Palace Gardens, Kensington, was selected by Elbraham for the scene of
his married life, and here he was to take the fair Clotilde upon their
return from their Continental trip.
"It's all bosh, Litton, that going across to Paris; and on one's wedding
day," said the great financier. "Can't we get off it?"
"Impossible, I should say," replied Litton. "You see, you are bound to
make yours the most stylish of the fashionable marriages of the season."
"Oh yes, of course--that I don't mind; and I'll come out as handsome as
you like for the things to do it with well; but I do kick against the
run over to Paris the same day."
"And why?" said Litton wonderingly.
"Well, the fact is, my boy, I never could go across the Channel without
being terribly ill. Ill! that's nothing to my feelings. I'm a regular
martyr, and I feel disposed to strike against all that. Why not say the
Lakes?"
"Too shabby and cockneyfied."
"Wales?"
"Worse still."
"Why not Scotland?"
"My dear sir, what man with a position to keep up would think of going
there? I'll consult Lady Littletown, if you like."
"Lord, no; don't do that," said Elbraham. "She's certain to say I must
go to Paris; and so sure as ever I do have to cross, the Channel is at
its worst."
"But it is a very short passage, sir. You'll soon be over; and in
society a man of your position is forced to study appearances."
"How the deuce can a fellow study appearances at a time like that?"
growled Elbraham. "I always feel as if it would be a mercy to throw me
overboard. 'Pon my soul I do."
"I'll see if I cannot fee the clerk of the weather for you, and get you
a smooth passage this time," said Litton, laughing; and the matter
dropped.
There were endless other little matters to settle, in all of which
Litton was the bridegroom's ambassador, carrying presents, bringing back
messages and notes, and in one way and another thoroughly ingratiating
himself in Clotilde's favour, that young lady condescending to smile
upon him when he visited Hampton Court.
The Palace Gardens house was rapidly prepared, and, thanks to Arthur
Litton, who had been consulted on both sides, and finally entrusted with
the arrangements, everything was in so refined a style that there was
but little room for envy to carp and condemn.
Certainly, Lady Littletown had had what Mr Elbraham called a finger in
the pie, and had added no little by her advice and counsel in making the
interior the model it was.
"For," said Elbraham, in a little quiet dinner with her ladyship at
Hampton, "I'm not particular to a few thousands. All I say is, let me
have something to look at for my money; and I say, Litton, draw it mild,
you know."
"I don't understand you," said that gentleman. "Do you mean don't have
the decorations too showy?"
"Not I. Have 'em as showy as you like. Get out with you; how innocent
we are!"
"Really, Mr Elbraham, I do not know what you mean," said Litton
stiffly.
"Go along with you," chuckled Elbraham. "I say, draw it mild. Of
course you'll make your bit of commission with the furniture people; but
draw it mild."
Litton flushed with annoyance and indignation, probably on account of
his having received a promise of a cheque for two hundred pounds from a
firm if he placed the decorating and furnishing of Mr Elbraham's new
mansion in their hands.
A look from Lady Littletown quieted him, and that lady laughed most
heartily.
"Oh, you funny man, Elbraham! really you are, you know, a very funny
man."
"Oh, I don't know," chuckled the financier; "I like my joke. But look
here, Litton, I don't get married every day, and want to do it well.
I'm not going to put on the screw, I can tell you. You furnish the
place spiff, and bring me the bills afterwards, and I'll give you
cheques for the amounts. If there is a bit of discount, have it and
welcome; I shan't complain so long as the thing is done well."
So Arthur Litton contented himself with calling the financier "a coarse
beast," declined to be more fully offended, and aided by Lady
Littletown, who worked hard for nothing but the _kudos_, furnished the
house in admirable style, received the cheques from Elbraham, who really
did pay without grumbling, and soothed his injured feelings with the
very substantial commission which he received.
Upon one part of the decorations Lady Littletown prided herself
immensely, and that was upon the addition to the drawing-room of a very
spacious conservatory built upon the model of her own; and this she
laboured hard to fill with choice foliage plants and gaily petalled
exotics of her own selection.
Her carriage was seen daily at the principal florists', and Elbraham had
to write a very handsome cheque for what he called the "greenstuff"; but
it was without a murmur, and he smiled with satisfaction as Lady
Littletown triumphantly led him in to see the result of her toil.
