Belles and Ringers Part 14

"Oh, you goose!" replied his wife. "Get me the box, and pray that you may have decent luck at whist for the next few weeks; we shall want all the sovereigns you can sc.r.a.pe together to buy wedding presents before the season is out."

Lady Mary Bloxam was really very much to be pitied. Here was the season slipping by, and the design with which she had opened the campaign seemed further from accomplishment than ever. Worse than all, her own daughter was playing into the hands of the enemy. There was no disguising the fact. It was too palpably evident. There was something wrong between Blanche and Lionel Beauchamp. The young lady treated him with marked coldness, which he on his side resented. In vain did Lady Mary cross-examine her daughter in the most insidious manner. Blanche would own to no quarrel, nor a.s.sign any reason for their gradual estrangement; but Lady Mary saw with dismay that the two were drifting wider apart as the weeks wore on. That she should attribute all this to Sylla and her designing aunt may be easily supposed. It was true that in society Lionel Beauchamp could most certainly not be accused of paying p.r.o.nounced devotion to Miss Chipchase. But Lady Mary had ever a picture before her mind of Beauchamp in a low chair, in the drawing-room at Hans Place, making pa.s.sionate love to Sylla; and her dislike of that young lady was intensified accordingly. She was at variance with her daughter just now on the subject of the invitation they had received from Lionel Beauchamp for a water party down the river, and about which she and Blanche were by no means of one mind.

Lady Mary was all for its acceptance, while Miss Bloxam persistently advocated its refusal.

"You are too provoking, Blanche," exclaimed Lady Mary; "sometimes you are dissatisfied because we have not cards for this, that, and the other; and now we have an invitation for what promises to be a very pleasant party, you not only declare you won't go, but won't give any reason for declining."

"I say 'no' because I don't wish to go," replied Miss Bloxam.

"Fiddle-de-dee!" replied her mother, sharply. "All girls like to go to what promises to be a pleasant party. It is only right and proper they should, unless they are unwell. Is there anything the matter with you?"

"No, unless it be that I am getting rather tired of London gaiety. I shall be very glad, indeed, to get back to Todborough."

"That's a most unnatural remark for a girl to make in her second season. None of your sisters, thank goodness, ever required it; but I am afraid I shall have to see what a doctor thinks of you. I must get hold of Pansey Cottrell and hear what he says about this picnic. I declare, if he reports favourably, I shall insist upon your going, Blanche."

"I cannot see, mamma, what Mr. Cottrell has got to do with it. There can be no possible use in consulting him."

"Every use," rejoined Lady Mary quickly. "Pansey knows everything that is going on in society. I declare I think sometimes that he must employ a staff of detectives to collect all such knowledge and gossip for him. He will know who are going to this party."

"If he knows everything," said Blanche, "he should be able to tell me what I want to know."

"And what is that?" inquired Lady Mary, with no little curiosity.

"He will know that also if omniscient, as you suppose, mamma."

"You are talking downright nonsense! How can any one answer a question which you won't ask them? But Pansey's knowledge of what goes on in his own world is marvellous. He sees more than the most lynx-eyed matron amongst us. I have been to a good many places this year for your amus.e.m.e.nt, and unless you are really ill, Blanche, it is only fair you should go this once for mine."

Miss Bloxam made no reply, but inwardly determined to be extremely unwell upon the day of that picnic. She was by no means a selfish girl, and would sacrifice herself to give her mother pleasure at any time; but she felt that she had valid reasons for declining any invitation from Lionel Beauchamp as things stood between them. No accusation of husband-hunting should ever be brought against her. Her mother was, of course, ignorant of how matters stood, and could therefore be no guide for her in this affair.

Captain Bloxam, arriving at his quarters to dress for mess after a hard afternoon's racquets, finds Mrs. Wriothesley's note lying on his table.

"Will I dine on Wednesday, go to the play, and come back to supper afterwards? Will I not?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es Jim. "I am on duty on Wednesday, but somebody else will have to do that; and there is a big field-day on the Thursday. Never mind: get back by the early train in time for it, and I can do as much sleep as one wants coming down: so that is satisfactorily settled."

Jim, by this, was very hard hit indeed; and had he been asked to stay a month in the little house in Hans Place, would have sold out rather than have foregone the invitation; and the night in question saw him duly seated in Mrs. Wriothesley's dining-room in the highest possible spirits.

