IN WHICH GRANDMAMMA RENEWS HERS
WHEN Philip and Mary returned to the King’s Parade with their inmost
thoughts centered upon a dish of tea, a great surprise awaited them.
The sitting-room overlooking the sea was in the occupation of no less
a person than His Britannic Majesty’s Ex-Ambassador to Persia. He had
come, it appeared, to thank Grandmamma personally for the loan of her
apparatus, and to commemorate the amount of good it had already done
the complaint from which they suffered in common.
It happened that Grandmamma, like other old ladies who have moved
in the world, could talk to a lord as well as most people if she
happened to be in the humor. Well, she had had a pretty good nap; the
cap-with-the-Siddons’-lace was as straight as you please; and she had
a distinct recollection of having met the Ex-Ambassador at Knebworth
somewhere about the year 1881.
Long before Philip, accompanied by Mary, returned in his unconventional
footballing costume, these two interesting persons were getting on like
a house on fire. The past was reconstructed and repeopled; the present
was deplored, and, alas! abused not a little. Mrs. Cathcart had known
Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Disraeli--whom she couldn’t abide!--Mr. Dickens, Mr.
Thackeray, Lord Tennyson, Mr. Bright, and Garibaldi. Comparisons are
invidious, but where are the persons of that type nowadays?
Lord Warlock entirely agreed with the goddaughter of Bean. Alas, the
world had fallen upon evil days indeed!
“But I think, ma’am, you have a devilish sensible granddaughter, if I
may say so.”
Grandmamma hoped her granddaughter was sensible, although to her mind
it seemed that she had not married very prudently.
No brains, certainly, agreed my lord--speaking of the young chap, of
course--but perhaps a young chap was just as well without ’em, provided
his income was large enough to supply the deficiency.
However, it was more a Question of Principle to the mind of Grandmamma.
And a Question of Principle is, of course, a great matter. The stage
and the peerage had so little in common that they were best kept apart.
Not, to be sure, that Grandmamma was blind to the worldly advantages,
but then, to one who had played Lady Macbeth to John Peter Kendall,
worldly advantages were not everything.
Mary and Philip undoubtedly interrupted an agreeable _tête-à-tête_.
But the Ex-Ambassador shook hands with them both, and informed Mary
once more how devilish obliged he was for the improvement that had
already been wrought in his rheumatism. Mary was delighted to hear
that, of course; and she rang for more tea and ordered _heaps_ of hot
buttered cakes; and Pa was so genial that this might never have been
the creature who had stolen a march on Adela.
Mr. Philip, it must be admitted, was not very conversational. Even in
the most favorable circumstances he was a silent young man. But Mary
could talk enough for two, or enough for twenty if it came to that,
being one of those gifted young women who are never at a loss in any
society. Yet she was tactful, of course, with this Grecian gift--yes,
it is a Grecian gift, you young ladies of Newnham and Girton; and if
you possess this valuable faculty to the degree that Mary did, be like
her and never, never abuse it.
The Tactful Young Madam hoped that Lord Warlock would excuse their
unconventional attire. They had been playing football for the benefit
of the widow and five young children of the late Joe McPherson, and
ten thousand people had been present and quite a substantial sum was
likely to be raised, and if Lord Warlock would be so kind as to give
her the sovereign he had promised her for the Fund she would have great
pleasure in forwarding it to the Treasurer, and she was sure the
Treasurer would have equal pleasure in receiving it, because the Cause
was so Deserving.
Pa paid up there and then, like a fine old Irish gentleman and a
sportsman to boot; and Mary promised to send on the receipt as soon as
she received it; and my lord said the receipt was of no consequence;
and Mary, with her square and sensible face, said a receipt was always
of consequence; not that she contradicted Pa at all rudely, you know,
as we fear another young person has been known to do on occasion.
She then explained that their side had won the match by two goals
to one, and that the winning goal had been scored by Philip; and my
lord remarked that a devilish good game was polo, and it was a great
pity we had allowed the Cup to go to America, and we must send a
good team and plenty of ponies and get it back again; in which the
Siddons’-cap-of-real-lace concurred with great spirit, and affirmed her
conviction that there had been negligence somewhere.
“Oh, we shall just muddle along until Uncle Jonathan annexes us, and
then we shall begin to wake up a bit, I daresay.”
And everybody laughed loudly, of course, at the caustic Ambassadorial
Humor.
But it wasn’t polo they had been playing, says little Miss Newnham,
with her passion for exactitude. Of course it wasn’t, my dear. Then
why didn’t Mary say so? Her Tact again, my dear. It always bores a
real live ex-ambassador to have to stand corrected; and football is so
plebeian that polo sounds nicer; and it really didn’t matter a straw,
so there was no use in being tediously literal, was there?
You don’t see the point of the argument, and you still think, my dear,
it was Mary’s duty to make it clear that the game was football. Sorry
not to agree with _you_, Miss Newnham; but we are sure we shall have
the sanction of all parents and guardians when we lay down the axiom
that it is a chief part of the whole duty of Woman never to bore an
ambassador.