"Yes," he said, "tip-top--beats the C.P. hollow! Puts one a little in
mind of what the Pantheon used to be when I was a boy."
"But, my dear Elbraham, is that _all_ you have to say?" exclaimed her
ladyship.
"Well, since you put it like that, Lady Littletown, I won't
shilly-shally."
"No, don't--pray don't. I like to hear you speak out, Elbraham--you are
so original."
"Oh, I am, am I?" he said. "Well, you know--well, I was going to say,
don't you think some of those statues are a little too prononsay, as you
people call it, you know?"
"Naughty man!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I will not have fault found
with a thing, especially as I brought our sweet Clotilde here, and she
was perfectly charmed with all she saw. The flowers are really,
really--"
"Well, they are not amiss," said the financier; and he went up to a
wreath of stephanotis with such evident intention of picking a
"buttonhole" that Lady Littletown hooked him with the handle of her
sunshade, uttering a scream of horror the while.
"Mustn't touch--naughty boy!" she cried. "How could you?"
"Oh, all right," said Elbraham, grinning hugely at the idea of not being
allowed to touch his own property; and then he suffered himself to be
led through the various rooms, one and all replete with the most refined
luxuries of life.
"Now, you do think it is nice, my dear Elbraham?" said her ladyship.
"Nice? It's clipping! Might have had a little more voluptuousness; but
Litton says no, so I don't complain. I say: Clotilde--you know, eh?"
"Yes, dear Elbraham. What of her?"
"She ought to be satisfied, eh?"
"She is charmed; she really loves the place. Come, I'll tell you a
secret. The darling--ah, but you'll betray me?"
"No--honour bright!" cried Elbraham, laying his hand upon the side of
his waistcoat.
"Well, I'll tell you, then; but, mind, it is sacred."
"Of course--of course."
"The darling begged me to bring her up to see the delicious nest being
prepared for her; but it was to be a stolen visit, for she said she
could never look you in the face again if she thought you knew."
"Dear girl!" ejaculated Elbraham. "Yes, she is so sweet and unworldly
and innocent! Do you know, my dear Elbraham," said Lady Littletown, "a
man like you, for whom so many mothers were bidding--"
"Ah, yes, I used to get a few invitations," said Elbraham complacently.
"I used to hear how terribly you flirted at Lady Millet's with those two
daughters," said Lady Littletown playfully.
"By George! no. However, the old woman was always asking me to her
at-homes and dinners, and to that wedding; but I never went."
"I knew it," said Lady Littletown to herself. "How mad she must be! Ah
me!" she continued mournfully, "there are times when I feel as if I have
done wrong in furthering this match."
"The deuce you do! Why?" ejaculated Elbraham. "Because my sweet
Clotilde is so unused to the ways of the world, and it is such a
terrible stride from her present home to the head of such an
establishment as this."
"Oh, that be hanged!" cried Elbraham. "'Tis a change, of course--a
precious great change from those skimpily-furnished apartments at
Hampton Court."
"But show is not everything, my dear Elbraham," said Lady Littletown,
laying a finger impressively upon the financier's arm.
"No, it is not; but people like it. I'll be bound to say Clotilde likes
this place."
"She was in raptures--she could hardly contain her delight. Her sweet
innocent ways of showing her pleasure made my heart bound. Ah,
Elbraham, you have won a prize!"
"So has she," he said gruffly. "I don't know but what she has got the
best of the bargain."
"Oh, you conceited man! how dare you say so? But it is only your
quaintness."
"I say, though," cried Elbraham, "she did like the place?"
"I cannot tell you how much she was delighted."
"Did she say anything about me?"
"Oh yes; she was prattling artlessly about you for long enough--about
your kindness, your generosity, the richness of the jewels you had given
her. You sadly extravagant man! I can't tell you half what she said;
but I really must take you to task for spoiling her so."
Elbraham coughed and cleared his throat.
"Didn't--er--er--she didn't say anything about--about my dress--my
personal appearance, did she?"
"Now, wasn't I right when I called you a conceited man? Really,
Elbraham, it is shocking! I declare you are one of the most anxious
lovers I ever met, and I won't tell you a word she said."
