The Principal Girl

XIV

IN WHICH MARY QUALIFIES FOR THE RôLE OF THE BAD GIRL OF THE FAMILY

Now who do you suppose it was, my lords and gentlemen, who pulled that blessed bell-wire? No, not the ex-lessee of the H-ym-rk-t Theayter. Miss Mary, helping Cook to peel the potatoes in the basement, made herself acquainted with that fact when she pulled the window curtains aside and looked up through the area. Cockades and things were before the door of No. 10 Bedford Gardens; a raking pair of chestnuts, and a smart rubber-tired vehicle with armorial bearings upon the panels.

The Bad Girl of the Family, peering through the kitchen curtains, with a half-peeled potato in one hand, and a bone-hafted knife from Sheffield in the other, saw Jeames de la Pluche Esquire (who, in that charming but absurd fur cape, reminded her not a little of Harry Merino as the Cat in the moral drama of Dick Whittington) leap down from his perch with marked agility, whisk open the door, and offer first aid to something very distinguished in the way of great ladyhood.

Blond and bland was the lady, and very grande dame, as you could tell by her Carriage. Looked through her folders and saw Number 10 over the fanlight ; and as this she did, one of those terrible flashes of feminine intuition overtook Mary that this must surely be Mother.

Yes, Mother, undoubtedly. Had not Philip himself the same ample look of nourishment, the same air of deliberation as of one a little slow in the uptake, the same faint far-off suggestion of a finely-grown vegetable? And to the quick eye of the feminine observer, through the kitchen curtains, there were certain things pertaining to Mother, which, up to this present, son had not developed.

The clang of the front-door bell reverberated through the basement.

‘Drat it, Miss Mary,’ said Cook. ‘And me not dressed yet! Would you mind letting in her Sir Squire?’

‘ Why of course,’ said Miss Mary.

‘ But had n’t you better leave your knife and your pertater, Miss Mary?’

’Oh, Sir Squire won’t mind those, Hannah; they’ll amuse him,’ said the Bad Girl of the Family, who was halfway up the kitchen stairs already.

The Apparition on the doorstep, in her new ermine tippet, was shocked not a little, deep down in the secret recesses of her nature; but, of course, was far too well found in the ways of the world to give the feelings publication. But if one is so ill-advised as to visit in Bohemian circles in the afternoon of the Sabbath Day, one must be prepared for all contingencies. Still, a halfpared potato, a sack-cloth apron, and a bone-hafted kitchen knife made in Sheffield, is a rather informal reception of a real peeress from Grosvenor Square, on the part of Bedford Gardens.

‘Mrs. Cathcart at home?’ inquired Grosvenor Square, No. 88, the corner house, very bland and splendid.

‘Oh, yes—won’t you come in?’ said the Bad Girl, winningly.

Impressive entrance of the Governing Classes into an ill-lit but fairly spacious interior, which had a bust of Edmund Kean over the hat-stand, and John Kemble as Richard H. by—not after—Maclise, over the dining-room door.

‘Lady Shelmerdine,’ said the bland and splendid one, as Mary pushed the front door to with her foot because her hands were occupied.

‘Of Potterhanworth,’ said the Bad Girl in tones warm and velvety.

‘Oh yes,’ said the Governing Classes, pained perhaps a little.

‘Philip’s mother — so delighted — hope you don’t object to potatoes — it’s Jane’s afternoon out.’

But no further communication was forthcoming from the Governing Classes, all the way up the solid length of stair-carpet to Grandmamma’s withdrawing-room.

Mary preceded No. 88 Grosvenor Square, sacking-cloth apron, potato, bone-hafted knife made in Sheffield and all, into the stately presence of the Cap -with -Real -Lace-which -had -been worn-by-Siddons.

‘Lady Shelmerdine of Potterhanworth, Granny.’

The Bad Girl turned and fled; very nearly impaled herself on the bonehafted knife by counting fourteen stairs instead of thirteen; and continued her course headlong until she fell howling into the arms of Cook.

But in Edmund Kean’s goddaughter’s withdrawing-room, it was no laughing matter, my lords and gentlemen, we feel bound to tell you that. And we are forced to agree, though very reluctantly, with what Grandmamma said privately to the Bad Girl, afterwards, which was, that she would be none the worse for a good whipping.

‘Mrs. Cathcart, I presume?’ said No. 88 Grosvenor Square, very bland and splendid, although the tones had no need to be so icy, they had n’t really.

‘You have the advantage of me,’ said the-Lady-Macbeth-to-John-Philip-Kemble, offering her venerable hand at the angle of 1851, the Exhibition year. ‘Ah, yes, Lady Shelmerdine,— delighted to make your acquaintance.’

What of the Braided Morning-Coat, you ask, while all this was toward? Perspiring freely in every pore and leaning up against the chimney-piece, and looking rather gray about the gills.

Should it make a bolt, or should it stay and grapple with the music? The pusillanimity of the former course, desperately tempting no doubt to a weak resolution, would involve death and damnation; but the heroism of the latter required all that could be mustered by the playing fields of Eton and Christ Church. But while the unhappy inhabitant of the Braided MorningCoat was surrendered to this problem, the stern, uncompromising eye of Mother decided the question.

