of-fact way, to the Honourable Misses Dymcox, till Philippa grew
a little less austere, and her hand felt at parting not quite so much
like five pieces of bone in as many finger-stalls.
There was another unmistakable pressure from Clotilde's hand, too, and a
far more timid one from that of Marie, whose eyes wore a curiously
pensive look, as the gentlemen doffed their hats and went their way.
It is worthy of note that poor Ruth passed an exceedingly uncomfortable
day, being made aware of what was as nearly a couple of quarrels as
could take place between ladies. The first took place in the
drawing-room, where, after bidding Clotilde and Marie go and take off
their things, the Honourable Philippa fiercely attacked her sister upon
her levity.
"_Shocked_, Isabella! I can find no other word for it--_shocked_," she
exclaimed. "Your conduct to-day with those two young men was really
objectionable."
"I deny it, sister," retorted the Honourable Isabella. "We met two of
dear Lady Littletown's guests whom we knew, and we spoke to them. They
are both officers and gentlemen, and nothing, I am sure, could have been
nicer than the behaviour of Captain Glen."
"Is--a--bella!" exclaimed her sister, "when you know what is being
arranged. It is like madness to encourage the intimacy of those young
men."
"Perhaps they wish to be intimate for politeness' sake," said the
Honourable Isabella demurely, though her nervous hands were trembling
and playing about the puckers of her dress.
"I declare, sister, you are absurd, you are almost childish; as if young
men--young officers--cared about politeness when there were ladies like
our nieces in the case."
"Well, sister," replied the Honourable Isabella tearfully, "I am sure I
don't know, but for my part I would rather see Clotilde and Marie
married to Captain Glen and Mr Millet than as you and dear Lady
Littletown had arranged."
"And you!" cried her sister; "you were as eager as anyone, and you know
how it will be for their good. Our family will be raised from penury to
affluence, and we shall have done our duty, I am sure."
"But it seems very sad, sister--very sad indeed."
"Fie, Isabella!" exclaimed the Honourable Philippa; "what would Lady
Littletown think if she heard of such miserable weakness? Think, too,
what would Lord Henry Moorpark or Mr Elbraham say if they knew that
these young men were encouraged here? It must be stopped, or encouraged
very coldly indeed. Yes, Markes, what is it?"
"This box, please'm, and this little basket, please'm," said the woman.
"How often have we told you, Markes, that all these things should be
left to Joseph to bring up? It is not your duty," exclaimed the
Honourable Philippa. "Now, let me see."
The box was directed to her, so was the basket; and reading the
direction by the aid of her large gold eyeglass, she afterwards cut the
box string, and on opening the loose lid set free a marvellously
beautiful bouquet of very choice flowers.
The basket was opened, and contained another bouquet, but there was no
message, no letter, with either.
The Honourable Philippa gazed at the Honourable Isabella, and that lady
returned the meaning gaze; then they sent Markes away with the empty box
and basket, leaving the elderly sisters to commune alone, and to whisper
their satisfaction, in spite of a little hanging back on the part of the
Honourable Isabella, that matters had progressed so well.
Meanwhile there was a cloudiness in the moral atmosphere upstairs which
betokened a storm.
Ruth saw it and trembled, for hour by hour her cousins had seemed to her
to change.
She did not know how it was--in fact, she was puzzled; but the change
was very natural. The two girls had been treated somewhat after the
fashion of flowers, and grown on and on in their cool retirement until
they had attained to their full development and beauty, though as yet
only in a state of bud. Then they had suddenly been placed in the full
blaze of society's sunshine.
The effect was what might have been expected. The buds had suddenly
expanded; every latent thought of suppressed womanhood had burst into
light and passionate life; every kept-down fancy and desire that had
been in abeyance had started forth, and the buds were in full bloom,
just as some choice exotic will in a few hours be completely
transformed.
Very little was said for a time, but as the sisters removed their
walking apparel there was more than one fierce look exchanged.
"I saw her look at him," thought Clotilde; "and I'd kill her sooner than
she should."
"Such outrageous effrontery!" thought Marie; "but she does not know me
if she thinks I am going to sit down quietly and let her win."
"Enjoy your walk, dear?" said Clotilde, attitudinising before the glass,
and admiring herself with half-closed eyes.
"Oh yes, Clo dear, it was delightful; but you shouldn't flirt so with
that little boy."
"Now that's too bad, dear," retorted Clotilde, turning half round to
smile sweetly at her sister. "You know that it was you. I felt quite
ashamed sometimes to see how you went on."