"Oh yes; come now, do."
"It would be a breach of confidence, and I really cannot give way--no,
not on any consideration."
"You are hard upon me," said Elbraham. "Oh, by the way, I haven't
forgotten you, Lady Littletown. Would you wear this to oblige me?"
"Oh no, I could not think of taking it, Mr Elbraham really. It looks
so like a bribe, too."
"No, no, that it don't," said the financier. "I wouldn't give it to you
at first, for fear your ladyship should think I meant it in that way;
but now it is all settled, and you have been so kind to me, I thought
perhaps you would not mind accepting that little marquise ring just as a
remembrance of, etcetera, etcetera--you know."
"Well, if you put it like that," said Lady Littletown, "I suppose I must
take it, and wear it as you say. But it is too good, Elbraham--it is,
really. What a lovely opal!"
"Yes, 'tis a good one, isn't it?"
"Charming! And what regular diamonds!"
"I thought you'd like it," chuckled Elbraham; and then, to himself,
"They're all alike."
"Do you know, Elbraham," said her ladyship, holding the ring up to the
light for him to see, as she fitted it upon her finger over her
glove--"lovely, isn't it?--do you know, Elbraham, that I was going to
ask you to do me a kindness?"
"Were you, though? What is it?"
"Well, you see, Elbraham, living, as I do, a woman's life, I am so
ignorant of business matters."
"Of course you are," he responded. "Want to make your will?"
"No, no, no, no! horrid man! How can you?" she cried, whipping him
playfully with her sunshade. "I want you to tell me what it means when
a gentleman is short of money and he goes to somebody to get a bill
discounted."
"Simplest thing in the world. If the paper's good," said Elbraham,
"discount accordingly. I never touch bills now."
"No?" she said sweetly; "but then you are so rich. But that is it,
Elbraham--if the paper's good, discount accordingly? What do you call
it--the bill? Well, it is easy to have it on the very best note-paper."
"Haw, haw, haw! bless your ladyship's innocence!" cried Elbraham, with a
hoarse laugh. "By paper being good I mean that the man who signs his
name is substantial--can pay up when it comes to maturity."
"Oh!" said Lady Littletown, drawing out the interjection in a singularly
long way, "I see now. And that is how a gentleman raises money, is it?"
"Yes, that's it," said Elbraham, eyeing her ladyship curiously.
"Would not a lady do?" asked Lady Littletown.
"To be sure she would!" said the financier. "Lookye here--does your
ladyship want a hundred or two?"
"Not to-morrow, dear Mr Elbraham; but my rents do not come in for
another month, and I must confess to having been rather extravagant
lately--I have had a great deal of company, and I thought I might--
might--might--what do you call it?"
"Do a bill."
"Yes, that's it--do a bill," said her ladyship, "if some kind friend
would show me how."
"It's done," said Elbraham. "What would you like--two-fifty?"
"Well, yes," said her ladyship.
"Better make it three hundred--looks better," said the financier.
"But you are not to advance the money, dear Mr Elbraham. I could not
take it of you."
"All right; I shan't have anything to do with it. Someone in the City
will send your ladyship a slip of paper to sign, and the cheque will
come by the next post. I say, though, what did Clotilde say?"
"Oh, I daren't tell you. Really, you know--pray don't press me--I
couldn't confess. Dear Clotilde would be so angry if I betrayed her--
dear girl! I could not do that, you know."
"Honour bright, I wouldn't say a word for the world."
"Well, it's very shocking, you know, Elbraham, and I was quite
astonished to hear her say it; but she is so innocent and girlish, and
it came out so naturally that I forgave her."
"But what did she say?"
"Oh, dear child," she clapped her hands together with delight, and then
covered her blushing face and cried, "Oh, Lady Littletown, I wish it was
to-morrow!"
"By Jingo!" exclaimed the financier to himself, "so do I!"
Everybody being in the same mind, the wedding was hurried on. The
trousseau was of the most splendid character, and Marie entered into the
spirit of the affair with such eagerness that the sisters forbore to
quarrel.
Mr Montaigne came and went far more frequently, and seemed to bless his
pupils in an almost apostolic fashion.
