As the family at the great house were gathered together at luncheon on
the day after the events we have just recorded, Lord Culduff's answer to
Temple Bramleigh's note was fully and freely discussed.
“Of course,” said Jack, “I speak under correction; but how comes it
that your high and mighty friend brings another man with him? Is Cutbill
an attaché? Is he one of what you call 'the line'?”
“I am happy to contribute the correction you ask for,” said Temple,
haughtily. “Mr. Cutbill is not a member of the diplomatic body, and
though such a name might not impossibly be found in the Navy list, you
'll scarcely chance upon it at F. O.”
“My chief question is, however, still to be answered. On what pretext
does he bring him here?” said Jack, with unbroken good humor.
“As to that,” broke in Augustus, “Lord Culduff's note is perfectly
explanatory; he says his friend is travelling with him; they came here
on a matter of business, and, in fact, there would be an awkwardness on
his part in separating from him, and on ours, if we did not prevent such
a contingency.”
“Quite so,” chimed in Temple. “Nothing could be more guarded or
courteous than Lord Culduff's reply. It was n't in the least like
an Admiralty minute, Jack, or an order to Commander Spiggins, of the
'Snarler,' to take in five hundred firkins of pork.”
“I might say, now, that you 'll not find that name in the Navy list,
Temple,” said the sailor, laughing.
“Do they arrive to-day?” asked Marion, not a little uncomfortable at
this exchange of tart things.
“To dinner,” said Temple.
“I suppose we have seen the last leg of mutton we are to meet with till
he goes,” cried Jack: “that precious French fellow will now give his
genius full play, and we 'll have to dine off 'salmis' and 'suprêmes,'
or make our dinner off bread-and-cheese.”
“Perhaps you would initiate Bertond into the mystery of a sea-pie,
Jack,” said Temple, with a smile.
“And a precious mess the fellow would make of it! He'd fill it
with cocks' combs and mushrooms, and stick two skewers in it with a
half-boiled truffle on each--lucky if there would n't be a British flag
in spun sugar between them; and he 'd call the abomination 'pâté à la
gun-room,' or some such confounded name.”
A low, quiet laugh was now heard from the end of the table, and the
company remembered, apparently for the first time, that Mr. Harding, the
agent, was there, and very busily engaged with a broiled chicken.
“Ain't I right, Mr. Harding?” cried Jack, as he heard the low chuckle of
the small, meek, submissive-looking little man, at the other end of the
table.
“Ain't I right?”
“I have met with very good French versions of English cookery abroad,
Captain Bramleigh.”
“Don't call me 'captain' or I 'll suspect your accuracy about the
cookery,” interrupted Jack. “I fear I 'm about as far off that rank as
Bertond is from the sea-pie.”
“Do you know Cutbill, Harding?” said Augustus, addressing the agent in
the tone of an heir expectant.
“Yes. We were both examined in the same case before a committee of the
House, and I made his acquaintance then.”
“What sort of person is he?” asked Temple.
“Is he jolly, Mr. Harding?--that's the question,” cried Jack. “I
suspect we shall be overborne by greatness, and a jolly fellow would be
a boon from heaven.”
“I believe he is what might be called jolly,” said Harding, cautiously.
“Jolly sounds like a familiar word for vulgar,” said Marion. “I hope Mr.
Harding does not mean that.”
“Mr. Harding means nothing of that kind, I 'll be sworn,” broke in
Jack. “He means an easy-tempered fellow, amusing and amusable. Well,
Nelly, if it's not English, I can't help it--it ought to be; but when
one wants ammunition, one takes the first heavy thing at hand. Egad! I'd
ram down a minister plenipotentiary, rather than fire blank-cartridge.”
“Is Lord Culduff also jolly, Mr. Harding?” asked Eleanor, now looking up
with a sparkle in her eye.
“I scarcely know--I have the least possible acquaintance with his
Lordship; I doubt, indeed, if he will recollect me,” said Harding, with
diffidence.
“What are we to do with this heavy swell when he comes, is the puzzle
to me,” said Augustus, gravely. “How is he to be entertained,--how
amused? Here's a county with nothing to see--nothing to
interest--without a neighborhood. What _are_ we to do with him?”
“The more one is a man of the world, in the best sense of that
phrase, the more easily he finds how to shape his life to any and every
circumstance,” said Temple, with a sententious tone and manner.
“Which means, I suppose, that he'll make the best of a bad case, and
bear our tiresomeness with bland urbanity?” said Jack. “Let us only
hope, for all our sakes, that his trial may not be a long one.”