Ruth's eyes grew a little more wide open as she heard this, for she
thought that poor little Richard Millet seemed to be left to talk to her
more than he liked.
"Oh, nonsense, love," replied Marie. "But you don't mean it, you know;"
and then the sisters smiled most affectionately one at the other, and
gazed curiously in each other's eyes.
But as they smiled and looked affectionately at each other, they seemed
to need an outlet for the wrath that was gathering fast, and poor Ruth's
was the head upon which this poured. The tears stood in her eyes again
and again, as first one and then the other displayed her irritation in
words, pushes, and more than once in what seemed greatly like blows, all
of which was borne in a patient, long-suffering manner. For Ruth was
far worse off than a servant, the least independent of which class of
young lady would not have submitted to a tithe of the insult and
annoyance that fell to the poor girl's share.
Upon the present occasion the loud jangling of the bell, that was swung
about and shaken by Joseph as if he detested the brazen creation,
announced that lunch was ready, the mid-day repast by a pleasant fiction
retaining that name, though no late dinner followed, the evening meal
taking the form of tea and thick bread, and butter of the kind known as
"best Dorset, and regarding whose birth there is always a mystery."
The looks of the sisters were anything but bright and loving as they
went down, followed by Ruth, who secretly drew up her sleeve, displaying
her white, well-moulded arm as she ruefully inspected a black mark--to
wit, the bruise made by a forcible pinch from Clotilde's nervous finger
and thumb.
The poor girl heaved a little sigh as she drew back her gingham sleeve--
gingham and alpaca being fabrics highly in favour with the Honourable
Misses Dymcox--though they always insisted upon calling the latter by
the name of "stuff"--on economical grounds. Then she meekly took her
place, grace was said, and the Honourable Isabella proceeded to dispense
the mutton broth, richly studded with pearls of barley to the exclusion
of a good deal of meat, Joseph giving quite a dignity to the proceedings
as he waited at table, removing the soup-tureen cover with an artistic
flourish, and turning it bottom upwards so as not to let a drop of the
condensed steam fall upon the cloth, though a drop reached Ruth, whose
fate it seemed to be to get the worst of everything, even to the boniest
portions of the substance of the mutton broth, and the crustiest, driest
pieces of the day before yesterday's bread.
But there was a becoming dignity in Miss Philippa's manners upon the
present occasion, and she sipped her broth and played with the barley as
if she anticipated finding pearls in place of unpleasant little sharp
splinters of scrag of mutton bone.
"Thank you, yes, Joseph," she said quietly, as the man brought round a
very small jug of the smallest beer, and poured out a wineglassful each
for the elderly sisters, without froth, so that it might look like
sherry, or that delicious elderly maiden lady's beverage known as
marsala.
"Oh, by the way, sister," said Miss Isabella, "did you think to mention
about town?"
"Oh no, I did not," said Miss Philippa. "By the way, Joseph, you will
order the carriage for nine o'clock to-morrow morning."
"Yes, ma'am," said Joseph, who was handing potatoes to the mutton broth.
"We must go in good time, for we shall have to visit the tailor's about
your new livery, Joseph."
Joseph's jaw dropped like the lower lids of his eyes, and a very waxy
potato from the dish as he sloped it down, the said potato gambolling
gaily across the cloth as if under the idea that it was a vegetable
cricket-ball, and that its duty was to hit Ruth's high-backed chair
wicket fashion on the other side. It was, however, carefully blocked by
that young lady with a spoon, and after a moment's hesitation deposited
in her soup-plate, her cousins, however, eyeing it jealously from old
habit, as if they thought she was getting more than her share.
"Be careful, Joseph," said Miss Philippa with severity; and Joseph was
careful as he went on waiting; but the perspiration broke out profusely
over his forehead, and he seemed, as he gazed from one to the other of
his mistresses, as though the news, so unaccustomed in its way, was
almost greater than he could bear.
"Bring those bouquets from the drawing-room, Joseph," said Miss
Philippa, just before the removal of the soup-tureen.
Joseph went out, and, to the astonishment of the young ladies, returned
with the presents.
"Take that one to Miss Clotilde," said Miss Philippa, beaming on the
eldest of the young ladies, as she indicated the gayest of the carefully
built up bunches of flowers. "Yes; and now that one to Miss Marie."
The bouquets were handed to the young ladies in turn.
"Now remove the soup-tureen," said Miss Philippa.