"I would give much," he said, with a gentle, pious look of longing, "to
be able to perform the ceremony which joins two loving hearts."
But three eminent divines were to tie that knot, and even if Mr Paul
Montaigne had been in holy orders according to the rites and ceremonies
of the English Church, his services would not have been demanded, and he
contented himself with smiling benignly and offering a few kindly words
of advice.
Miss Dymcox and the Honourable Isabella were rather at odds on the
question of intimacy, and Captain Glen would have been religiously
excluded from the precincts of Hampton Court Palace private apartments
if the Honourable Philippa had had her way; but Lady Littletown took it
as a matter of course that several of the officers of the barracks
should be invited, to add _eclat_ to the proceedings, and as the
Honourable Isabella sided with her, invitation-cards were sent, and, for
reasons that Glen could not have explained to himself, were accepted.
"Yes, I'll go, if it's only to show her that I am not cast down. I'll
go and see her married. I'll see her sell herself into slavery, and I
hope she may never repent her step."
The next hour, though, he said he would not go, and he was about to keep
to his determination, when Dick came in, and announced that he had
received an invitation.
"You'll go, of course?"
"Go? No; why should I?"
"Just to show that you are a man of the world; no woman should fool me
and make me seem like the chap in the song--`wasting in despair--die,
because a woman's fair'--you know. Oh, I'd go."
Glen sat thinking for awhile.
"I wouldn't be cut up, you know."
"If I thought that she threw me over of her own free will, Dick, I would
not care a sou; but I believe that wicked old hag, her aunt Philippa,
has forced her into it."
"Then you need not care a sou."
"How do you know?"
"Marie told me she accepted Elbraham for his coin."
"Yes; she intimated as much to me."
"She did! When?"
"Oh, the other day--the last time I saw her--when I had been to the
private apartments, you know."
"Oh yes. Ah, to be sure," said Dick, who seemed much relieved. "Oh,
I'd go, dear boy; I would indeed."
"I will go," said Glen with energy; and on the appointed day he went.
Hampton Court had not seen a more brilliant wedding for years, and the
preparations at the Honourable Misses Dymcox's apartments so completely
put Joseph off his head that he, the reputable young man who preached
temperance to Buddy the flyman, and was carefully saving up all his
money to add to the savings of Markes for the purpose of taking a
lodging-house, was compelled to fly to stimulants to sustain him.
The very way in which the dining-room was "done up," as he called it,
"with flowers and things" staggered him, and it seemed no wonder that
the greeny stone basin in the middle court should sound quite noisy as
the big squirt in the centre made more ambitious efforts than usual to
mount the sky, and the old gold and silver fish stared more wonderingly
as they sailed round and round.
But Joseph was not alone in being off his head and flying to stimulants;
even cook was as bad, and was found by Markes standing at the door and
talking to a soldier--the greatest treason in Markes' eyes that a woman
could commit--and reprimanded thereon, with the consequence that cook
rebounded like a spring, and struck the austere, temperate, unloving
Markes.
It was no wonder, for the sacred department of cook had been invaded by
strange men in white apparel to such an extent that from being angry she
grew hysterical, and went to Markes, apologetic and meek, for comfort,
vowing that she couldn't "abear" soldiers; but she was so humbled by the
austere damsel that she turned to Joseph, who administered to her from
the same cup as that wherefrom he obtained his relief.
The wearers of the white caps and jackets brought a _batterie de
cuisine_, bombarded and captured the room set apart for cooking, and
then and there proceeded to build up strange edifices of sugar, concoct
soups, sweets, and all and sundry of those meats which are used to
furnish forth a wedding feast.
The cases of wines that came in took away Joseph's breath, but he
revived a little at the sight of the flowers, and shortly afterwards
relapsed, staying in a peculiarly misty state of mind and a new suit of
livery to the end of the proceedings, during which time he had a faint
recollection of seeing the Honourable Philippa greatly excited and the
Honourable Isabella very tremulous, as they went about in new dresses,
made in the style worn by the late Queen Adelaide, making them both bear
some resemblance to a couple of human sprigs of lavender, taken out,
carefully preserved, from some old box, where they had been lying for
the past half-century.
