SHOWING HOW FRIENDS MAY DIFFER
The morning broke drearily for our friends, the two pedestrians, at the
‘Blue Goat.’ A day of dull aspect and soft rain in midsummer has the added
depression that it seems an anachronism. One is in a measure prepared for
being weather-bound in winter. You accept imprisonment as the natural
fortune of the season, or you brave the elements prepared to let them do
their worst, while, if confined to house, you have that solace of snugness,
that comfortable chimney-corner which somehow realises an immense amount
of the joys we concentrate in the word ‘Home.’ It is in the want of this
rallying-point, this little domestic altar, where all gather together in a
common worship, that lies the dreary discomfort of being weather-bound in
summer, and when the prison is some small village inn, noisy, disorderly,
and dirty, the misery is complete.
‘Grand old pig that!’ said Lockwood, as he gazed out upon the filthy yard,
where a fat old sow contemplated the weather from the threshold of her
dwelling.
‘I wish she’d come out. I want to make a sketch of her,’ said the other.
‘Even one’s tobacco grows too damp to smoke in this blessed climate,’ said
Lockwood, as he pitched his cigar away. ‘Heigh-ho! We ‘re too late for the
train to town, I see.’
‘You’d not go back, would you?’
‘I should think I would! That old den in the upper castle-yard is not very
cheery or very nice, but there is a chair to sit on, and a review and a
newspaper to read. A tour in a country and with a climate like this is a
mistake.’
‘I suspect it is,’ said Walpole drearily.
‘There is nothing to see, no one to talk to, nowhere to stop at!’
‘All true,’ muttered the other. ‘By the way, haven’t we some plan or
project for to-day--something about an old castle or an abbey to see?’
‘Yes, and the waiter brought me a letter. I think it was addressed to you,
and I left it on my dressing-table. I had forgotten all about it. I’ll go
and fetch it.’
Short as his absence was, it gave Walpole time enough to recur to his
late judgment on his tour, and once more call it a ‘mistake, a complete
mistake.’ The Ireland of wits, dramatists, and romance-writers was a
conventional thing, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to the rain-soaked,
dreary-looking, depressed reality. ‘These Irish, they are odd without being
droll, just as they are poor without being picturesque; but of all the
delusions we nourish about them, there is not one so thoroughly absurd as
to call them dangerous.’
He had just arrived at this mature opinion, when his friend re-entered and
handed him the note.
‘Here is a piece of luck. _Per Bacco_!’ cried Walpole, as he ran over the
lines. ‘This beats all I could have hoped for. Listen to this--“Dear Mr.
Walpole,--I cannot tell you the delight I feel in the prospect of seeing a
dear friend, or a friend from dear Italy, which is it? “’
‘Who writes this?’
‘A certain Mademoiselle Kostalergi, whom I knew at Rome; one of the
prettiest, cleverest, and nicest girls I ever met in my life.’
‘Not the daughter of that precious Count Kostalergi you have told me such
stories of?’
‘The same, but most unlike him in every way. She is here, apparently
with an uncle, who is now from home, and she and her cousin invite us to
luncheon to-day.’
‘What a lark!’ said the other dryly.
‘We’ll go, of course?’
‘In weather like this?’
‘Why not? Shall we be better off staying here? I now begin to remember how
the name of this place was so familiar to me. She was always asking me if
I knew or heard of her mother’s brother, the Lord Kilgobbin, and, to tell
truth, I fancied some one had been hoaxing her with the name, and never
believed that there was even a place with such a designation.’
‘Kilgobbin does not sound like a lordly title. How about Mademoiselle--what
is the name?’
‘Kostalergi; they call themselves princes.’
‘With all my heart. I was only going to say, as you’ve got a sort of knack
of entanglement--is there, or has there been, anything of that sort here?’
‘Flirtation--a little of what is called “spooning”--but no more. But why do
you ask?’
‘First of all, you are an engaged man.’
‘All true, and I mean to keep my engagement. I can’t marry, however, till I
get a mission, or something at home as good as a mission. Lady Maude
knows that; her friends know it, but none of us imagine that we are to be
miserable in the meantime.’