Had Mary been tediously literal she would probably not have received
an invitation to Hurlingham any afternoon she cared to come during the
season, which she promptly accepted with becoming gratitude. And then,
before the Ex-Ambassador could take up his hat and rise from the sofa,
she had asked the important question, Could Lord Warlock be so _very_
kind as to give her advice how to get Philip into Parliament?
There was a question for you! Give _her_ advice, mark you, young
ladies. There was a great deal in that. The Ex-Ambassador fixed his
monocle, of course, with a little pardonable magniloquence of bearing,
like any other ex-ambassador would have done; looked about as wise as
you make ’em, and said in the sharp dry manner that he had really
copied from his father who had copied it from Mr. Rogers, although
that was a secret that lay with him in his grave--and what did the
Ex-Ambassador say?
He said the best way to get into Parliament is to see that you keep out
of it....
How very deep and subtle; quite worthy of Mr. Punch at his best, say
all parents and guardians.
_We_ can’t see the point of the reply, say the dreadfully literal young
ladies of Newnham and Girton.
Well, if you really can’t, my dears, it is not for us to attempt to
explain it.
Anyhow, that was the Ambassadorial reply; and real Tact--the genuine
guaranteed article--in the person of Mistress Mary was delighted with
this brilliant _mot_; and the real lace of Siddons immensely admired
its _esprit_, and said quite audibly to the crochet-work antimacassar
“that it was worthy of dear Dicky Milnes”; and the Ex-Ambassador, still
feeling quite comfortable on the sofa, in spite of the fact that the
springs were broken and that the stuffing was distributed so unevenly,
thought he might just as well stay another five minutes.
There can be no doubt that the extension of the visit was entirely due
to Mary’s tact. And now, young ladies, let us see the use that she made
of it.
“If only there would be a vacancy at Blackhampton I think I could get
him in myself, because I really think I have got Blackhampton in my
pocket.”
“A very right and proper place in which to keep a borough; it was in
our time, Mrs. Cathcart, eh?”
The Siddons’ cap and the inheritor of the Rogers tradition had this
delectable morsel all to themselves. The brain of Mary the Tactful
was much too busy marshalling its battalions, and Mr. Philip was far
too much interested in hot buttered tea-cake, which he had certainly
earned, to be able to follow the conversation except at a very
respectful distance. Therefore the continued _esprit_ of my lord was
like to have gone unhonored save for Granny, who could have imagined
Sydney Smith, etc.
So, after all, it was really as much due to the Siddons’ cap that the
five minutes grew into ten; and this further extension was rather
important, since Mary was busy posing the mighty problem how could she
get this absentee Irish landlord, who was bound by the nature of the
case to be a Vandeleurite, to play the game of a perfectly ferocious
Balsquithian.
“You see, Lord Warlock, I want my Philip to go into Parliament, but
we don’t know anybody who has got any influence with Mr. Balsquith,
because all our friends are on the other side.”
A very nicely calculated candor, Miss Mary; well might the
Ex-Ambassador present a picture of amiable cynicism.
“Seems to me, then, you had better apply to the other party.”
“Oh, no, Lord Warlock. My Philip is nothing like clever enough to be a
Vandeleurite.”
Rather sacrificing her lord, though, wasn’t she, on the altar of high
diplomacy? Not that Mr. Philip minded that particularly. Hot buttered
tea-cake was of far more consequence than anything that had transpired
up to the present.
The Ex-Ambassador was constrained to feel that the ambitious young
woman’s reasoning was sound. The young hussy then proceeded to draw her
next card out of the pack, and it wasn’t a very bad one, either.
“You see, Lord Warlock, I am so keen for my Philip to go into politics,
as I want people to say that the best day’s work he ever did was when
he married me.”
There was only one reply for an old diplomatist to make to this
engaging candor. It is hardly necessary to say that no time was lost in
making it.
How did Mary, who is really too pushing to be quite nice, in my
opinion, receive the obviously insincere compliment that was paid to
her? says our little friend Miss Newnham. She didn’t say a word, my
dear, but she blushed quite charmingly--at least, the Ex-Ambassador
thought she did--and then that absolutely direct glance of about two
thousand candle-power came right at the noble earl, who proceeded to
register on the tablets of his worldly wise old mind the following
pearl of wisdom: No Wonder The Young Fools Marry ’Em Nowadays.
“So you want to get him into Parliament, do you--as a Rag?” mused the
old cynic.
“Dear Lord Warlock, if you would only give me a little advice, I am
really so ignorant!”
There was just room for two persons on the decrepit sofa that had the
honor of holding my lord. Would it bear the weight of both of ’em? was
another poser for Mary the Tactful. She would risk it, anyhow; and so
she sat down beside the Ex-Ambassador in a charmingly impulsive manner,
and said, “Dear Lord Warlock, do help me,” and very nearly slew one who
had grown old in the world with her good gray eyes.
