Lady Maude's Mania Part 6

"Now, Charley, are you going on?" shouted Tom in indignant tones, "two blue plays--two blue plays."

"There's a dog for you," chuckled Lord Barmouth, "any one would think he had been busy over the game all the time instead of courting Tryphie."

"Coming, Tom," cried Melton; then turning to Maude he whispered, "Darling, you are mine, come what may--Maude, my love--my love!"

Their eyes met for a few moments, and from that look it was evident that the work so nearly completed on the morning of the wedding party had now received the finis.h.i.+ng strokes, that the fresh young heart had placed itself in another's keeping, and that henceforth Charley Melton was lord of someone's will, and her duty only to obey.

"I ought to go and stop them," said his lords.h.i.+p, sadly, "but making love without thinking of money used to be nice; but--hallo!" he exclaimed, as a cold nose touched his hand; and looking down there was the ugly ma.s.sive face of a bull-dog gazing up into his. "Charley Melton's dog, eh! Well, you're a very ugly dog, but you seem to like me. Eh, eh!" he added, as, after a quiet wag of his tail, Joby smelt at his lords.h.i.+p's tail pocket. "So you knew there was a little bit of game pie in there, did you!"

Joby uttered a low whine.

"Well, so there is, good dog," said his lords.h.i.+p, chuckling as he felt in his other pocket, and brought out something very unpleasant-looking crushed up as it was in a piece of paper.

"I'm afraid I have been sitting upon it, my dog," said his lords.h.i.+p, ruefully, "and the jelly and cold gravy have got into the crust. But you will not mind, will you?"

The dog gave a short bark, and evidently did not mind, for he and Lord Barmouth finished the last morsel of the game pie, and Joby ate the jelly-smeared paper afterwards as a kind of digestive pill.

"Ah," said his lords.h.i.+p, patting the dog's head. "I'm glad of that-- good dog then--for I did not know what to do with that piece of paper.

Eh, eh? whom have we here?" he continued, putting up his gla.s.ses. "Her ladys.h.i.+p and Sir Grantley Wilters. There, I told you young people that you were to enjoy your game as you could, for here comes the shadow."

He alluded to Lady Barmouth, who, like the good general she was, had made her plans, which were rapidly approaching fruition.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CLOUDY.

Lord Barmouth was quite right, for the shadow was coming over the suns.h.i.+ny portion of the young people's life in the shape of her ladys.h.i.+p, who could in turn a.s.sume the _role_ of Fate or Fury.

Amongst the company expected at the Hurst was Sir Grantley Wilters, and for his own reasons he had made a point of coming. He had arrived that morning, and, learning from Robbins the butler that Melton was there, had hastened to obtain a quiet interview with her ladys.h.i.+p.

"Nothing like taking time by the forelock, don't you know," he said to himself. "Old girl evidently wants me for a son-in-law, and that fellow Melton is a doosed sight too attentive. I can see through it all, though. Old girl keeps him here to make play and draw me on. Artful, doosed artful, don't you know. But it don't matter; suits my book.

Time I did marry and settle down. Maude Diphoos is a doosed handsome girl, and'll do me credit. I'll propose at once."

He mused thus in his bedroom, where he gave a few finis.h.i.+ng touches to his morning toilet, and then descending to the drawing-room, he was most affectionately received by her ladys.h.i.+p, who took his arm, and they strolled out through the conservatory into the garden.

"Such delightful weather!" said her ladys.h.i.+p, leaning upon his arm more heavily than was pleasant to a man in tight boots, and rather weak upon his legs.

"Charming," said Sir Grantley. "By the way, Lady Barmouth, we are very great friends, you and I, don't you know."

"Indeed, yes," said her ladys.h.i.+p. "I always feel disposed to call you by your Christian name--Grantley--"

"Do," said the baronet, having a little struggle with his eye-gla.s.s--a new one of rather smaller diameter than the last--which he had lost--and which would not consent to stop in its place--"Do--like it. Fact is, Lady Barmouth, I have made up my mind to be married, don't you know."

"You have? Really!" cried her ladys.h.i.+p. "I am glad;" and she adroitly turned their steps down the lilac walk in place of going straight to the croquet lawn.

"Fact, I a.s.sure you," continued Sir Grantley. "It is only quite lately that I have seen any one whom I should like to make Lady Wilters; and now--"

"You are hopelessly in love," said her ladys.h.i.+p; showing him her hundred guinea set of teeth--patent mineral, and of pearly whiteness, her best set--down to the false gums. "Oh, you young people in the days of your romance. It is too delightful in spite of its regrets for us who are in the sere and yellow leaf."

Her ladys.h.i.+p, by the way, was very little older than Sir Grantley, and art had made her look the younger of the two, especially as, in spite of the allusions to the yellow leaf, her ladys.h.i.+p's plump skin was powdered into a state of peach bloom.

"Thanks, much," said Sir Grantley, wincing a little from tight boots, and greeting with delight their approach to a garden seat. "Shall we sit down?"

"Oh, by all means," cried her ladys.h.i.+p; and they took their places under the lilac which bloomed profusely over their heads. "And now,"

exclaimed Lady Barmouth, with sparkling eyes and another sweet smile to show her hundred guinea teeth, while the plump face was covered with innocent dimples, "tell me, who is the dear girl?"

"Yas," said Sir Grantley, clearing his throat, and feeling decidedly better, "yas."

He paused, and wiped his heated brow with a scented handkerchief.

"Now this is too bad," said her ladys.h.i.+p, playfully. "You are teasing me."

"No, 'pon honour, no," said Sir Grantley. "Fact is, don't you know, I feel a kind of nervous shrinking."

"Ah, you young men, you young men," said her ladys.h.i.+p, shaking her head.

"But come: tell me. Do I know her?"

"Oh, yas," said Sir Grantley.

"To be sure," cried her ladys.h.i.+p, clapping her hands together. "It's Lady Mary Mahon. There, I've found you out."

"No," said Sir Grantley. "Guess again," and this time he secured the eye-gla.s.s with a good ring of circles round it, which did not add to his personal appearance.

"Not Lady Mary," mused her ladys.h.i.+p. "Well, it can't be the wealthy Miss Parminter?"

"No," said Sir Grantley, calmly; "oh, dear, no."

"Why, of course not; I know, it's the Honourable Grace Leasome."

"N-no," said Sir Grantley, with the most gentlemanly _insouciance_.

"Try again."

"I give it up," said her ladys.h.i.+p, smiling.

"Now, Maude, it's your turn," was heard faintly from the croquet lawn.

"Yas," said Sir Grantley, bowing slightly. "That is the lady. My dear Lady Barmouth, will you allow me humbly and respectfully, don't you know, to propose for your charming daughter's hand?"

Lady Barmouth sank back in her seat as if struck with horror.

"Anything the matter?" said Sir Grantley, looking puzzled.

"Did--did I understand you aright, Sir Grantley?" faltered her ladys.h.i.+p.

"Aright? Oh, yas. Sorry to be so sudden and upset you, but thought you expected it, don't you know."