"Just now?" repeated Sir Peter, not grasping his friend's meaning. Lord
Otford pointed with his gold-headed cane to where the widow was
examining the houses.
"Otford!" cried the Admiral, angrily; but his friend interrupted him
impatiently. "Peter! He 's run away with that gel!"
"That he has n't!" replied Sir Peter, greatly relieved at being able to
speak the truth for once. "The gel's here."
"Fact?" asked Lord Otford.
"Solemn," affirmed the Admiral.
Lord Otford strode up and down in deep thought. He brought himself up
in front of the Admiral. There was evidently something more on his
mind. "Peter," he said, "do you know who her mother is?"
Sir Peter was getting impatient. He saw all the old, narrow-minded
prejudices being trotted out once more. "You're not going to begin that
again!" he cried, angrily.
"She's Lucy Pryor," said Lord Otford quietly.
The Admiral stared at him. For a moment the name conveyed no meaning.
"Lucy Pryor--?" Then the meaning suddenly flashed on him, and he
gasped, "Not Lucy Pryor!"
"Lucy Pryor!" repeated Lord Otford. "Ha!" he cried, with bitter
self-mockery, "I was telling her how impossible the marriage was--"
"And she turned out to be Lucy Pryor!" The Admiral was so hugely
delighted that for a moment he was unable to go on. "Jack, my boy," he
roared, doubled up with laughter, "you must have felt like six-pennorth
o' ha'-pence--what?"
"I did," answered Lord Otford, grimly; and then he added shamefacedly,
"But now I--I want to see her again. I must see her again."
"Never know when you 've had enough, eh?" chuckled Sir Peter, wiping the
tears from his streaming eyes.
"Laugh, you brute!" cried Lord Otford. "Laugh! Well you may. She 'll
never allow me inside her house. She was magnificent! _Patuit dea_,
Peter! She came the Goddess!"
"What did I tell you?" laughed Sir Peter, waving his handkerchief
triumphantly. "Didn't I say--?"
"Can't you coax her out here?" interrupted his friend.
"Me!" cried the Admiral. "No!--I've told you: I 'll have nothing to do
with it!"
Try how she might, Mrs. Poskett had only been able to pick up fragments
of the conversation, but those had been enough to arouse her curiosity.
Also she felt she had been standing neglected much too long. "Now, you
two," she said, coming between them, "I'm sure you 've gossiped long
enough."
Otford turned to her. "Madam," said he, in his most winning manner,
"will you do me a great favour?"--
"I'm sure your lordship wouldn't ask me anything unbecoming," she
replied, with pretty modesty.
"Will you persuade Madame Lachesnais to come out and taste the evening
air, not telling her I am here?"
Mrs. Poskett looked at him enquiringly, and with a woman's intuition
read an affirmation in his eyes.
"Don't do anything of the sort, Pamela!" cried the Admiral, warningly.
She turned sharply on him. How thick-headed men were, to be sure!
"Peter, I'm ashamed of you!" Then she addressed Lord Otford, "With
great pleasure, my Lord. Me and Peter 's that happy, we want to see
everybody ditto."
The Admiral stared from one to the other in amazement. What did she
mean? What could she mean, but one thing? "Gobblessmysoul, Jack!" he
cried at last, in utter amazement, "Is that it?"
"That's it!" said Mrs. Poskett, with a laugh.
"That's it!" said Lord Otford, with a melancholy smile.
Mrs. Poskett tripped joyously to Madame's house; knocked, and was
admitted.
The Admiral seized his friend by both hands with enthusiasm. "Here!
Come in! Come in and have a glass of port-wine!"
"But if Madame--" began Lord Otford.
"Come in! She won't budge from the house if she sees you here. Pamela
will warn us, when she's got her, and," ruefully, "she'll get her, fast
enough." They turned to go towards Sir Peter's house; but Lord Otford
stopped short, in surprise.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had opened his upstairs window and was leaning out,
fanning himself with his handkerchief.
"Hoskyn, by all that's wonderful!" said Lord Otford, eyeing unconscious
Brooke-Hoskyn through his lorgnette.
Sir Peter corrected him. "Brooke-Hoskyn; with a hyphen. I said you
must know him."
"Know him!" cried Lord Otford, laughing, "Know my old butler! I should
think so!"
"What?" asked the Admiral, not believing his ears.
"He married my cook, Mrs. Brooke! And now he 's City toast master."
Sir Peter gave a low whistle. "That's it, is it?" What a triumph!
"When the Walk knows that--!"
"That's your man of fashion, is it, Peter?" laughed Lord Otford.
But the Admiral was thinking. "No!" he cried, suddenly, "Damme! No!
he's a good fellow, and I'm not a blackguard!--Jack, follow my lead."
He made a speaking-trumpet with his hands and roared, as if Mr.
Brooke-Hoskyn had been a mile away, "Ahoy! Brooky, my boy! Here 's your
old friend, Otford."
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn nearly fell out of the window.
"Glad to see you, Hoskyn," said Lord Otford, cheerfully, with an amiable
wave of his hand.
"Oh, don't!" groaned Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, hoarsely. "Oh, my Lord!--Not at
this moment! I ain't equal to it, your Lordship! I reely ain't!"