‘Phil-ipp!’

‘Ma-ter!’ And then, of course, the Twin Brethren called out the reserves. ‘Mrs. Cathcart—my mother.’

The bow of Grosvenor Square, No. 88, the corner house, was aloof, decidedly; the bow of Lady-Macbeth-toJohn-Philip-Kemble was so full of conscious power and accumulated dignity that it was really quite gracious.

‘Pray be seated, Lady Shelmerdine.’

Beautiful elocution on the part of the goddaughter of Edmund Kean.

Lady Shelmerdine seated herself like an elderly peeress, and opened fire with her tortoise-shell folders. The RealLace-that-had-been-worn - by - Siddons touched the electric button at its elbow.

Entrance of the Bad Girl of the Family, without her apron this time, and divested also of her potato and the bone-hafted knife from Sheffield.

‘Mary, child, my spectacles.’

The Bad Girl delved desperately in the inmost recesses of the chiffonier, found Grandmamma’s spectacles, and prepared to withdraw in something of a hurry. But she was detained.

‘Has Jane returned, child?’

‘Yes, Granny.’

‘Ask her to have the goodness to bring some tea for Lady Shelmerdine.’

‘Oh, not for me, thank you.’

‘You are quite sure?’

No. 88 Grosvenor Square was quite, quite sure.

Exit the Bad Girl of the Family, without daring to look once in the direction of the Braided Morning-Coat that was still leaning up forlornly against the chimney-piece.

‘Mrs. Cathcart,’ said the Governing Classes, getting the first gun into action, ’I have done myself the honor of calling upon you—’

‘The honor, madam, is entirely mine,’ Edmund Kean’s goddaughter assured her.

‘— because of a most unfortunate state of affairs which has just been brought to my notice.’

The goddaughter of Edmund Kean looked sympathetic, although it does not always do to judge by appearances, you know.

‘My unfortunate son—Philip, perhaps you will be good enough to sit down, as it is most desirable that you should follow what I say with the closest attention — my unfortunate son, to the intense surprise of his father, Lord Shelmerdine, has made a proposal of marriage to your niece.'

Lady Macbeth suggested mildly that granddaughter might be more in accordance with the facts of the case.

‘Granddaughter — I beg your pardon. One has no need to tell you, Mrs. Cathcart, who I am sure are a woman of the world, that this act of my son’s has caused some concern in his family.’

Lady Macbeth was sorry if that was the case.

‘In point of fact, for some little time past my son has been engaged to Lady Adela Rocklaw—’

‘Not quite that, you know, Mater,’ murmured the unhappy Braided Morning-Coat.

‘—To Lady Adela Rocklaw, a daughter of Lord Warlock, and his conduct will cause pain, although of course, madam, it has not yet become public property, and I sincerely hope it may not become so.’

‘You ain’t puttin’ it quite fair, are you, Mater?' ventured the Braided Morning-Coat.

‘Phil-ipp, please!’ A wave of a sheproconsular hand. ‘Allow me to deal with the facts. A most embarrassing situation, madam, for two families.’

‘One moment, Lady Shelmerdine,’ said Lady Macbeth. ‘May I ask this question? Do I understand your son to be actually engaged to Lady Adela Rocklaw?’

‘Yes, madam, you may take that to be the fact.’

‘Mr. Shelmerdine,’ said the Queen of Tragedy, ‘I must ask you for an explanation.'

Braided Morning-Coat, notwithstanding that it was completely undone, unbuttoned itself nervously.

‘The mater’s a bit mixed, ma’am, and that’s the truth. I never have been engaged to Lady Adela.’

‘Perhaps, Phil-ipp, not officially.’

‘No, Mater, and not unofficially, and’ — Herculean effort — ‘I don’t mind sayin’ I’ve no intention of—’

‘Phil-ipp!’

‘Lady Shelmerdine,’ said the Queen of Tragedy, ‘the situation is not altogether clear to my mind. Either your son is engaged to marry Lady Adela Rocklaw, or he is not.’

‘He is morally engaged to her.’

‘I am sorry I am unable to appreciate the distinction. Do I understand that your son is engaged to Lady Adela?’

‘No, ma’am, I’m not,’ said the Braided Morning-Coat, with honorable boldness.

‘But, Phil-ipp!’

‘It’s the truth, Mater. Mrs. Cathcart asks a plain question and there’s a plain answer. And, after all, I’m the chap —’

‘Quite so, Mr. Shelmerdine,’ said Lady Macbeth, looking almost as wise as the Lord Chief Justice of England, as he sits in the Court of Appeal. ‘This is your affair. You have a right to know your own mind; moreover, you have a right to express it.’

The Braided Morning-Coat felt the stronger for this well-timed assistance. It was easy to see from which side of the family Miss Mary had inherited her strong good sense. A masterful old thing, but she really was helpin’ a lame dog over a stile, was n’t she?

Blonder and blander grew the Colthurst of Suffolk. It really looked as though it might be a pretty set-to.

‘Perhaps, Philip, if you looked into your club for an hour.’

