furnished the place, over the railway, and every now and then there used to be quite a rumble and quiver when the trains went through the tunnel! Why, I said to him, one day – ‘Why, my dear fellow, I – I – I’ eh? – eh? – eh? Bless my heart what was it I said to him, Tom?”
“Pain, father,” said Diphoos, grinning, for he had noticed the look of relief that appeared upon the ladies’ faces when the hope came that the dreadful old gentleman had forgotten the story. There would not have been much Tom left if their looks had been lightning, for his words set the old gentleman off again.
“Yes, to be sure: I said to him, ‘My dear fellow’ – just after one of these rumbling noises made by the train in the tunnel – ‘my dear boy, you must call in the doctor, or lay down some more good port wine.’ – ‘Why?’ he said. – ‘Because,’ I replied, ‘your house always sounds to me as if it had got a pain in its cellar!’ Eh! He – he! devilish good that, wasn’t it?”
No one enjoyed that feeble joke as well as the narrator who used to recollect it about once a year, and try to fire it off; but unless his son was there to prompt him, it rarely made more than a flash in the pan.
It was observable that the conversation became very loud just then, and Charley Melton seized the opportunity to whisper a few words to Lady Maude – words which deepened the colour on her cheeks.
They were interrupted by the clapping of hands, for just then the host rose, and Tom stole gently behind him, taking the seat he had vacated, and preparing himself for the break down he anticipated.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said his lordship, gazing meekly round like a very old Welsh mutton, “I – I – I, believe me, never rose upon such an occasion as this, and – er – and – er.”
He gazed piteously at her ladyship at the other end of the table, and at whose instigation, a message having been sent by Robbins the butler, he had risen.
“I say I have never before risen upon such an occasion as this, but I hope that my darling child who is about to – to – to – to – eh, what did you say, Tom my boy.”
“Hang it, go on, governor. Quit your roof – paternal roof,” whispered Tom.
“Quit your paternal roof, will shine – yes, shine in her new sphere as an ornament to society, as her mother has been before her. A woman all love, all gentleness, and sweetness of disposition.”
“Oh, hang it governor; draw it mild,” whispered Tom.
“Yes, mild,” said his lordship, “mild to a fault. Eh? bless me, what is the matter?”
It was a favourable opportunity for a display of emotion, and her ladyship displayed it beautifully for the assembled company to study and take a lesson in maternal and wifely tenderness. Her beloved child was being handed over to the tender mercies of a man – was about to leave her home – about to be torn away.
Her ladyship burst into an agony of tears – of wild sobbing – for she was a model of all the virtues; but when virtues were made, nature selected another pattern and this one was cast aside.
A sympathetic coo ran round the table, tears were shed, and Tom winked at Charley Melton, who kept his countenance.
Then her ladyship declared that it was “so foolish,” and that she was “quite well now”; and other speeches good and bad were made. And at last the bridegroom’s carriage was at the door; the bride was handed in; there was the usual cheering; white satin slippers and showers of rice were thrown, and the carriage rolled away. For Lady Barmouth had achieved one of the objects of her life – a brilliant match for her elder daughter – leaving her free to execute her plans for Maude.
All had been en règle so far: the hall was filled with company; the sound of wheels was still to be heard rolling down the broad thoroughfare: when “I say, look out,” whispered Tom to his friend. “There she goes.”
It was a coarse way of expressing himself, but “there” “she” did go – to wit her ladyship. Sir Grantley Wilters, whom she hoped some day to call son, was close at hand. It was quite time for her maternal feelings to assert themselves again, and they did, for she sank heavily into the nearest arms.
They were not her husband’s but those of the baronet, most rotten reeds upon which a lady might lean. The result was that as Lady Barmouth gave way, Sir Grantley did the same, and both would have fallen heavily but for Doctor Todd, who seized the baronet in time, and with extraneous help her ladyship was placed in the porter’s great chair.
“Salts, and a little air: she has only fainted,” said the doctor.
By all the rules of family etiquette as observed in the best society, Maude should have run to her mother’s side, and made one in a pathetic group: but just at the same moment she encountered Charley Melton’s eyes, let her own rest upon them as a singular thrill ran through her, till she wrenched them away and encountered Sir Grantley Wilters’ eye-glass, and directly after she recalled a promise she had made to herself.
“Open that door a little,” said the doctor – “ajar. Some fresh air.”
Luigi Malsano was back in the street, and the organ struck up once more, “’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be,” while at the same moment a dismal howl came from the doorstep and a head was thrust in, to be followed by a body rather out of proportion.
It was only Charley Melton’s ugly bull-dog Joby, who had followed his master to the house, and been waiting on step and in area for the said master to come. He had several times made an attempt to enter, but had been driven back by Robbins the butler, and thought of going back to his master’s chambers, but at last the opportunity had come, and he too found his way in, for Luigi’s music nearly drove him mad.
Meanwhile the Resident’s young wife was being carried towards Charing Cross en route for Brindisi – the Suez Canal – India – right away out of the country, and out of this story, leaving the stage clear for her sister’s important scene.
Chapter Three.
Down in the Country – The Angel
“I’m afraid you are not serious, Mr Melton,” said Lady Barmouth; shaking her head at him sadly.
“Serious, Lady Barmouth; indeed I am,” said Charley Melton, who was Viscount Diphoos’ guest down at the Hurst, Lord Barmouth’s seat in Sussex; “and as to personal matters, my income – ”
“Hush, hush! you bad, wicked boy,” exclaimed her ladyship; “what do you take me for? Just as if the union of two young hearts was to be made a question of hard cash and settlements, and such mean, wretched, sordid matters. I beg you will never utter a word to me again about such things. They are shocking to me.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so, Lady Barmouth,” said Melton, smiling frankly in her face, as in a gentle heaving billow style, she leaned, upon his arm, and undulated softly and tapped his fingers with her fan.
“I like to think of my darling Maude as a sweet innocent girl in whose presence such a sordid thing as money ought never to be mentioned. There, there, there, they are calling you from the lawn, Charley Melton; go to them and play and be happy while you have your youth and high spirits. How I envy you all sometimes?”
“Your ladyship has made me very happy,” said Melton, flushing slightly.
“It is my desire