“Just to think of such a country!” exclaimed Marion; “there is
absolutely no one we could have to meet him.”
“What's the name of that half-pay captain who called here t'other
morning?--the fellow who sat from luncheon till nigh dusk?” asked Jack.
“Captain Craufurd,” replied Marion. “I hope nobody thinks of inviting
_him_; he is insufferably vulgar, and presuming besides.”
“Was n't that the man, Marion, who told you that as my father and Lady
Augusta didn't live together the county gentry could n't be expected to
call on us?” asked Augustus, laughing.
“He did more: he entered into an explanation of the peculiar tenets
of the neighborhood, and told me if we had had the good luck to have
settled in the south or west of Ireland, they'd not have minded it, 'but
here,' he added, 'we are great sticklers for morality.'”
“And what reply did you make him, Marion?” asked Jack.
“I was so choked with passion that I could n't speak, or if I did say
anything I have forgotten it. At all events, he set me off laughing
immediately after, as he said,--'As for myself, I don't care a rush. I'm
a bachelor, and a bachelor can go anywhere.'”
She gave these words with such a close mimicry of his voice and manner,
that a general burst of laughter followed them.
“There's the very fellow we want,” cried Jack. “That's the man to meet
our distinguished guest; he 'll not let him escape without a wholesome
hint or two.”
“I 'd as soon see a gentleman exposed to the assault of a mastiff as
to the insulting coarseness of such a fellow as that,” said Temple,
passionately.
“The mischief's done already; I heard the governor say, as he took
leave,--'Captain Craufurd, are you too strait-laced to dine out on a
Sunday? if not, will you honor us with your company at eight o'clock?'
And though he repeated the words 'eight o'clock' with a groan like
a protest, he muttered something about being happy, a phrase that
evidently cost him dearly, for he went shuffling down the avenue
afterwards with his hat over his eyes, and gesticulating with his hands
as if some new immorality had suddenly broke in upon his mind.”
“You mean to say that he is coming to dinner here next Sunday?” asked
Temple, horrified.
“A little tact and good management are always sufficient to keep these
sort of men down,” said Augustus.
“I hope we don't ask a man to dinner with the intention to 'keep him
down,'” said Jack, sturdily.
“At all events,” cried Temple, “he need not be presented to Lord
Culduff.”
“I suspect you will see very little of him after dinner,” observed
Harding, in his meek fashion, “That wonderful '32 port will prove a
detainer impossible to get away from.”
“I 'll keep him company, then. I rather like to meet one of those
cross-grained dogs occasionally.”
“Not impossibly you'll learn something more of that same 'public
opinion' of our neighbors regarding us,” said Marion, haughtily.
“With all my heart,” cried the sailor, gayly; “they 'll not ruffle my
temper, even if they won't flatter my vanity.”
“Have you asked the L'Estranges, Marion?” said Augustus.
“We always ask them after church; they are sure to be disengaged,” said
she. “I wish, Nelly, that you, who are such a dear friend of Julia's,
would try and persuade her to wear something else than that eternal
black silk. She is so intently bent on being an Andalusian. Some one
unluckily said she looked so Spanish, that she has got up the dress,
and the little fan coquetry, and the rest of it, in the most absurd
fashion.”
“Her grandmother was a Spaniard,” broke in Nelly, warmly.
“So they say,” said the other, with a shrug of the shoulders.
“There's a good deal of style about her,” said Temple, with the tone of
one who was criticising what he understood. “She sings prettily.”
“Prettily?” groaned Jack. “Why, where, except amongst professionals,
did you ever hear her equal?”
“She sings divinely,” said Ellen; “and it is, after all, one of her
least attractions.”
“No heroics, for Heaven's sake; leave that to your brothers, Nelly, who
are fully equal to it. I really meant my remark about her gown for good
nature.”
“She's a nice girl,” said Augustus, “though she is certainly a bit of a
coquette.”
“True; but it's very good coquetry,” drawled out Temple. “It's not that
jerking, uncertain, unpurpose-like style of affectation your English
coquette displays. It is not the eternal demand for attention or
admiration. It is simply a desire to please thrown into a thousand
little graceful ways, each too slight, and too faint, to be singled out
for notice, but making up a whole of wonderful captivation.”
“Well done, diplomacy! egad! I did n't know there was that much blood
in the Foreign Office,” cried Jack, laughing, “and now I 'm off to look
after my night-lines. I quite forgot all about them till this minute.”
“Take me with you, Jack,” said Nelly, and hastened after him, hat in
hand.