It was a very troublous time, and Joseph wished his head had been a
little clearer than it was. Those wide-spreading Queen Adelaide bonnets
and feathers seemed to dance before his eyes and to confuse him. So did
the constantly arriving company; but, still, he recalled a great deal.
For instance, he had a lively recollection of the smell of his "bokay,"
as he called it; of the young ladies going to the service at the church
and coming back in a carriage, behind which he stood with an enormous
white favour and the bouquet in his breast, while some boys shouted
"Hurray!" He remembered that, but it did not make him happy, for he
could never settle it thoroughly in his own mind whether that "hurray"
was meant for him or for the bride.
That affair of the bride, too, troubled Joseph a good deal, and, but for
the respect in which he held the family, or the awe in which he stood of
the Honourable Philippa, he would have resented it strongly.
Certainly there were only two horses to the carriage behind which Joseph
stood, but it was a particularly good carriage, hired from a London
livery stables, with capital horses and a superior driver, who looked
quite respectable in the hat and coat kept on purpose for Buddy the
fly-driver, although he grumbled at having to put them on, as Buddy had
been intoxicated upon the last occasion of his wearing them, and had
somewhat taken off their bloom through going back to his stables and
wearing them while he lay down in the straw for a nap.
Upon that occasion Joseph had seriously lectured Buddy upon the evils of
intemperance.
"Look at me," he said; "I can drink a glass of ale without its hurting
me."
"Well, the things ain't improved, suttenly," said Buddy in a repentant
tone. Then scornfully: "But as to you and your slooshun of biled
brewer's aperns that you calls ale, why, you might wet-nuss babies on
it, and it wouldn't hurt 'em so long as you didn't do it when it's
sour."
"But it's a very, very bad habit, Buddy," exclaimed Markes; "just look
at that hat."
"Ah, you'll have worse jobs than that some of these days when you
marries a sojer."
Mrs Markes bounced out in disgust.
"How she do hate to hear the soldiers mentioned, surely," chuckled
Buddy. "Why, she can't abear 'em. But she needn't be so hard about a
fellow getting a drop; it's a great comfort. She don't know what it is,
and never got to that stage, Joe, when everything about you as you taste
and touch and smell feels as if it was soft and nice, and as if you'd
tumbled into a place as was nothing else but welwet."
The result was that Buddy's hat and coat were thoroughly taken in hand
by Markes and furbished up, the overcoat having to be rubbed and
turpentined and brushed till it was more in keeping with the style of a
wedding garment, while the hat was `gone over' with a sponge and
flat-iron, to the production of a most unearthly gloss, anent which
Buddy chaffed the new driver. But of course that was on account of
jealousy, that he, the regular ladies' coachman, and his musty-smelling,
jangling fly and meagrimed horse should be set aside upon an occasion
when there would have been "a bite to get and a sup o' suthin' just to
wash out a fellow's mouth," For Buddy had a laudable desire to keep his
mouth clean by washing it out; and he resented the insult to his dignity
upon this occasion by going to the Mitre Tap, and washing out his mouth
till he was unable to take this clean mouth home.
As the Dymcoxes sported so dashing a turn-out, and Joseph handed in the
bride and took her to church, what he wanted to know was why Elbraham
should take her back in his four-horse chariot. Of course he would take
her away in it afterwards; but according to Joseph's idea it would have
been far more respectful to the Honourable Dymcoxes if Elbraham had come
with his young wife in the hired carriage along with him.
This was a trouble to Joseph, which he objected to largely, wearing a
soured and ill-used look on the way back from Hampton Church; and he was
not a great deal better when, meeting Elbraham on the staircase, that
gentleman slipped a five-pound note in his hand.
The bride looked very beautiful, and Joseph heard that she wore real
lace, and it covered her nearly from top to toe. The white satin dress,
too, was wonderfully stiff and good, while her bouquet, sent, with those
for the bridesmaids, in so many neat wooden boxes from the central
avenue of Covent Garden, was "quite a picter," so Joseph said.