"Oh, aunt!" exclaimed Clotilde, as Joseph left the room.
"What lovely flowers!" cried Marie, holding them to her face.
"Yes, yes; yes, yes!" cried Miss Philippa in a highly pitched and very
much cracked but playful voice. "I don't know what to say to it, I'm
sure; do you, sister?"
"No, indeed--indeed," cried Miss Isabella, in an imitation playful tone.
"It seems to me that our quiet little innocent home is being laid siege
to by gentlemen," prattled Miss Philippa.
"And--and I don't know what's coming to us," said Miss Isabella gaily;
and her hands shook, and her head nodded as she laughed, a sad ghost of
a youthful hearty sign of mirth.
"But is this for me, aunt?" cried Clotilde, flushing up, and looking
handsome in the extreme.
"And this for me, aunt?" cried Marie, whose cheeks could not brook the
rivalry displayed by those of her sister.
"Oh, I don't know, my dears, I'm sure; but it's very, very, very, very
shocking, and you are both very, very, very, very naughty girls to look
so handsome, and go to dinner-parties, and captivate gentlemen."
"And make them lay offerings before your shrines," prattled Miss
Isabella.
"Floral offerings before your shrines," repeated Miss Philippa, who
nodded her approval of her sister's poetical comparison.
"But, aunt, who sent them?"
"Oh, it's no use to ask me, my dear," exclaimed Miss Philippa. "There
may be a wicked little note inside. I don't know. I don't understand
such things. They are beyond me."
"Oh yes, quite beyond us, my dear," said Miss Isabella; and she laid her
hand upon her side as she felt a curious little palpitation, and there
was a pathetic sadness in her withered face, as she began thinking of
Captain Glen.
"But somebody must have sent them, aunties," said Marie, who dropped
into the diminutive, and slightly endearing, appellative quite
naturally, now that she found herself being exalted by her relatives.
"Oh yes, my dears, of course--of course," said Miss Philippa: "someone
must have sent them. Mind," she cried, shaking one finger, "I don't say
that those beautiful, those lovely exotics were sent to you by Lord
Henry Moorpark. And I don't say--no: you don't say, sister--"
"Yes, of course," cried Miss Isabella, clumsily taking up the cue given
to her, and shaking her thin finger very slightly, for it shook itself
naturally a good deal, "I don't say, Clotilde, my dear, that that
delicious and most expensive bouquet was sent by the great wealthy Mr
Elbraham; but I've a very shrewd suspicion. Haven't you, sister?"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," cried Miss Philippa playfully. "A little
bird at dear Lady Littletown's whispered a little something in my ear.
But it's very, very shocking, isn't it, sister?"
"Oh yes," cried Miss Isabella, repeating her sad little laugh, her head
nodding very much the while; "but fie--fie--fie! Hush--hush--hush!
Here is Joseph coming to change the plates."
Joseph it was, and as he changed the plates Clotilde held her bouquet to
her flushed cheeks in turn, and gazed at Marie, who held the flowers to
her own cheeks, both of which were creamy white as some of the blossoms;
and she, too, gazed rather curiously at her sister, trying to read her
meaning in her eyes.
But nobody paid any heed to Ruth, who looked wistfully at the gorgeous
colours in Clotilde's bouquet, and the delicate tints in that of Marie,
and she could not help wishing that someone sent her flowers--someone,
say, like Captain Glen. Then she thought of Mr Montaigne, and she
shivered, she hardly knew why, as she asked herself whether she ought
not to have told her aunts of his visit and his ways. Then her thoughts
were brought back to the happy present by Joseph placing a large section
of "roley-poley" pudding before her upon a plate--not the ordinary
homely "roley-poley" pudding, with flaky pastry and luscious gushings of
the sweetest jam; but a peculiarly hard, mechanical style of compound
which kept its shape, and in which the preserve presented itself in a
rich streak of pink, starting from the centre, and winding round and
round to the circumference, as if cook had turned artist, and was trying
to perpetuate the neighbouring Maze in pastry at the least expenditure
in cost.
The cheese which followed was Glo'ster of the ducal sound and soapy
consistency, and then the empty plates, representing dessert, were
placed upon the table--there was no fruit that day; grace had been said,
and the ladies rose, Clotilde and Marie being kissed, and advised to
place their bouquets in water in the drawing-room.
"They would look so nice if anyone called, my dears," said Miss
Philippa.
"Which they might, you know, my darling," added Miss Isabella, smiling,
and nodding her head.