"By the way," said Pansey Cottrell, who completed the quartet, addressing his hostess, "what is our destined place of amus.e.m.e.nt this evening? Are we bound for the French plays?"

"No, we are going to the Prince of Wales's Theatre," rejoined Mrs.

Wriothesley. "Are you very much given to the French plays, Mr.

Cottrell?"

"I am not very much given to any theatrical entertainment; but whenever I feel low about the scarcity of money in the country, I like to go the French plays. To see so many people who can afford to pay a guinea for an arm-chair to read in for three hours is a refres.h.i.+ng proof that there is still money in the country. People go there a great deal more because it is the fas.h.i.+on than because they enjoy it. It is like the opera, which, though exquisite enjoyment to many, always commands a strong contingent who attend solely because it is the fas.h.i.+on. You are going of course to this water party of Beauchamp & Co.?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Wriothesley, "I rather like the idea. It is quite a novelty. They have chartered a large steamer, and I hear the arrangements are very perfect. You are going, Captain Bloxam?"

"Certainly," replied Jim. "I look forward to having pretty well the pleasantest day of the season. We are to lunch on board, dine on board, and, I believe, dance on board. As I told Beauchamp, the only improvement I could suggest was a stage for charades. We might have as great a success, Miss Chipchase, as we had that night at Todborough."

"Yes," replied Sylla, slightly colouring at the recollection, and wondering, in her mischievous resolve to a little shock Lady Mary, whether she might not really have gone too far.

"I declare, if well done, if they have got a big enough steamer, the right people, and it is a fine day, it ought to be a great success,"

observed Cottrell.

"Well," rejoined Mrs. Wriothesley, "from what Lionel told me, they have secured everything but the last; and I do think their arrangements to meet that are as perfect as possible."

Mr. Cottrell shook his head dubiously.

"In the event of a very unpromising day," continued Mrs. Wriothesley, "people will find a most excellent lunch spread in the cabins; and they have made up their minds not to leave their moorings at Westminster Bridge, so that people can have just as much as they please of the entertainment."

"That idea positively trenches on genius," exclaimed Mr. Cottrell approvingly, "and reduces it merely to lunching at any house in London.

Cabs innumerable round there; one, as you say, can get away at any time."

"And now, Captain Bloxam," said Mrs. Wriothesley, "if you will ring the bell for coffee, Sylla and I will get our cloaks on while it cools; and then I think we must be going. Oh, about transport?" she adds, pausing at the door. "I think, Mr. Cottrell, if you will take me in your brougham, we will send the young couple in mine. Thanks," she continued, in reply to Mr. Cottrell's bow of a.s.sent. "Come, Sylla."

Mr. Cottrell's thoughts were naturally unspoken, but he could not refrain from mentally ejaculating, "Poor Lady Mary! what chance can she have against such an artist as this?"

A few weeks ago, and no girl would, perhaps, have laughed more at the idea of being nervous about driving alone to the theatre with Captain Bloxam than Sylla Chipchase; but she unmistakably was this evening, and, only that she was afraid of being ridiculed by her aunt, would have asked to change escorts. She could not help showing it in her manner a little when they were fairly started; and the Hussar was far from discouraged thereby.

His mind was fully made up, and he pleaded his best, not one bit abashed by her faint responses to his pa.s.sionate protestations.

"I cannot tell you when I began to love you," he continued; "it was from the first time I saw you, I believe; and, Sylla, I do hope you care a little about me. I can hardly expect an answer tonight" (he did, and meant having it, all the same). It would be hardly fair; but if you can promise to be my wife before we part, I shall be the lightest-hearted Hussar that rides up the Long Valley tomorrow."

"I don't know. I didn't think you cared about me. I must have time,"

she murmured.

Oh, these lovers! She did know; she did think he cared about her, and she wanted no time.

"Sylla, dearest," continued Jim, "you must have known that I loved you; no woman is ever blind to that. That you should reflect before you give me an answer, I can understand; but please let me know my fate as soon as possible. It is cruel to keep me in suspense." And here the flood of Jim's eloquence was arrested by the brougham pulling up at the door of the theatre.

