The Evil Eye; Or, The Black Spector Part 42

Now Mrs. Lindsay was one of those women who, whenever there was a selfish object in view, could not only suppress her feelings, but exhibit a cla.s.s of them in direct opposition to those she actually felt.

"Why unfortunate, my lord?" she asked, smiling.

"Why, because I am told he plays second fiddle at home, and a devilish deal out of tune too, in general. You play first, ma'am; but they say, notwithstanding, that there's a plentiful lack of harmony in your concerts."

"All," she replied, "your lords.h.i.+p must still have your joke, I perceive; but, at all events, I am glad to see you in such spirits."

"Well, you may thank your son for that. I say, Tom," he added, addressing his niece, "he's a devilish good fellow; a queer chap, and I like him. Woodward, this is Tom Riddle, my niece. This scamp, Tom, is that woman's son, Mr. Woodward. He's an accomplished youth: I'll be hanged if he isn't. I asked him how many intrigues he has had, and he replied, with a dolorous face, only half a dozen yet. He only committed two murders, he says; and when I asked him if he thought there was any probability of his being hanged, he replied that, from a review of his past life, and what he contemplated in the future, he had little doubt of it."

Harry Woodward was indeed, a most consummate tactician. From the moment Miss Riddle entered the room, his air and manner became that of a most polished gentleman; and after bowing to her when introduced, he cast, from time to time, a glance at her, which told her, by its significance, that he had only been gratifying her uncle by playing into his whims and eccentricities. In the meantime the heart of Mrs. Lindsay bounded with delight at the progress which she saw, by the complacent spirit of the old peer, honest and adroit Harry had made in his good opinion.

"Miss Riddle," said he, "his lords.h.i.+p and I have been bantering each other; but although I considered myself what I may term, an able hand at it, yet I find I am no match for him."

"Well, not exactly, I believe," replied his lords.h.i.+p; "but, notwithstanding, you are one of the best I have met."

"Why, my lord," replied Woodward, "I like the thing; and, indeed, I never knew any one fond of it who did not possess a good heart and a candid disposition; so, you see, my lord, there is a compliment for each of us."

"Yes, Woodward, and we both deserve it."

"I trust Mr. Woodward," observed his niece, "that you don't practise your abilities as a banterer upon our s.e.x."

"Never! Miss Riddle; that would be ungenerous and unmanly. There is nothing due to your s.e.x but respect, and that, you know, is incompatible with banter.

"The wit that could wantonly sport with the modesty of woman degenerates into impudence and insult;" and he accompanied the words with a low and graceful bow.

This young fellow, thought Miss Riddle, is a gentleman.

"Yes, but, Mr. Woodward, we sometimes require a bantering; and, what is more, a remonstrance. We are not perfect, and surely it is not the part of a friend to overlook our foibles or our errors."

"True, Miss Riddle, but it is not by bantering they will be reclaimed.

A friendly remonstrance, delicately conveyed, is one thing, but the buffoonery of a banter is another."

"What's that?" said the peer, "buffoonery! I deny it, sir, there is no buffoonery in banter."

"Not, my lord, when it occurs between gentlemen," replied Woodward, "but you know, with the ladies it is a different thing."

"Ay, well, that's not bad; a proper distinction. I tell you what, Woodward, you are a clever fellow; and I'm not sure but I'll advocate your cause with Tom there. Tom, he tells me he is coming to court you, and he says he doesn't care a fig about either of us, provided he could secure your fortune. Ay, and, what's more, he says that if you and he are married, he hopes it will be in the dark. What do you think of that now?"

Miss Riddle did not blush, nor affect a burst of indignation, but she said what pleased both Woodward and his mother far better.

"Well, uncle," she replied, calmly, "even if he did say so, I believe he only expressed in words what most, if not all, of my former lovers actually felt, but were too cautious to acknowledge."

"I trust, Miss Eiddle," said Harry, smiling graciously, "that I am neither so silly nor so stupid as to defend a jest by anything like a serious apology. You will also be pleased to recollect that, as an argument for my success, I admitted two murders, half a dozen intrigues, and the lively prospect of being hanged. The deuce is in it, if these are not strong qualifications in a lover, especially in a lover of yours, Miss Riddle."