So the flowers were placed in vases, duly watered, and the young ladies
went up once more to their room, under orders to quickly redescend.
"There!" cried Clotilde maliciously, as soon as they were alone, "I knew
it--I knew it! Ruth! Cindy! Do you hear! Go down on one knee, and
kiss the hand of the future Viscountess or Baroness, or whatever she is
to be, Lady Moorpark."
"No, don't, Ruth," cried Marie fiercely. "Go and salute the future Mrs
Elbraham. Let me see, Clo dear; do ladies who marry Jews become
Jewesses?"
"Perhaps they do," cried Clotilde, who had no repartee ready.
Marie laughed. "Jew--Jewess! Clo--old Clo! I wonder whether Mr
Elbraham made his money that way? Eh, Clo dear?"
"I shall throw the water-bottle or the jug at you directly," cried
Clotilde, as she washed her hands. "Never mind: he is rich, and not
old. I wouldn't marry a yellow, snuffy old man, if he were ten thousand
lords. There!"
"Who's going to marry him?" said Marie scornfully.
"You are. You'll be obliged to," retorted Clotilde.
"I wonder," said Marie, "whether Mr Elbraham is going to buy you of
aunties, and if so, how much he is going to give."
Clotilde faced round at this sting.
"If you think I'm going to marry him, or if aunts think so, they are
mistaken!" she cried. "I know what I am going to do. I know something
that you would give your ears to know, my lady."
She looked mockingly at her sister, and waved her hand, as if wafting a
kiss through the air.
Marie did not respond, but there was something in her eyes that troubled
Ruth, who, being near, laid her hand in a sympathetic fashion upon her
arm.
A summons from Markes put a stop to further conversation.
"What is it, Markes?" cried Clotilde.
"Aunts want you," said the woman roughly. "Gentlemen visitors;" and
before she could be further questioned she closed the door.
"I know," cried Clotilde, darting a malicious glance at her sister:
"it's Captain Glen, and he has brought his little squire with him. Come
along down, and speak to Richard Millet, while I talk to the Captain. I
say, Rie, dear."
"Well?"
"What a nice little husband he would make--quite a lady's page!"
"`My pretty page, look out afar,
Look out, look out afar,'"
she sang; but Marie seemed hardly to notice her, for she was very quiet
and thoughtful, as she gave a touch or two to her hair.
"There, that will do; come along--you won't be noticed."
Marie glanced at her sharply, and the blood suffused her cheeks; but she
said nothing, only beckoned to Ruth to come, and they had nearly reached
the drawing-room door when they met Markes, who took Ruth into custody.
"Not you, my dear," she said quietly--"you're to stop; it's them that's
to go."
As she laid her hand upon the door Clotilde's heart beat fast, while a
look of delight flushed her countenance. At the same time, though, she
wondered that Marcus Glen and his friend should have called so soon.
"The silly old things!" she thought; "they could not see that the
bouquets came from the Captain and Mr Millet."
Then she glanced round to see that her sister was close beside her,
opened the door, and entered.
Disappointment!
Seated with their backs to the window were Mr Elbraham and Lord Henry
Moorpark. The Fates had ordained that they should make their calls both
at the same hour, and they now rose to meet Clotilde and Marie.
"Then they did send the bouquets," thought Clotilde; and her heart sank
at the thought of their aunts' innuendoes meaning anything serious.
Had she or her sister any doubts, they were soon chased away; for,
though this was made quite a formal visit, there was a something quite
unmistakable in their visitors' ways.
Lord Henry and Elbraham had encountered close by the door, and a look of
distrust overspread their features as they exchanged an exceedingly cool
salutation; but soon after their meeting the elder and the younger
sisters, matters seemed so satisfactory, that their breasts expanded
with quite a brotherly feeling.
Elbraham had the natural dislike of a man of his stamp for one who
happened to be high-born, and was by nature refined and amiable; while
Lord Henry, with his gentlemanly notions of polish, felt rather a
shrinking from the blatant man of the world, whose manners were not
always separated from the dross that clings to badly-refined metal. But
in a very short time each saw that he was on a different route, and that
there was no likelihood of their clashing in their onward journey.
The Honourable sisters were amiability itself, and played most cleverly
into their visitors' hands; while, in spite of a feeling of repugnance
and disgust at the idea of their being, as it were, sold into bondage to
men so much older than themselves, and so very far from their hearts'
ideal of a lover, both Clotilde and Marie felt flattered.
