"Oh! little Mimsey dear, with your poor thin arms round my neck, and
your cold, pale cheek against mine. I felt them there only last night!
To have grown into such a splendid vision of female health and strength
and beauty as this--with that enchanting, ever-ready laugh and smile!
Why, of course, those eyes, so lashless then, so thickly fringed
to-day!--how could I have mistaken them? Ah, Mimsey, you never smiled or
laughed in those days, or I should have known your eyes again! Is it
possible--is it possible?"
Thus I went on to myself till the ladies left, my fair young companion
expressing her kind anxiety and polite hope that I would soon be
myself again.
I sat silent till it was time to join the ladies (I could not even
follow the witty and brilliant anecdotes of the great painter, who held
the table); and then I went up to my room. I could not face _her_ again
so soon after what I had heard.
The good Lord Cray came to make kind inquiries, but I soon satisfied him
that my indisposition was nothing. He stayed on, however, and talked;
his dinner seemed to have done him a great deal of good, and he wanted
to smoke (and somebody to smoke with), which he had not been able to do
in the dining-room on account of some reverend old bishop who was
present. So he rolled himself a little cigarette, like a Frenchman, and
puffed away to his heart's content.
He little guessed how his humble architect wished him away, until he
began to talk of the Duchess of Towers--"Mary Towers," as he called
her--and to tell me how "Towers" deserved to be kicked, and whipped at
the cart's tail. "Why, she's the best and most beautiful woman in
England, and as sharp as a needle! If it hadn't been for her, he'd have
been in the bankruptcy court long ago," etc. "There's not a duchess in
England that's fit to hold the candle to her, either for looks or
brains, or breedin' either. Her mother (the loveliest woman that ever
lived, except Mary) was a connection of mine; that's where she gets her
manners!" etc.
Thus did this noble earl make music for me--sweet and bitter music.
Mary! It is a heavenly name, especially on English lips, and spelled in
the English mode with the adorable _y_! Great men have had a passion for
it--Byron, Shelley, Burns. But none, methinks, a greater passion than I,
nor with such good cause.
And yet there must be a bad Mary now and then, here or there, and even
an ugly one. Indeed, there was once a Bloody Mary who was both! It seems
incredible!
Mary, indeed! Why not Hecuba? For what was I to the Duchess of Towers?
When I was alone again I went to bed, and tried to sleep on my back,
with my arms up, in the hope of a true dream; but sleep would not come,
and I passed a white night, as the French say. I rose early and walked
about the park, and tried to interest my self in the stables till it was
breakfast-time. Nobody was up, and I breakfasted alone with Lady Cray,
who was as kind as she could be. I do not think she could have found me
a very witty companion. And then I went back to the stables to think,
and fell into a doze.
At about twelve I heard the sound of wooden balls, and found a lawn
where some people were playing "croquet." It was quite a new game, and a
few years later became the fashion.
[Illustration: SWEET AND BITTER MUSIC.]
I sat down under a large weeping-ash close to the lawn; it was like a
tent, with chairs and tables underneath.
Presently Lady Cray came there with the Duchess of Towers. I wanted to
fly, but was rooted to the spot.
[Illustration: The Introduction.]
Lady Cray presented me, and almost immediately a servant came with a
message for her, and I was left with the One Woman in the World! My
heart was in my mouth, my throat was dry, my pulse was beating in
my temples.