Mother [_lifting brows_]. He’s as old as Methusaleh!”
Daughter [_flashing eyes_]. That’s my business!
Mother [_little trembling of the eyelashes_]. You will never know how I
have striven and struggled for you!
Daughter [_smoothing features_]. Merely the innate maternal instinct, my
dear, common to all mammalia.
Mother [_beginning to tip head sidewise_]. It is true that Tristram is
docile, sheep-like, simple----
Daughter [_lifting her chin_]. And old enough to be enchained at my feet
all his life.
Mother [_head much to one side_]. And he has always been extremely
cordial with _me_----
Daughter [_chin high in air_]. And not another girl in my set has had a
proposal for _years_.
Mother [_brightening eye_]. We shall be in time to buy everything at the
January sales!
[Mother _smiles;_ Daughter _sighs relief. The imaginations of both
wander pleasantly off to visions of sublimated Christmas shopping, in
connection with the trousseau and betrothal gifts. General joy._]
As I have said, this is Uncle Dudley’s idea, not mine. My own fancy
prefers to conjure up a tenderer dialogue, in which the mother, all fond
solicitude, bids the maiden search well her heart, and answer only its
true appeal, and the sweet daughter, timid, fluttering, half-frightened
and wholly glad, flashes hack from the depths of her soul the rapt
assurance of her fate. But Dudley was certainly right about the ending,
as the first words Mrs Albert uttered go to show.
“Don’t forget to remind me, then, about presents for the Gregory
children,” she said all at once, in a swift sidelong whisper at
Ermyntrude. Then she turned, and as I gazed wistfully upon her face,
it melted sedately, gracefully, a little at a time, into the smile I
sought.
“My dear Tristram,” she began, and her voice took on a coo of genuine
kindliness and warmth as she went on, “of course Albert and I have had
other views--and the dear girl is perfectly qualified to adorn the
most exalted and exclusive circles--if I do say it myself--but--but
her happiness is our one desire, and if she feels that it is getting--I
_would_ say, if you and she are quite clear in your own minds--and we
both have the greatest confidence in your practical common-sense, and
your _honour_--and we have all learned to be fond of you--and--and I am
really very glad!”
“Most of all things in the world, dear lady, I hoped for this,” I had
begun to say, with fervour. I stopped, upon the discovery that Mrs
Albert was not listening, but had turned and was conferring with her
daughter in half-audible asides.
“Mercy, no!” the mother said. “They’d know in a minute that it had been
a present to us. That old Mrs Gregory is a perfect _lynx_ for detecting
such things. I suppose their boys are too big for tricycles, else your
father knows a dealer who----”
My own Ermie looked thoughtful. “It won’t seem queer, you think,
our bursting in upon them with Christmas presents like this--without
provocation?” she asked.
“My dear child, queer or not queer,” said Mrs Albert, “it is imperative.
You know how much depends upon it--there are plenty of others who would
be equally useful in various ways, but not like the _Gregorys_--and
if there were there’s no time now. If this could have happened, now, a
fortnight ago, or even last week----”
“Yes, but it didn’t,” replied Ermyntrude. “It only happened to-day.” She
turned to me, with a little laugh in her eyes. “Mamma complains that we
delayed so long. We have interfered with the Christmas arrangements.”
“If I had only known! But--I claim to be treated as one of the family,
you know--I couldn’t quite grasp what you were saying about the
Gregorys. I gather that our--our betrothal involves Christmas presents
for them, but I confess I don’t know why. Or oughtn’t I to have asked,
dear?”
For answer Ermyntrude looked saucily into my face, twisted her dear
nose into a pretty little mocking grimace, and ran out of the room. Mrs
Albert vouchsafed no explanation, but talked of other matters--and there
were enough to talk about.
It was not, indeed, till late in the evening, when Uncle Dudley and
I were upon our last cigar, that I happened to recall the mystifying
incident of the Gregorys.
“That’s simplicity itself,” said Uncle Dudley. “The Gregorys own one of
the tidiest country seats in Nottinghamshire--lovely old house, sylvan
arbours, high wall, fascinating rural roads--in the very heart of county
society, too--O, a most romantic and eligible place!”
“Well, what of it? What has that to do with Ermyntrude and me and Santa
Claus?”
“If you will read the _Morning Post_ the day after your wedding, my
dear, dull friend, you will learn that Colonel Gregory has placed at
the disposal of a certain bridal couple for their honeymoon his ideal
country residence. The paper will not state why, but I will tell you in
confidence. It will be because the bride’s mother is a resourceful and
observant woman, who knows how to plant at Christmas that she may gather
at Easter.”
“I hate to have you always so beastly cynical, Dudley,” I was emboldened
to exclaim.
Uncle Dudley regarded me attentively for an instant. He took a
thoughtful sip at his drink, and then began smiling at his glass. When
he turned to me again, the smile had grown into a grin.
“You are belated, my boy,” he said. “You ought to have married into the
Grundys years ago. You were just born to be one of the family.”