For as Clotilde listened to Elbraham's deep voice, and gazed
unflinchingly in his coarse face, she saw through him, as it were, and
beyond him, visions of life and gaiety, of a princely establishment,
with servants and carriages and plate, and, for her own special use, the
richest of dresses, the brightest of bonnets, and jewels as many as she
would.
Marie, too, as she listened to the polished, deferential remarks of Lord
Henry Moorpark, and saw the deep interest and admiration that beamed
from his eyes, could not help thoughts of a similar character crossing
her mind. Lord Henry was certainly old, but he was the perfection of
all that was gentlemanly, and his deference for the young and beautiful
woman to whom he was certainly paying his court had for her something
that was very grateful to her feelings, while it was flattering to her
self-esteem.
But interposing, as it were, between them and the visitors, the frank,
manly countenance of Marcus Glen was constantly rising before the young
girls' vision, making them thoughtful and distant as their visitors
chatted on. This, however, only added to their attraction, especially
in Lord Henry's eyes. To him even the shabby furniture and their simple
dresses lent a piquancy that he would have missed had they been
elsewhere; and at last, when he rose to take his leave, both gentlemen
stepped out into the open air feeling as if their paths were in future
to be strewn with roses, and ready to become brothers on the spot.
"Shall we take a walk in the gardens for a few minutes, my lord?" said
Elbraham, as they stood together outside.
"With much pleasure, Mr Elbraham," replied Lord Henry.
"Then I'll just hook on," said Elbraham.
He did "hook on"--to wit, he took Lord Henry's arm; and that gentleman
did not shrink, but walked with the millionaire down one of the broad
walks between the trim lawns, both for the time being silent.
"I'm a man of the world," said Mr Elbraham at last.
"Indeed," said Lord Henry.
"Yes, my lord, and I'm going to speak out like a man of that sort."
Lord Henry bowed and smiled, for he had Marie's great dark eyes before
him, and the memory was very pleasant at the time.
"Just an hour ago, my lord, when I met you at that door, I felt as if we
two were to be enemies."
"Indeed," said Lord Henry again. "Yes, my lord; but now I don't think
we are."
"Surely not."
"To be plain then, my lord, I am going to propose in due form for the
hand of Miss Clotilde."
Lord Henry stopped short, with his eyes half-closed, and one foot
beating the gravel as if he were thinking out an answer to the remark
made by the man who held his arm.
"Well, my lord, what have you got to say?"
"Not much," said Lord Henry, rousing himself; "but I will be frank and
plain to you, Mr Elbraham, though no one is more surprised at this
change in my prospects than I. You are going to propose for the hand of
Miss Clotilde, one of the most beautiful women I ever saw."
"Eh!" exclaimed Elbraham, whose jaw dropped, "don't say that."
"But I do say it," said Lord Henry, smiling, and looking very dreamy and
thoughtful: "the most beautiful woman I ever saw--except her sister--for
whose hand I shall become a candidate myself."
"Hah!" ejaculated Mr Elbraham, with a sigh of relief; "then look here,
my lord, under these circumstances we shall be brothers-in-law."
"Probably so."
"Then we'll have no more ceremony. Look here, my lord, I'm a plain man,
and I don't boast of my blood nor my position, but I'm warm; and a
fellow can't find a better friend than I can be when I take to a man. I
like you. You've got blood, and a title, and all that sort of thing;
but that isn't all: you're a gentleman, without any haw-haw,
sit-upon-a-fellow airs. Moorpark, there's my hand, and from henceforth
I'll back you up in anything."
"Thank you, Mr Elbraham," said Lord Henry, smiling, for in his then
frame of mind the coarse manners of his companion were kept from jarring
by the roses that metaphorically hedged him in. "There, then, is my
hand, and I'm sure we shall be the best of friends."
"And brothers," exclaimed Elbraham, giving Lord Henry exquisite pain,
which he bore like a martyr, by crushing his fingers against a heavy
signet ring.
"God bless you, Moorpark! God bless you!"
There was more than a trace of emotion in Lord Henry's eyes just then,
as he warmly returned the other's grasp; and then they walked on
together.
"I shan't shilly-shally, Moorpark," exclaimed Elbraham hoarsely. "I
shall send her down a few diamonds and things at once. What's the use
of waiting?"
"Ay, what, indeed!" said Lord Henry, smiling.
"Besides, my friend, we are too old."