‘I’m not talking of misery. I’d only say, don’t get yourself into any mess.
These foreign girls are very wide-awake.’
‘Don’t believe that, Harry; one of our home-bred damsels would give them
a distance and beat them in the race for a husband. It’s only in England
girls are trained to angle for marriage, take my word for it.’
‘Be it so--I only warn you that if you get into any scrape I’ll accept none
of the consequences. Lord Danesbury is ready enough to say that, because I
am some ten years older than you, I should have kept you out of mischief. I
never contracted for such a bear-leadership; though I certainly told Lady
Maude I’d turn Queen’s evidence against you if you became a traitor.’
‘I wonder you never told me that before,’ said Walpole, with some
irritation of manner.
‘I only wonder that I told it now!’ replied the other gruffly.
‘Then I am to take it, that in your office of guardian, you’d rather we’d
decline this invitation, eh?’
‘I don’t care a rush for it either way, but, looking to the sort of day it
is out there, I incline to keep the house.’
‘I don’t mind bad weather, and I’ll go,’ said Walpole, in a way that showed
temper was involved in the resolution.
Lockwood made no other reply than heaping a quantity of turf on the fire,
and seating himself beside it.
When a man tells his fellow-traveller that he means to go his own
road--that companionship has no tie upon him--he virtually declares the
partnership dissolved; and while Lockwood sat reflecting over this, he
was also canvassing with himself how far he might have been to blame in
provoking this hasty resolution.
‘Perhaps he was irritated at my counsels, perhaps the notion of anything
like guidance offended him; perhaps it was the phrase, “bear-leadership,”
and the half-threat of betraying him, has done the mischief.’ Now the
gallant soldier was a slow thinker; it took him a deal of time to arrange
the details of any matter in his mind, and when he tried to muster his
ideas there were many which would not answer the call, and of those
which came, there were not a few which seemed to present themselves in a
refractory and unwilling spirit, so that he had almost to suppress a mutiny
before he proceeded to his inspection.
Nor did the strong cheroots, which he smoked to clear his faculties and
develop his mental resources, always contribute to this end, though their
soothing influence certainly helped to make him more satisfied with his
judgments.
‘Now, look here, Walpole,’ said he, determining that he would save himself
all unnecessary labour of thought by throwing the burden of the case on the
respondent--‘Look here; take a calm view of this thing, and see if it’s
quite wise in you to go back into trammels it cost you some trouble to
escape from. You call it spooning, but you won’t deny you went very far
with that young woman--farther, I suspect, than you’ve told me yet. Eh! is
that true or not?’
He waited a reasonable time for a reply, but none coming, he went on--‘I
don’t want a forced confidence. You may say it’s no business of mine, and
there I agree with you, and probably if you put _me_ to the question in
the same fashion, I’d give you a very short answer. Remember one thing,
however, old fellow--I’ve seen a precious deal more of life and the world
than you have! From sixteen years of age, when _you_ were hammering away at
Greek verbs and some such balderdash at Oxford, I was up at Rangoon with
the very fastest set of men--ay, of women too--I ever lived with in all my
life. Half of our fellows were killed off by it. Of course people will say
climate, climate! but if I were to give you the history of one day--just
twenty-four hours of our life up there--you’d say that the wonder is
there’s any one alive to tell it.’
He turned around at this, to enjoy the expression of horror and surprise
he hoped to have called up, and perceived for the first time that he was
alone. He rang the bell, and asked the waiter where the other gentleman
had gone, and learned that he had ordered a car, and set out for Kilgobbin
Castle more than half an hour before.
‘All right,’ said he fiercely. ‘I wash my hands of it altogether! I’m
heartily glad I told him so before he went.’ He smoked on very vigorously
for half an hour, the burden of his thoughts being perhaps revealed by
the summing-up, as he said, ‘And when you are “in for it,” Master Cecil,
and some precious scrape it will be, if I move hand or foot to pull you
through it, call me a Major of Marines, that’s all--just call me a Major of
Marines!’ The ineffable horror of such an imputation served as matter for
reverie for hours.