It may almost be laid down as an axiom that ex-ambassadors are pretty
deep as a rule. This one was certainly not an exception. Not only did
his dark and self-contained appearance suggest considerable guile, but
this picturesque impression was amply confirmed by the fascinating
curves of his intellect. In fine, my lords and gentlemen, His Britannic
Majesty’s Ex-Ambassador to Persia was a long way from being a fool.
Therefore he made no immediate reply to Mary the Tactful. But
the Pushful Young Hussy--as every young married woman should be,
my dear Miss Newnham--knew perfectly well that she had given the
fellow-occupant of the sofa to think. As a matter of fact, the
fellow-occupant thought considerable, and somewhat to this tenor.
I am not very pleased with Vandeleur just now. He as good as promised
me that vacant Thistle, but he gave it to Blougram instead, who, of
course, has not rendered one-tenth of my services to the Empire. Then
this young fool is the eldest son of an old fool who takes himself far
too seriously--an old fool who has jobbed his way into unmerited favor,
and has done as much as anybody, outside the perfectly appalling Front
Bench, to ruin the party. Well, I owe Vandeleur a grudge; I can’t abide
pompous mediocrity; I’m feeling rather mischievous just now with this
ill-tempered girl o’ mine left on my hands, when she ought to have been
settled five years ago; and if the successor to Van’s very last and
very worst creation goes over lock, stock and barrel to the Rag, Tag
and Bobtails, legs are going to be pulled pretty badly all round, eh?
We hope the reasoning of the noble lord is clear to all parents and
guardians. Certainly it is a little advanced for the junior members of
the congregation. We have done our humble best to make it as lucid as
possible, but the mental processes of an Ex-Ambassador call for the
very nicest skill on the part of our Pegasus, who was never a very
agile beast, at his best, and age don’t improve him.
Mary the Tactful waited quite a minute for the Fellow-Occupant to break
the silence. And then into little pieces the silence was shattered.
“I don’t say I’ve any influence with Balsquith, but I might throw out
a hint to Huffham and MacMurdo and the other Rag, Tag and Bobtail wire
pullers that your man would like to stand for ’em, and a very able man,
too.”
Tactful Mary was breathless with gratitude. But not for a moment did
her statesmanlike grasp desert her.
“Some large manufacturing town--Leeds or Bootle, or Sheffield, or
Blackhampton, where they’d remember my Cinderella, and where I’ve
presented medals, and where I’ve sung at concerts, when they’ve brought
home T’Coop. If Free Trade and I can’t get him in in any of those
places, where they know a Cinderella when they see one--”
The granddaughter of the goddaughter of Edward Bean burst into a peal
of laughter.
There was the grim light of Humor also in the ambassadorial eye.
“Best thing you can do, Mrs. Shelmerdine,” said Worldly Wisdom, “is to
see that your young chap writes a nice sensible letter to Balsquith,
stating his views clearly in as few words as he can; and in the
meantime I’ll sow a few myself, and get Huffham or MacMurdo to meet him
at lunch at the Helicon; and if at the next bye-election one Vandeleur
don’t get his leg pulled, I’m better fitted to eat Thistles than to
wear ’em.”
Even Mary the Tactful, whose knowledge of the world was so immense,
hardly appreciated the full flavor of the latter remark; but what she
did appreciate, and quite keenly, too, was the enormous importance of
those that had preceded it.
She didn’t overdo her gratitude because ex-ambassadors are not at all
partial to Fuss. She thanked my lord very simply and sincerely; but she
let the good gray eyes do most of the work, and very charmingly they
did it. A very sensible girl, who will make a good wife for anybody,
and I only wish that insolent wench of mine had got half her brains,
thought the Ambassadorial One. Not that he said so to Mary the Tactful;
although, strictly between ourselves, young ladies of Newnham and
Girton, she wouldn’t have minded very much if he had.
Lord Warlock took his leave at last, having passed quite an agreeable
hour, whereas he had but expected a formal perfunctory ten minutes.
It had been indeed a pleasure to meet Mrs. Cathcart again; and we
have seen what an impression the granddaughter had made upon the old
diplomatist. Yes, he assured the latter, a word in season should reach
the chiefs of the Party. It was rash to make promises, but he hoped
and believed--particularly as the Rags were always on the look-out for
young men of family in order to redress the balance a bit--Mr. Philip
might find himself in the midst of a bye-election in the not distant
future.
This was imparted to Mary in strict confidence, while she conducted the
visitor downstairs. And when the young minx had sped my lord over the
doorstep with her picture-postcard smile, she came up the stairs again,
two at a time, with the air of one who has really done something clever.
“And now, Phil-ipp,” said she, “you must go at once and have a nice
warm bath; and I will go to the chemist’s and get something for those
poor feet.”