"Well, I don't know so much about that, Moorpark. A man's as old as he
feels; and hang it, sir, when I'm in the presence of that woman, sir, I
feel two-and-twenty."
"Well, yes; it does make one feel young and hopeful, and as if we
imbibed some of their sweetness and youth, Elbraham."
"Sweetness and youth! Ah, that's it, Moorpark. Sweetness and youth--
they're full of it. Miss Riversley's lovely, ain't she?"
"Truly a beautiful woman."
"That she is," said Elbraham. "Though, for the fact of that, Marie is
not to be sneezed at."
"No, by no means," assented Lord Henry, whose brow knit a little here.
"They are very charming, and thoroughly unspoiled by the world."
"That's the beauty of them, Moorpark, and that's what fetches me, my
dear boy. Lord bless your heart! with my money I could have married a
thousand women. I'm not boasting, Moorpark, but I can assure you I've
stood up like a stump, and duchesses, and countesses, and viscountesses,
and my lady this and my lady that, have for any number of years bowled
their daughters at me, and I might have had my pick and choice," said
Elbraham--apparently forgetting in his excitement that there was a
trifling degree of exaggeration in his words, for his efforts to get
into high-class society had not been successful on the whole.
"I am not surprised--with your wealth," said Lord Henry.
"Yes, I am warm," continued Elbraham; "and the best of the fun is, that
they were all ready to forget that I was a Jew. For I don't mind
speaking plainly to you: I have some of the chosen blood in my veins,
though I have changed over. But that's neither here nor there."
"Of course not," assented Lord Henry.
"And what I like in our beauties is, that they look as if they'd got
some of the chosen blood in them."
"Ye-e-es," assented Lord Henry; "they are dark, with the Southern look
in their complexions. But it improves them."
"Improves! I should think it does. Why, look here, Moorpark, you saw
Clotilde to-day in that plain cotton dress thing, or whatever it was?"
"Yes, and she looked beautiful as her sister," said Lord Henry warmly.
"She did--she did. But wait a bit, my boy. I'll hang diamonds and
pearls round that girl's neck, and stick tiaras in her hair, and
bracelets on her arms, till I make even the princesses envious--that I
will. But now, look here, I'm glad we've come to an understanding.
You'll dine with me at my club, Moorpark? Don't say no."
"With pleasure, if you will dine with me."
"Done. Where do you hang out?"
"Four hundred and four, Berkeley Square."
"Say Monday for me, at the Imperial--seven sharp; and we'll settle when
I come to _you_."
"At seven on Monday," said Lord Henry, "I will be there."
"And now I must be off back to town. Good-bye, God bless you, Moorpark.
One word first: you'll like to do it handsome, of course, in presents,
and that sort of thing."
"Indeed I shall not be ungenerous as soon as I know her tastes."
"Then look here, Moorpark, these things cost money."
"Assuredly."
"Then can I do anything for you? A few thousands on your simple note of
hand? Only say the word. No dealing--no interest. Just a simple loan.
How much?"
"My dear Elbraham," said Lord Henry, "you are very kind; but I have a
handsome balance at my bank. I am a man of very simple tastes, and I
have never lived half up to my income."
"Then you must be worth a pot," exclaimed Elbraham. "I mean, you are
really rich."
"Well, I suppose I am," said Lord Henry, smiling; "but I care very
little for money, I assure you."
"That'll do," exclaimed Elbraham, crushing the other's hand once more.
"Good-bye. Monday."
By this time they had reached the spot where their carriages were
waiting--Elbraham's a phaeton, with a magnificent pair of bays, whose
sides were flecked with the foam they had formed in champing their bits;
Lord Henry's a neat little brougham drawn by a handsome roan.
Then there was a wave of the hand, and Elbraham took his whip, the bays
starting off at a rapid trot, while, having let himself into his
brougham, Lord Henry gave the word "Home," and leaned back with the
tears in his eyes to think how soon he was finding consolation for the
coldness with which he had been treated by Gertrude Millet. Then he
felt slightly uneasy, for though he had never spoken to Lady Millet, his
visits had been suggestive, and he could not help asking himself what
her ladyship would say.
But that soon passed off, as he began to glide into a delightful
day-dream about beautiful Marie, and to think how strange it was that,
at his age, he should have fallen fairly and honestly in love with an
innocent, heart-whole, unspoiled girl.
"Yes, so different to Gertrude Millet," he said to himself. "She loved
that young Huish, I am sure."
Volume 2, Chapter III.