"Look here, Morris," I said--"There's nothing more useless or more
harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people's affairs. The
prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his
servants--I am sure he pays royally for his privileges. And whether his
cook lives in or out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter
of mine. He has been a great traveller and no doubt has his
peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very
particular and fastidious. But I don't want to know anything about his
ménage. If you dislike Amiel, it's easy to avoid him, but for goodness
sake don't go making mysteries where none exist."
Morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special
care. I saw I had effectually checked his flow of confidence.
"Very well, sir,"--he observed, and said no more.
I was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant's solemn account of
Amiel's peculiarities as exhibited among his own class,--and when we
were driving to Lord Elton's that evening I told something of the story
to Lucio. He laughed.
"Amiel's spirits are often too much for him,"--he said--"He is a perfect
imp of mischief and cannot always control himself."
"Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him!" I said--"I thought he
had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition."
"You know the trite saying--appearances are deceptive?" went on my
companion lightly--"It's extremely true. The professed humourist is
nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. As for Amiel, he
is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. His only
fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he
serves me well, and I do not inquire further. Is Morris disgusted or
alarmed?"
"Neither I think," I responded laughing--"He merely presents himself to
me as an example of outraged respectability."
"Ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he
observed her steps with the closest nicety;" said Lucio--"Very
respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters!
Soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear Geoffrey, and tell him that Amiel
is the very soul of virtue! I have had him in my service for a long
time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. He does not
pretend to be an angel. His tricks of speech and behaviour are the result
of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really
an excellent fellow. He dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me
in India; I have often warned him of the danger there is in practising
this force on the uninitiated. But--a scullery-maid!--heavens!--there
are so many scullery-maids! One more or less with the 'jumps' will not
matter. This is Lord Elton's."
The carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a little back from
Park Lane. We were admitted by a man-servant gorgeous in red plush,
white silk hose and powdered wig, who passed us on majestically to his
twin-brother in height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more
disdainful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the
air of one who should say "See to what ignominious degradation a cruel
fate reduces so great a man!" In the drawing-room we found Lord Elton,
standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and directly
opposite him in a low arm chair, reclined an elegantly attired young
lady with very small feet. I mention the feet, because as I entered they
were the most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out
from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced petticoats
towards the warmth of the fire which the Earl rather inconsiderately
screened from view. There was another lady in the room sitting bolt
upright with hands neatly folded on her lap, and to her we were first of
all introduced when Lord Elton's own effusive greetings were over.
"Charlotte, allow me,--my friends, Prince Lucio Rimânez--Mr Geoffrey
Tempest; gentlemen, my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Fitzroy."
We bowed; the lady gave us a dignified bend of the head. She was an
imposing looking spinster, with a curious expression on her features
which was difficult to construe. It was pious and prim, but it also
suggested the idea that she must have seen something excessively
improper once in her life and had never been able to forget it. The
pursed-up mouth, the round pale-coloured eyes and the chronic air of
insulted virtue which seemed to pervade her from head to foot all helped
to deepen this impression. One could not look at Miss Charlotte long
without beginning to wonder irreverently what it was that had in her
long past youth so outraged the cleanly proprieties of her nature as to
leave such indelible traces on her countenance. But I have since seen
many English women look so, especially among the particularly 'high
bred,' old and plain-featured of the "upper ten." Very different was the
saucy and bright physiognomy of the younger lady to whom we were next
presented, and who, raising herself languidly from her reclining
position, smiled at us with encouraging familiarity as we made our
salutations.
"Miss Diana Chesney,"--said the Earl glibly--"You perhaps know her
father, prince,--you must have heard of him at any rate--the famous
Nicodemus Chesney, one of the great railway-kings."
"Of course I know him"--responded Lucio warmly--"Who does not! I have
met him often. A charming man, gifted with most remarkable humour and
vitality--I remember him perfectly. We saw a good deal of each other in
Washington."
"Did you though?" said Miss Chesney with a somewhat indifferent
interest,--"He's a queer sort of man to my thinking; rather a cross
between the ticket-collector and custom-house officer combined, you
know! I never see him but what I feel I must start on a journey
directly--railways seem to be written all over him. I tell him so. I say
'Pa, if you didn't carry railway-tracks in your face you'd be better
looking.' And you found him humorous, did you?"
Laughing at the novel and free way in which this young person criticised
her parent, Lucio protested that he did.
"Well I don't,"--confessed Miss Chesney--"But that may be because I've
heard all his stories over and over again, and I've read most of them in
books besides,--so they're not much account to me. He tells some of them
to the Prince of Wales whenever he can get a chance,--but he don't try
them off on me any more. He's a real clever man too; he's made his pile
quicker than most. And you're quite right about his vitality,--my!--his
laugh takes you into the middle of next week!"
Her bright eyes flashed merrily as she took a comprehensive survey of
our amused faces.