But somehow it was all a muddle, and Joseph could make neither head nor
tail of it. He felt as if he must seize and ring the dinner-bell, or
carry in the form for prayers. For instance, there was that Lord Henry
Moorpark there, and Captain Glen and Mr Richard Millet, who had tipped
him over and over again, and ought to have married the ladies. They
were there, and so was that tall, dark Major Malpas, who always "looked
at him as if he had been a dorg; and lots more people crowding into the
rooms, and a-eating and drinking and talking till the place was a
regular bubble."
Joseph either meant Babel or a state of effervescence, both similes
being applicable to the condition of the private apartments on the
auspicious day, as it was called by Lord Henry, who played the part of
"heavy father" in the genteel comedy in course of enactment.
Then Joseph--who told himself he had never seen such a set-out since he
came, a hungry page from the orphan school--wanted to know why Captain
Glen, who had been so huffed about Miss Clotilde's marriage, should be
there, and look so jolly, and propose the health of the bride. "It
seemed rum," Joseph said, "though certainly him and Miss Marie looked
pretty thick now, while little Mr Millet sat next to Miss Ruth," who,
to the man's notions, was "the prettiest of the lot."
Joseph saw and heard a good deal. He saw Major Malpas place his glass
in his dark eye, and, bringing the thick brow over it, stare very hard
at the bride, who did not seem to mind it in the least--a fact which
made the philosopher declare that "Miss Clo had got face enough for
anything."
He also heard Major Malpas, who was perfect in his dress and handsome
bearing, say to one of the guests who had made some remark respecting
Glen's appearance, that the Captain was a fine animal, that was all.
"Too big for a soldier, sah. Looks like a big mastiff, sah, taking care
of that little toy-terrier Millet."
Joseph's notions of the wedding feast were very much after the fashion
of the celebrated coat of his ancient namesake, of many colours, and
those colours were terribly muddled up in his brain. They were bad
enough before the matter of that five-pound note occurred; after that
the unfortunate young man's ideas were as if shaken up in a bottle to a
state of neutral tint in which nothing was plain.
He put that five-pound note, crumpled as it was, either in his breeches
or his behind coat-pocket, but what became of it afterwards he could not
tell. He might have taken it out to hold a hot plate, to use as a
d'oyley, or to wipe his nose, or to dab up the wine that Mr Elbraham
spilt when he upset his champagne-glass. He might or he mightn't. He
couldn't say then. All he knew was that it muddled him, and that the
dinner-bell hadn't been rung, nor the form carried in for prayers.
There was another idea came into his head, too, acting like so much
leaven, or as an acid powder poured into the neutral alkaline solution
already shaken up in his brain. There were those two waiters from
Bunter's standing by when Mr Elbraham gave him the five-pound note, and
one of them winked at the other. Joseph could not say that one of those
young men took that five-pound note. He was not going so far as to say
it. What he was going to say was that they weren't above taking two
bottles of champagne back into the pantry and drinking them out of
tumblers, and that a man who would take a bottle of wine that didn't
belong to him might go so far as a five-pound note.
Joseph grew worse as the morning wore on. He felt as if he must go and
quarrel with Markes, and a great deal of what he recalled after may have
been nothing but the merest patchwork of nebulous theories of his own
gathered together in a troublous time. For it was not likely that
Captain Glen would have been standing holding Miss Ruth's hand, and
making her blush, as he called her his dear child, and said she was the
best and sweetest little thing he had ever met, and that he should never
forget her kindness and sympathy.
Joseph certainly thought he heard Captain Glen say that, and he was near
enough to have heard him say it; but he remembered afterwards that when
he turned he caught sight of Mr Montaigne smiling in a peculiar way,
but whether at him (Joseph), or at Captain Glen and Miss Ruth, he was
not sure. It was a curious sort of smile, Joseph thought, exactly like
that which Buddy's old horse gave, drawing back its teeth before it
tried to bite, and it made Joseph shiver.
He might have been in everybody's way or he might not, but the
Honourable Philippa said that he was to stop about and make himself
useful, and of course he did; for if cook chose to give up her kitchen
to a set of foreign chiefs--he meant _chefs_--he was not going to be
ousted by Bunter's waiters, even if some of them were six feet high, and
one of them looked like a nobleman's butler. Miss Philippa said he was
to make himself useful, and see that the visitors had plenty, and he
did, though it was very funny to see how little some people took, though
that wasn't the case with others.