The reader sees that the peer was anything but a match for Woodward, who contrived, and with perfect success, to turn all his jocular attacks to his own account.

Miss Riddle smiled, for the truth was that Harry began to rise rapidly in her good opinion. His sprightliness was gentlemanly and agreeable, and he contrived, besides, to a.s.sume the look and air of a man who only indulged in it in compliment to her uncle, and, of course, indirectly to herself, with whom, it was but natural, he should hope to make him an advocate. Still the expression of his countenance, as he managed it, appeared to her to be that of a profound and serious thinker--one whose feelings, when engaged, were likely to retain a strong hold of his heart. That he should model his features into such an expression is by no means strange, when we reflect with what success hypocrisy can stamp upon them all those traits of character for which she wishes to get credit from the world.

"Come, Tom," said his lords.h.i.+p, "it's time for luncheon; we can't allow our friends to go without refreshments. I say, Woodward, I'm a hospitable old fellow; did you ever know that before?"

"I have often heard it, my lord," replied the other, "and I hope to have still better proof of it." This was uttered with a significant, but respectful glance, at the niece, who was by no means displeased at it.

"Ay! ay!" said his lords.h.i.+p, laughing, "the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Well, you shall have an opportunity, and soon, too; you appear to be a blunt, honest fellow; and hang me but I like you."

Miss Riddle now went out to order in the refreshments, but not without feeling it strange how her uncle and herself should each contemplate Woodward's character in so different a light--the uncle looking upon him as a blunt, honest fellow, whilst to her he appeared as a man of sense, and a perfect gentleman Such, however, was the depth of his hypocrisy, that he succeeded at once in pleasing both, and in deceiving both.

"Well, Woodward, what do you think of Tom?" asked his lords.h.i.+p.

"Why, my lord, that she is an admirable and lovely girl."

"Well, you are right, sir; Tom is an admirable girl, and loves her old uncle as if he was her father, or maybe a great deal better; she will have all I am worth when I pop off, so there's something for you to think upon."

"No man, my lord, capable of appreciate ing her could think of anything but herself."

"What! not of her property?"

"Property, my-lord; is a very secondary subject when taken into consideration with the merits of the lady herself. I am no enemy to property, and I admit its importance as an element of happiness when reasonably applied, but I am neither sordid nor selfish; and I know how little, after all, it contributes to domestic enjoyment, unless accompanied by those virtues which const.i.tute the charm of connubial life."

"Confound me but you must have got that out of a book, Woodward."

"Out of the best book, my lord--the book of life and observation."

"Why, curse it, you are talking philosophy, though."

"Only common sense, my lord."

His lords.h.i.+p, who was walking to and fro in the room, turned abruptly round, looked keenly at him, and then, addressing Mrs. Lindsay, said,--

"Why, upon my soul, Mrs. Lindsay, we must try and do something with this fellow; he'll be lost to the world if we don't. Come, I say, we must make a public man of him."

"To become a public man is his own ambition, my lord," replied Mrs.

Lindsay; "and although I am his mother, and may feel prejudiced in his favor, still I agree with your lords.h.i.+p that it is a pity to see such abilities as his unemployed."

"Well, madam, we shall consider of it. What do you think, Woodward, if we made a bailiff of you?"

At this moment Miss Riddle entered the room just in time to hear the question.

"The very thing, my lord; and the first capture I should make would be Miss Riddle, your fair niece here."

"Curse me, but the fellow's a cat," said the peer, laughing. "Throw him as you will, he always falls upon his legs. What do you think, Tom?

Curse me but your suitor here talked philosophy in your absence."

"Only common sense, Miss Riddle," said Harry. "Philosophy, it is said, excludes feeling; but that is not a charge which I ever heard brought against common sense."

"I am an enemy neither to philosophy nor common sense," replied his niece, "because I think neither of them incompatible with feeling; but I certainly prefer common sense."

"There's luncheon announced," said the peer, rubbing his hands, "and that's a devilish deal more comfortable than either of them. Come, Mrs.

Lindsay; Woodward, take Tom with you."