"Think I'm irreverent, don't you?" she went on--"But you know Pa's not a
'stage parent' all dressed out in lovely white hair and
benedictions,--he's just an accommodating railway-track, and he wouldn't
like to be reverenced. Do sit down, won't you?"--then turning her pretty
head coquettishly towards her host--"Make them sit down, Lord Elton,--I
hate to see men standing. The superior sex, you know! Besides you're so
tall," she added, glancing with unconcealed admiration at Lucio's
handsome face and figure, "that it's like peering up an apple-tree at
the moon to look at you!"
Lucio laughed heartily, and seated himself near her--I followed his
example; the old Earl still kept his position, legs a-straddle, on the
hearth-rug, and beamed benevolence upon us all. Certainly Diana Chesney
was a captivating creature; one of those surface-clever American women
who distinctly divert men's minds without in the least rousing their
passions.
"So you're the famous Mr Tempest?" she said, surveying me
critically--"Why, it's simply splendid for you isn't it? I always say
it's no use having a heap of money unless you're young,--if you're old,
you only want it to fill your doctor's pockets while he tries to mend
your poor tuckered-out constitution. I once knew an old lady who was
left a legacy of a hundred thousand pounds when she was ninety-five.
Poor old dear, she cried over it. She just had sense enough to
understand what a good time she couldn't have. She lived in bed, and her
only luxury was a halfpenny bun dipped in milk for her tea. It was all
she cared for."
"A hundred thousand pounds would go a long way in buns!" I said
smiling.
"Wouldn't it just!" and the fair Diana laughed--"But I guess _you'll_
want something a little more substantial for your cash Mr Tempest! A
fortune in the prime of life is worth having. I suppose you're one of
the richest men about just now, aren't you?"
She put the question in a perfectly naïve frank manner and seemed to be
unconscious of any undue inquisitiveness in it.
"I may be one of the richest,"--I replied, and as I spoke the thought
flashed suddenly across me how recently I had been one of the
poorest!--"But my friend here, the prince, is far richer than I."
"Is that so!" and she stared straight at Lucio, who met her gaze with an
indulgent, half satirical smile--"Well now! I guess Pa's no better than
a sort of pauper after all! Why, you must have the world at your feet!"
"Pretty much so,"--replied Lucio composedly--"But then, my dear Miss
Chesney, the world is so very easily brought to one's feet. Surely _you_
know that?"
And he emphasized the words by an expressive look of his fine eyes.
"I guess you mean compliments,"--she replied unconcernedly--"I don't
like them as a rule, but I'll forgive you this once!"
"Do!" said Lucio, with one of his dazzling smiles that caused her to
stop for a moment in her voluble chatter and observe him with mingled
fascination and wonderment.
"And you too are young, like Mr Tempest,"--she resumed presently.
"Pardon me!" interrupted Lucio--"I am many years older."
"Really!" exclaimed Lord Elton at this juncture--"You don't look it,
does he Charlotte?"
Miss Fitzroy thus appealed to, raised her elegant tortoise-shell-framed
glasses to her eyes and peered critically at us both.
"I should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of Mr
Tempest"--she remarked in precise high-bred accents--"But only very
slightly."
"Anyhow," resumed Miss Chesney "you're young enough, to enjoy your
wealth aren't you?"
"Young enough, or old enough;--just as you please;"--said Lucio with a
careless shrug--"But as it happens--I do _not_ enjoy it!"
Miss Chesney's whole aspect now expressed the most lively astonishment.
"What does money do for you?" went on Lucio, his eyes dilating with that
strange and wistful expression which had often excited my
curiosity--"The world is at your feet, perhaps; yes--but _what_ a world!
What a trumpery clod of kickable matter! Wealth acts merely as a kind of
mirror to show you human nature at its worst. Men skulk and fawn about
you, and lie twenty times in as many hours in the hope to propitiate you
and serve their own interests; princes of the blood willingly degrade
themselves and their position to borrow cash of you,--your intrinsic
merit (if you have any) is thought nothing of,--your full pockets are
your credentials with kings, prime ministers and councillors! You may
talk like a fool, laugh like a hyena and look like a baboon, but if the
chink-chink of your gold be only sufficiently loud, you may soon find
yourself dining with the Queen if such be your ambition. If, on the
contrary you happen to be truly great, brave, patient, and enduring,
with a spark in you of that genius which strengthens life and makes it
better worth living,--if you have thoughts which take shape in work that
shall endure when kingdoms are swept away like dust before the wind, and
if, with all this you are yet poor in current coin, why then,--you shall
be spurned by all the crowned dummies of the world,--you shall be
snubbed by the affluent starch-maker and the Croesus who lives on a
patent pill,--the tradesman from whom you buy bedsteads and kitchen
ware, can look down upon you with lordly scorn, for does he not by
virtue of his wealth alone, drive a four-in-hand, and chat on easy and
almost patronizing terms with the Prince of Wales? The wealthy denizens
of Snob-land delight in ignoring Nature's elected noblemen."
"But supposing" said Miss Chesney quickly, "you happen to be a Nature's
nobleman yourself, and have the advantage of wealth besides, surely you
must fairly allow that to be rather a good thing, mustn't you?"