light, it could be seen that he was gray-haired and a cripple, for he hobbled slowly with the aid of a stout stick. He proceeded to a clump of ferns and close to a high-back, rustic seat, behind which he stood partially concealed.
Feeling satisfied that he had not been seen, and that he was alone, that part of the grounds being temporarily deserted, he muttered impatiently: “Where the devil does Rutley keep himself? I’ve been dodging about these grounds for an hour trying to locate him, and to get posted.”
The words had scarcely escaped his lips when down behind the seat he ducked.
Simultaneously, Virginia Thorpe and William Harris appeared, descending the piazza steps.
“Congratulations, Mr. Harris, on your reception. It is a brilliant affair, and the grounds are simply beautiful.”
“I am delighted at receiving congratulations from a lady whose taste is acknowledged without a peer.”
“Now, Mr. Harris, you know I object to flattery,” responded Virginia, in a deprecating tone of voice. “Why, I have lost my fan. How unfortunate! I fear I have dropped it in the ball-room.”
“I shall try to find it immediately. No, no; no trouble whatever.”
“Thanks, Mr. Harris. I shall await your return here.”
As Mr. Harris hastened up the steps, Virginia leisurely moved a few yards, and then sat down on a seat, quite unconscious of the figure crouched in hiding behind it.
The proximity of Virginia did not suit the fellow, and he forthwith endeavored to sneak away unseen, but the noise, faint as he made, attracted her attention.
She sprang to her feet with a slight, terrified shriek, but quickly recovering her self-possession, as she noted his aged and bent condition, gently said: “Poor old man, your intrusion on these premises may be unwelcome.” After a pause, evidently for an answer, she went on kindly: “Do you seek alms?”
Leaning on his stick he humbly removed his hat, and said in abject tones: “Pitty da sorrar dees old-a da gray hairs. Eesa mak-a da bolda to come a da here, so much-a da rich-a kind-a people to da poor old-a men lik-a da me. Ten-a years eesa black-a da boot; saw da-ood, sella da ba-nan, turnoppsis, carrotsis, ca-babbages; do any-ting for mak-a-da mon, go back-a da sunny Italy. Look-a da lame! Canna da work – mussa da beg, sweet-a da lady – kind-a charity.”
“Dear me!” replied Virginia, regretfully. “I haven’t a coin with me, but let me advise you to begone, for you must know that if you are discovered here your age will not protect you.”
The old man bowed low. “Essa many tanks, kind-a lady. Essa da go.”
“And mark me, sir,” added Mr. Harris, who had quickly returned with the fan. “Should I find you loitering around these grounds again tonight, officers will take care of you.”
“Oh, Signor! Dona tell a da po-lis. Da poor a da old a man essa much da hunger. Begga do mon to buy a da bread. Eesa da all-a Signor. Eesa da all.”
“Oh, Mr. Harris, please lend me a coin for him. I fear he really is in need,” broke in Virginia.
“There!” responded Mr. Harris, throwing him a coin. “You can thank this benevolent lady, whose presence affords you liberty. Not a word. Off with you from these grounds. Begone.”
The old fellow picked up the half-dollar piece, and hobbling away, soon disappeared into the shadow.
“It is a pleasure to return your fan. I found it in the vestibule uninjured.”
“Thanks, Mr. Harris,” said Virginia, receiving the fan. “I shall be more careful of it hereafter.”
“Ea-ah, I guess so, eh, Uncle!” broke in Sam, striding toward them.
“Oh, oh, Sam! Really!” laughed Mr. Harris, as he looked meaningly at him. “Ah! You seem delighted.”
“I think so, eh, Uncle,” accompanied by the habitual side movement of his head. “Congratulate me on having found Miss Thorpe after a long search,” and turning to Virginia, he added, with a smile broadening his face – “you have promised to dance with me. May I indulge in the pleasure now?”
“Yes, Sam,” she replied, with an air of fatigue, “but I would rather you defer the pleasure.”
“Miss Thorpe is fatigued and Sam is too much of a gallant to deny her a little rest,” appealed Mr. Harris.
“Cert!” answered Sam, as a shade of disappointment flitted across his face. “Anything I can do to serve Miss Thorpe shall be done.”
“Thank you, Sam,” replied Virginia, relieved.
“I will call upon Miss Thorpe to favor me with her company later, eh, Uncle?” and Sam bowed and quickly disappeared.
“Sam is a noble-hearted fellow! Ranged the Texas plains a few years, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Harris. “When a lad he was threatened with consumption, and physicians recommended a few years of out-door life in Texas. It cured him, but he became a little fixed in the customs. Sterling fellow, though – great heart – all heart. Be seated,” pointing to the seat which she had previously occupied.
At that moment there appeared descending the piazza steps Mr. Corway, with Hazel and Constance on either side of him.
“Your reason, Corway, for doubting his title of lord?” interrogated Constance.
“I possess no proofs,” replied Corway. “I but express an opinion,” and he discreetly refrained from further utterance on the subject, though his thoughts were insistent on his identity of Lord Beauchamp as Philip Rutley.
“But you must have some grounds even for an opinion,” persisted Constance.
“Well, if he is not a lord,” hazarded Hazel, who, purposely or otherwise, by her joining the discussion, released Mr. Corway from an embarrassing reply, which at that time he was loath to make, “he certainly should be one, for he is such a dear, sweet man, so eminently exact and proper.”
“And so distinguished, don’t-che-know,” finished Mr. Corway, with such peculiarly keen mimicry and smiling abandon as to draw from Hazel a flash of admiration, and from Mrs. Thorpe a ripple of laughter with the remark, “Satire unmasked by Cupid.”
Further conversation was interrupted by Beauchamp himself, who appeared alone, descending the broad piazza steps. “It’s so warm in there I decided to refresh a little in the cool air.”
He halted a moment on one of the steps, fixed the monocle to his left eye, and lordly surveyed the two groups.
After evidently satisfying himself as to their personnel, he deliberately removed the monocle from his eye and resumed his passage down the steps. “Miss Thorpe here, and Mr. Harris, and Mrs. Thorpe, and the fair Hazel” – and ignoring Corway, he went on – “then I shall have no need to commune alone with my thoughts.”
“I am sure my Lord Beauchamp is too much of a devotee to the ‘tripping muse’ to absent himself very long from the ball-room?” volunteered Constance.
“Indeed it would be difficult for me to enjoy myself for any length of time away from the place where, as Byron puts it, ‘Youth and Beauty meet, to chase