"Sorry you're ill," said Lord Otford, with a pleasant laugh. "Too much
to eat, and too little to do. What you want is a family to keep you
lively!"
"A family!" almost shrieked Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "Oh, my Lord!" He
disappeared abruptly from the window, and Lord Otford and the Admiral
went arm-in-arm and laughing heartily into the latter's house.
It was now quite dark in the Walk: the translucent darkness of a perfect
June night. The stillness was so great that you could hear the river
lapping against the bank as it flowed by. Behind the tower of Chiswick
Church the sky shone pale, but, above, it melted into purple in which
the stars seemed to hang loose. Even the leaves of the elm had ceased
to whisper together and had gone to sleep. Here and there in the Walk a
faint light appeared behind drawn blinds and closed curtains. Presently
the bow window of the Misses Pennymint's house was gently opened, and
Barbara and Basil appeared. Their arms were twined round each other,
and Barbara's pretty head reposed against her lover's shoulder. Framed
in the jasmine that encircled the window, they made as touching a
picture as you could wish to see. They stood quite still, inhaling the
fragrance of the slumbering elm, and thinking thoughts unutterable.
As they opened their window Jack opened his. He was famished, and there
was no sign of Marjolaine. Could she have forgotten him?
"'On such a night as this--'" began Basil, in his richest and deepest
notes.
Jack whistled a flourish very softly.
"Hark, Basil," whispered Barbara, looking up into his eyes. "Hark! The
nightingale!"
Jack whistled a little louder.
"Do you think that is the nightingale, dearest?" ventured Basil.
Jack whistled loud and impatiently.
"At least let us make believe it is," murmured Barbara.
Jack's whistle rose to a screech.
"My own one!" boomed Basil, in a voice like subdued but passionate
thunder.
Jack was just on the point of a despairing effort, when Madame's door
opened. He craned forward in the hope of seeing Marjolaine emerge, but
had to withdraw swiftly, for Mrs. Poskett came down the steps, followed
by Madame.
"The air is so balmy, it's a pity to stay indoors," Mrs. Poskett was
saying.
"We were just coming out," answered Madame. "Marjolaine is strangely
restless." She had come down the steps and now saw Barbara and Basil in
the window. She stopped astonished. "Ah--?--Why!--Really?--"
"Yes!" cried Barbara, joyfully, clinging closer to Basil. "We are to be
married at once! We are going to ask Doctor Sternroyd to get us a
licence."
"My own one!" Basil's deep diapason reverberated through the night.
"Oh! I am so very glad!" said Madame, in her most charming manner.
But to Basil even this gentle congratulation seemed almost like a
desecration. "Come in, my own," he throbbed, "lest the winds of heaven
visit your face too roughly."
"Ah!" sighed Barbara. What beautiful language he used, to be sure, and
how different from Charles's. Closely linked they sank back into the
darkness of the room.
"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Poskett, alluding to them. "I wonder who'll
be getting married next!" She and Madame came and sat under the elm.
Marjolaine crept very cautiously down the steps. She was elaborately
concealing something in the folds of her dress. She stole along the
railings, watching her mother and Mrs. Poskett, till she got to Doctor
Sternroyd's gate. There she swiftly deposited two packages just inside
the railing. Then she joined the others, looking as innocent as a lamb.
Mrs. Poskett said simperingly, "I wanted you to be the first to hear of
my betrothal."
"I hope he'll make you very happy," said Madame, cordially.
"I 'll see to that!" answered Mrs. Poskett; and her manner showed she
meant it.
"Isn't it wonderful, Maman!" exclaimed Marjolaine. "An angel's wing has
touched Pomander Walk, and everybody's going to be married!"
"Yes, my poor child," said Madame, and held out her hand sympathetically
to draw her daughter to her heart. But Marjolaine had turned away, and
was singing! Actually singing!
"In Scarlet Town--" she had begun.
"Surely, you are not going to sing!" said Madame, almost reproachfully.
"Let her, Ma'am," said Mrs. Poskett, "'t will keep her quiet."
So Marjolaine stood between her mother and Doctor Sternroyd's house, and
sang.
"In Scarlet Town, where I was born
There was a fair Maid dwellin'--"
"Ah! these pathetic old ballads!" sighed Madame, turning to Mrs.
Poskett.
At the first note of Marjolaine's song Jack had appeared at the window.
Marjolaine now half turned to him, and went on:--
"A pigeon-pie and a loaf of bread
Are just behind the railin'!"
The lamplighter, a wizened little man with a face like a ferret's, came
running round the corner with his short ladder over his shoulder. He put
it against the lamp-post opposite the Admiral's house, swarmed up it
like a squirrel, lighted the lamp, slid down the ladder, and ran quickly
to the lamp at Doctor Sternroyd's.
Jack had the door ajar, and was eagerly peeping out; but in the darkness
he could see nothing.
"The lamplighter!" exclaimed Madame Lachesnais, with some surprise. "I
thought there was a moon to-night."
"Perhaps he's forgotten," answered Mrs. Poskett. "Anyhow, he 'll come
and put out the lights as soon as the moon rises."