The swells who diurnally take their departure for Windsor and the West
were one afternoon, in the year 18--, called upon to use their
eye-glasses upon a somewhat strange-looking traveller, who, coming from
heaven knows where, made his appearance on the platform of the
Paddington Station.
And yet there was nothing so very remarkable about the man--except on
the Paddington platform. At London Bridge you might there have seen his
like any day in the year: a personage of dark complexion, dressed in
black, with a loose poncho-like garment hanging from his shoulders, and
a hat upon his head, half wide-awake, but tending toward a
steeple-crown--in short, a "Calabrian."
Such was the costume of the individual who had caused the raising of
eye-glasses on the Paddington platform. In an instant they were down
again, the object of supercilious attention having dissipated scrutiny
by diving into the interior of a second-class carriage.
"Demmed queer-looking fella!" was the remark, and with this he was
forgotten.
At Slough he appeared again upon that gloomiest of platforms, commanded
by a station-master possessing the loudest voice upon all the G.W.R.
line. The strange traveller did not show himself until the swells, such
of them as stopped, at Slough, had given up their tickets, and passed
through the gate. Then, tumbling out of the carriage, the queer
traveller, with a small portmanteau in his hand, placed himself in
communication with the great Boanerges who directs the startings and
departures at the Slough Station.
Between the two individuals thus accidentally coming together there was
a contrast so striking that the most careless lounger on the platform
could not have restrained himself from giving them attention. As they
stood, _en rapport_, the very types of extremes--the negative and
positive--the one a grand colossal form of true Saxon physiognomy, the
other a diminutive specimen of Latinic humanity--for such the cloaked
traveller appeared to be.
At the time, I myself chanced to be on the down platform, waiting for a
down train. I was so struck with the tableau that I involuntarily drew
nigh, to hear what the little dark man in the _capote_ had to say to the
giant in green frock and gilt buttons.
The first word that fell upon my ears was the name of General Harding!
It was not pronounced in the ordinary way, but with an accent plainly
foreign, and which I could easily tell to be Italian.
Listening a little longer, I could hear that the stranger was inquiring
the direction to General Harding's residence. I should have myself
volunteered to give it him; but from the station-master's reply I
perceived that this functionary was directing him; and just then the
down train, gliding alongside, admonished me to look out for myself.
Not till then did it occur to me, that I had stupidly forgotten to take
my ticket, and I hastened into the office to procure one. As I came out
again upon the platform I saw the strange traveller disappear within the
doorway of a hackney coach; the driver of which, giving the whip to his
horse, trundled off from the station.
In ten seconds after, I had taken my seat in the railway-carriage--an
empty one--when an incident occurred that drove the queer traveller as
completely out of my head as if he had never been in it.
The whistle had already screamed, and the train was about to move off,
when the door was opened by the Titanic station-master, who was saying
at the same time--
"This way ladies!"
The rustle of silk, with some hurried exclamation outside, told of the
late arrival of at least two feminine passengers; and, the moment after,
they entered the carriage, and took their seats nearly opposite me.
I had been cutting open the pages of _Punch_, and did not look up into
their faces as they entered. But on finishing my inspection of the
cartoon, I raised my eyes to see of what style were my two travelling
companions, and beheld--Belle Mainwaring and her mother!
It was just about as awkward a position as I ever remembered occupying
in my life. But I managed to sustain it, by appealing once more to the
pages of _Punch_. Not even so much as a nod was exchanged between us;
and had there been a stranger in the carriage he could not have told
that Miss Mainwaring and I had ever met--much less danced together. I
did _Punch_ from beginning to end; and then, turning my attention to the
advertisements on the back of the title-page, made myself acquainted
with the qualities of "Gosnell's Soap" and the mysteries of the
"Sansflectum Crinoline." Despite these studies, I found time to give an
occasional side-glance at Miss Mainwaring, which I saw she was returning
by a similar slant. What she may have seen in my eye I cannot tell, but
in hers I read a light that, had my heart not been of the dulness of
lead, might have set it on fire. It had at one time come very near
melting under that same glance; but, after the cooling process
experienced, it had become hardened to the temper of steel, and now
passed through the crucible unscathed. When I had finished reading
_Punch's_ three columns of advertisements, and for the hundredth time
made an examination of Toby, with the procession of nymphs, dancing
buffoons, and bacchantes, the train stopped at Reading.
Here my travelling companions got out. So did I. I had been asked to a
park fete to be held at a gentleman's residence in the neighbourhood--
the same mentioned in a previous chapter. I suspected the Mainwarings
were also bound for the place; and from the direction taken by the fly
in which they drove off, I was made sure of it.
On arriving at my friend's residence I found them upon the lawn; Miss
Belle, as usual, surrounded by simpering swells, among whom, not to my
surprise, I recognised Mr Nigel Harding. I noticed that, during the
progress of the game of croquet which they were playing, he refrained
from showing her any marked attention, leaving this for the others. For
all that he was evidently uneasy, and stealthily watched her every
glance and movement. Once or twice when they were apart, I could hear
him say something to her in a low tone, with the green of jealousy in
his eyes, and its pallor upon his lips.
On leaving the place, which the company did at an early hour, I saw that
he accompanied her and her mother to the railway station. The three
rode back in the same fly. We all returned to Slough in the same train;
I going on to London. From the carriage in which I sat I could see Miss
Mainwaring's pony-phaeton, with the page at the pony's head, and close
by a dog-cart with a groom in the Harding livery. Before the train
started I saw the ladies step into the phaeton, Nigel Harding climbing
to the seat behind them, while "buttons" was dismissed to take his seat
in the dog-cart. With their freight thus assorted, the two vehicles
drove off, just as the train was slipping out of the station.
From what I had seen that day, and what I had heard under the great
cedar tree, and, more than all, from what I knew of both parties to the
suit, I had made up my mind before reaching London, that Belle
Mainwaring was booked to be the better-half of Nigel Harding--if
_consent_ could be squeezed out of his father either by fraud or by
force.