that’s a doosed nice boy that young Charley Melton. I like the look of him. He’s a manly sort of a fellow. Your uncle and I were at Eton with his father years ago. I say, Tom,” he continued, rubbing his leg, “he wouldn’t make a bad match for our Maude. Yes, yes, my dear; I’m coming.”
“Anthony, for shame!” whispered her ladyship. “They are all waiting. Lady Rigby. I’ve been looking for you. Take her down at once.”
The earl crossed over to make himself agreeable to Lady Rigby, the stout mamma; and the hostess took counsel with herself.
“Either would do,” she said. “But Mr Melton’s attentions will bring Sir Grantley to the point.”
A few minutes later the guests were seated at the wedding breakfast, while Dolly Preen again leaned out of the window, having returned there after attending to the bride, to whom two fresh pocket-handkerchiefs were supplied. Luigi of the organ was still below, handsome and smiling as he scented good things, and he played on as Mistress Preen listened and thought of love and marriage, and music, and how handsome Italian men were, and ended by doing as she had done for many weeks, wrapping a three-penny piece up in many papers and dropping it into Luigi’s soft felt hat. For how could she offer coppers to such a man as that!
She was not the only one who dreamed of love, for Justine Framboise, her ladyship’s maid, was enjoying a pleasant flirtation with Monsieur Hector Launay, Coiffeur de Paris, from Upper Gimp Street, Marylebone, a gentleman whose offices were largely in request in Portland Place, and who that morning had left his place of business in charge of a boy, so that he might perform certain capillary conjuring tricks, and then stay and look in the eyes of the fair Justine – a French young lady, who would have been a fortune to her father if she had been a dentist’s daughter, so liberally did she show her fine white teeth.
The said flirtation took place upon the stairs, and Perkins, the bride’s new maid, took interest therein, to the neglect of her packing and the annoyance of Henry, the Resident’s man, with whom she was to ride in the rumble, and then second-class to Paris that day on the honeymoon trip. For Monsieur Hector, with all the gallantry of the fair city from which he hailed, had called Perkins, in Henry’s hearing, une demoiselle charmante.
“Like his furren imperdence,” as Henry said, and then the said Henry had to go in and stand behind his master’s chair. As soon after three parts of a bottle of champagne was passed upstairs with a glass by a kindly disposed waiter, the packing of the newly-married lady went on worse than ever, and several travelling-cases were left unfastened in the bedroom.
“I say,” whispered Tom, going behind her ladyship’s chair, “you are never going to let the gov’nor speak?”
“Yes, certainly. He must,” said her ladyship in a decisive tone; and she turned to the guest on her right.
“But he’ll break down as sure as a gun,” remonstrated the son.
“I have prompted him, and he knows what to say,” replied her ladyship. “Go back to your place.”
“Oh, just as you like,” grumbled Tom; and he returned to his seat, determined in his own mind to stand behind his father’s chair, and to prompt him to the best of his ability.
The breakfast went on amidst the pleasant tinkle of glass and plate, the conversation grew louder, there was the frequent pop of champagne corks, and the various couples grew too much engrossed to notice what took place with their neighbours.
“Maude,” said Charley Melton at last, “if you were put to the test, should you give up any one you loved, and accept a comparative stranger because he could do as that man has done – load you with diamonds?”
She turned her eyes to his with a reproachful look, and the colour suffused her face.
“No one can hear what I say,” he whispered, with his eyes fixed upon his plate. “But listen to me. I feel that it is almost madness, but I love you very, very dearly. You know it – you must know it. Ever since we met, six months since, you have been my sole thought. I ought not to speak, but I cannot keep it back waiting for an opportunity that may never come. And if some day I awoke to the fact that I had made no declaration and another had carried you off, I believe I should go mad. Give me one word of hope. I am very poor – terribly poor, but times may change, and money does not provide all the happiness of life. – Not one word? Have I been deceived? Was I mad to think that you met me these many times with pleasure? Give me one word – one look.”
“I mustn’t,” said Lady Maude, colouring. “Mamma is giving you one.”
Charley Melton gave an unintentional kick under the table, touching his opposite neighbour so hard that he turned reproachfully to the gentleman at his side.
“Oh, Lady Maude!” groaned Charley in tragic tones.
There was a hearty laugh here at some sally made by the doctor, and Maude whispered back in a husky voice —
“I dare not look at you;” and he saw that the colour was mounting to her temples.
“One word then,” he whispered, as the conversation waxed louder, but there was no reply.
“Maude,” he said, in a low deep voice, “I will not believe you to be cold – heartless.”
“Oh no,” she sighed.
“Then give me one word to tell me that I may hope.”
Still no reply, as the lady sat playing with the viands upon her plate; then her face turned slightly towards him; her long lashes lifted softly, her eyes rested for a moment upon his, and he drew a long breath of relief, turning composed and quiet the next moment as he leaned towards her, saying —
“I never felt what it was to be truly happy until now.”
“Nonsense?” said the doctor loudly, after just finishing a very medical story – one he always told after his third glass of champagne, “I can assure you it is perfectly true. Good – isn’t it? She really did elope with her music-master. Fact, – twins.”
Several ladies looked shocked, for Lady Rigby, the stout mamma, an old patient, had laughed loudly, and then wiped her mouth with her lace handkerchief as if to take off the smile of which she felt rather ashamed, for her countenance afterwards looked preternaturally solemn.
The earl had escaped the usual supervision, and he also had partaken of a glass of champagne or two – or three – and he thoroughly enjoyed the doctors story.
“It puts me in mind of one,” he said, with a chuckle. “You know it, doctor. If the ladies will excuse its being a little indelicate. Quite medical though, quite.”
“I am quite sure that Lord Barmouth would not say anything shocking,” said the stout mamma, and she began to utter little dry coughs, suggestive of mittens, and muffins, and tea.
“Of course not – of course not, I – I – I wouldn’t say it – say it on any consideration,” said his lordship, chuckling. “It – it – was about a friend of mine who built a house by Primrose Hill, he – he – he! It’s quite a medical story, doctor, over the railway, you know.”
“The old girl will be down upon him directly,” thought Tom.
“Capital story,” said the doctor, laughing, and glancing sidewise at her ladyship. “There’ll be an eruption directly,” he added to himself.
“He