It was while busying himself directly after the company had left the
table that he came upon Captain Glen talking to Miss Ruth.
No, it wasn't Miss Ruth that time; it was Miss Marie. Yes, of course it
was; and Captain Glen was saying:
"No, Marie; I hope I am too much of a man to break my heart about a
weak, vain woman. You saw how I behaved this morning? Well, I behaved
as I felt--a little hurt, but heart-whole. Poor foolish girl! I trust
that she will be happy."
"I hope so, too," Marie had answered. "I am sorry, Captain Glen, and I
am very glad."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I am sure that Clotilde would never have made you happy."
She gazed up at him in a curious way as she spoke, and it seemed to
Joseph that Captain Glen looked puzzled and wondering. Then his face
lit up, and he was going to speak to Miss Marie, when little Richard
Millet came rushing up, saying:
"I say, Glen, hang it all! play fair. Don't monopolise the company of
all the ladies. Miss Marie, may I have the pleasure?"
He offered his arm as if he were going to take her through some dance
instead of from the big landing amongst the flowers into the
drawing-room; but instead of taking the offered arm, Joseph seemed to
see that Miss Marie bowed gravely, and, looking handsome and queen-like,
laid her hand upon the arm of Lord Henry Moorpark, who, very quiet and
grave, had been hovering about ever since they rose from the table.
Then the old gentleman had walked off with her, leaving little Mr
Millet very cross, and it seemed to Joseph that he said something that
sounded like a bar across a river, but whether it was weir or dam,
Joseph's brains were too much confused to recall.
In fact, all this came out by degrees in the calm and solitude of his
pantry, when he had recovered next day from a splitting headache; and
then it was that he recalled how foolishly everybody behaved when Miss
Clotilde--Mrs Elbraham, he meant--went off with her rich husband: how
Miss Philippa wept upon her neck, and Miss Isabella trembled, and her
hands shook, when she kissed the young wife; how Mr Montaigne seemed to
bless her, and afterwards go and stand by Miss Ruth, taking her hand and
drawing it through his arm, patting the hand at the same time in quite a
fatherly way.
Lady Anna Maria Morton, too, was there, standing with that stuck-up Mr
"Rawthur" Litton, and Miss Marie with Lord Henry, and Lady Littletown,
who seemed to have the management of the whole business, with Captain
Glen; and at last, after the Honourable Philippa had kissed Mrs
Elbraham once again, and then nearly fainted in little Dick Millet's
arms, the bride and bridegroom passed on towards the carriage, while
people began to throw white slippers at them, and shower handfuls of
rice, some of which fell on the bride's bonnet and some upon the
bridegroom, a good deal going down inside his coat-collar and some in
his neck. But he went on smiling and bowing, and looking, Joseph
thought, very much like a publican who had been dressed up in tight
clothes, and then in consequence had burst into a profuse perspiration.
Glen was standing close by the carriage with a half-laugh upon his face
as the bridegroom passed, and Joseph thought he looked very tall and
strong and handsome, and as if he would like to pitch Mr Elbraham into
the middle of the fountain.
And then, just as they were getting into the carriage, it seemed to
Joseph that Miss Clotilde--he meant Mrs Elbraham, the rich financier's
wife--turned her head and looked at Captain Glen in a strange wild way,
which made him turn aside and look at Miss Marie, when the bride went
for the first time into a hysterical fit of sobbing as she was helped
into the carriage, where Mr Elbraham followed her smiling red smiles.
The steps were rattled up, the door banged, the footman waited a moment
as the chariot moved away; and then sprang up into the rumble beside
Mrs Elbraham's maid, and away went the chariot as fast as four good
post horses could take it towards London, bound for Charing Cross
Station.
What took place at the private apartments afterwards Joseph did not
know, for long before the chariot had reached Richmond, the honest
serving-man's head was wedged in a corner between the press bedstead in
the pantry and the wall, and his confused ideas had gone off into
dreamland, apparently on the back of a snorting horse, bent on
recovering a certain five-pound note which was required for tying up a
white satin slipperful of rice, which had been emptied out of Mr
Elbraham's glass into a Lincoln and Bennett hat.
End of Volume Two.
Volume 3, Chapter I. The Story.--Years Ago--(Continued).