Mrs. Wriothesley and her cavalier glanced keenly at the pair as they entered the box. Mr. Cottrell, indeed, had complimented his hostess on her little bit of _finesse_ on the road, and she had made no scruple of admitting that she hoped to bring about a marriage between the two. As to the Hussar, he was quite equal to the occasion, and from all that could be gathered from his imperturbable manner, might have been entertaining his companion with his meteorological views for the last half-hour. But with poor Sylla it was different. However good an actress the girl might be theatrically, she was a lamentable failure in the affairs of real life now that she found herself the leading lady; and both her quick-eyed aunt and the lynx-eyed Mr. Cottrell felt just as certain that an _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_ had taken place as if they had a.s.sisted at it. More discreet chaperons were impossible, and after the first glance they took no further notice of the lovers, confining their conversation to each other, and their attention to the stage. After a little Mr. Cottrell discovered a friend in the stalls, with whom it was an absolute necessity he should exchange a few words; and then the interest Mrs. Wriothesley took in the play proved what an enthusiast she was about dramatic art.

But the green curtain fell at last--though, with the exception of Mrs.

Wriothesley, it would be almost open to question whether any of them knew even the name of the piece they had witnessed--and the party proceeded homewards. Jim made good use of his opportunities on the drive back to Hans Place; and upon arrival, took advantage of Sylla's temporary escape upstairs to whisper to Mrs. Wriothesley that he had told his tale, and been favourably listened to. He felt a.s.sured of her congratulations. He knew he was a favourite of hers, and that she was much too clever a woman to have allowed him to see so much of Sylla unless she had approved of his suit. They were a very pleasant but rather quiet party at supper. Lovers in the spring-tide of their delirium have rarely conversation except for each other; but then that suffices amply for their enjoyment. Mrs. Wriothesley, triumphant in her schemes, chatted gaily with Mr. Cottrell, who was Sybarite enough to know that the discussion of the fish salad that he was then engaged upon, accompanied by the prattle of a pretty woman and irreproachable champagne, was about as near Elysium as a man of his years and prosaic temperament could expect to arrive at. He had had some conversation with his hostess on the way home. They had both arrived at the conclusion, from what they had seen in the theatre, that, even if everything was not yet settled, it would be before the evening was out.

When she bade him good night, Mrs. Wriothesley added in low tones,

"Of course it is as we guessed; but don't say anything about it for the next few days."

It was with feelings of great complacency that Mr. Cottrell, having lit his cigar, stepped into his brougham. He had dined and supped satisfactorily. He had pa.s.sed a pleasant evening, and he was in the early possession of a little piece of intelligence connected with that comedy which he had seen commenced at Todborough which made its finish perfectly plain to him. He could not help laughing as he thought of the complication of feeling that this would produce in the mind of Lady Mary Bloxam when it reached her, which of course it speedily would.

Would indignation at having to welcome as a daughter-in-law a girl she disliked so much as she did Sylla Chipchase overcome the gratification she would feel at finding that she need no longer dread her as an obstacle to her plans for the settlement of Blanche? Upon the whole, Mr. Cottrell thought not.

"They don't know it," he argued; "but Sylla Chipchase's father is a wealthy man, and the young lady, in consequence of her mother's settlement, a very long way off a penniless maiden. I don't think Lady Mary has ever yet thought about Jim's marrying at all; but if Beauchamp and Blanche only make a match of it, I fancy it would reconcile her ladys.h.i.+p to a good deal. She wouldn't then, at all events, be beaten at all points of the game by her pet aversion--Mrs. Wriothesley." And once more Mr. Cottrell chuckled over the situation. "Piccadilly, eh?"

he muttered, looking out of the window. "I don't feel a bit like bed.

Egad, I'll turn in here and have another cigar;" and so saying Mr.

Cottrell stopped his brougham at the door of a well-known club, got out, and leisurely ascended the steps.

Several men were seated smoking in the hall, and a little knot, of which Lionel Beauchamp was the princ.i.p.al figure, attracted Mr.

Cottrell's attention.

"Ah, my lords of Greenwich and Gravesend!" he exclaimed gaily, "all the world is much exercised about you and your doings. Wondrous are the stories afloat as to the fitting out of your s.h.i.+p, and all the fun that you have prepared for us. People don't know what to expect. Some say you are about to revive the old Folly and Ranelagh. Others that you have rolled the Italian Opera and Willis's Rooms all into one, and put it on board s.h.i.+p."

"I can't say what they expect in the way of entertainment," exclaimed Beauchamp, "but they seem to think that we have at all events chartered the Great Eastern. We are perfectly inundated with applications for tickets."