The Green Chartreuse, the horrid coward, wanted to quit the stricken field prematurely. But if he had, as sure as Fate, Mother would have won quite easily; but he did not. Mr. Philip stayed and stuck to his guns like a Briton, and Grandma at least thought none the worse of him for it. The LadyMacbeth - to - John - Philip - Kemble had an opinion of her own on pretty nearly every subject; and the order of which the Braided Morning-Coat would one day be an ornament, had in her judgment to carry a pretty serious penalty; but the old thing, in her shrewd old heart, an imperious old thing, too, who had kept pretty good company for eighty-four years or so, was not altogether inclined to accept all the world and his wife at their surface valuation.

‘The Family, madam,’said the Colthurst of Suffolk, ‘cannot for a moment countenance an alliance between my unfortunate son and your granddaughter, who, one is given to understand, is at present engaged in a pantomime. I am, however, empowered by Lord Shelmerdine to offer reparation, if such is required.’

These were not the actual words used by Mother. Her style was easier, a little less florid, a trifle more conversational; but, after all, it is not so much what is said, as the manner in which it is said, and the foregoing may be taken more or less as the gist of what was conveyed by the Governing Classes.

Grandmamma did n’t look pleased; at least, not very. The Florid Person was evidently taking herself rather seriously. Let her Beware, that was all, quoth Conscious Strength, amid the inner convolutions of the Cap-of-RealLace-that-had-been-worn-by-Siddons.

‘ It appears to me, Lady Shelmerdine,’ said the goddaughter of Edmund Kean, ‘that this is perhaps a matter for your son and my granddaughter, and that no really useful purpose will be served by third and fourth parties discussing it—except perhaps in a spirit purely academic.’

In a spirit purely academic! Well done, Peggy, whispered the delighted shade of John Philip Kemble, hovering somewhere in the cornice high up towards the ceiling, immediately above the bust of himself.

‘Mrs. Cathcart, as a woman of the world, and as one who is in the position to appreciate the feelings of a mother, I am sure I shall not appeal to you in vain.’

When in doubt, saith the Diplomatist’s Handbook, suaviter in modo is a card you should always play. But how often had Grandmamma seen it in the course of her eighty-four summers, do you suppose?

It was here that the Braided Morning-Coat felt it was up to it to say something, and forthwith proceeded to do so.

‘I agree with you, ma’am,’ said he. ‘It’s just a matter for Mary and me. She won’t say Yes and I won’t take No, and there we are at present. But I’m goin’ to ask her again, because I love her and all that, and I know I’m not worthy of her — but I’m goin’ to try to be, and I’m goin’ to see about Parliament at once.’

The silence was ominous.

‘That appears to be a perfectly manly and straightforward course to take, Mr. Shelmerdine,’ said Grandmamma, breaking it rather grimly.

Please observe that she did n’t tell Mother that she declined to sanction the match. So, in the circumstances, perhaps it is hardly right to blame Mother for making quite a number of errors.

Of course, error the first was to come when Mr. Philip was present in propria persona. But that, we are afraid, was due to the aboriginal defect of a parent in underrating the importance of its offspring. What she ought really to have done was, not to have come as an important unit of the Governing Classes, but to have crept in by stealth as it were, as the poor human mother, humbly to have craved assistance; and to have kept her foot on the soft pedal throughout the whole of the concerto.

Alas ! the manner of Mother’s coming had been otherwise. And the longer she remained and the more she said, the more she ought to have left unsaid, had she been really as wise as she thought she was — and you can really have no idea how wise the spouse of a great Proconsul can think herself when she is thinking imperially. And this does not apply merely to Grosvenor Square and its environs.

‘Lord Shelmerdine empowers me to offer all reasonable reparation.’

Granny was interested to hear that, in spite of the fact that the whole matter was so purely academic.

‘If there is any special form the young lady — I have n’t the pleasure of the name of your niece, Madam — would desire the reparation to assume, Lord Shelmerdine’s solicitor will be happy to call upon her to-morrow.’

‘Oh, but, Mater — I say —’

Slight display of fortiter, in order to cope with this unfilial interruption.

‘It is your father’s wish, Philip.’

The ears of Granny had seemed to cock a little at the mention of Lord Shelmerdine’s solicitor.

‘ Forgive me, Madam, if I appear dense,’ said the most perfect elocution.

Underplay a bit, Peggy, my dear, like Fanny does in genuine light comedy, said the Distinguished Shade, smiling benevolently down from the cornice. But this was Kean’s goddaughter, which perhaps the Shade had forgotten.

‘You are talkin’ rot, aren’t you, Mater?’ said the Braided MorningCoat in vibrant tones.

‘ It is your father’s wish, Phil-ipp. He desires that no injustice — If thought desirable, reparation may assume a pecuniary —’

‘You are talkin’ rot, though, Mater, ain’t you?’

Incredible hardihood certainly on the part of the Braided Morning-Coat. But eminently honorable to that chequered garment, we believe the world to be entitled to think.

Lady Macbeth was not looking very genial just at present. A very masterful old thing in her way, and had always been so. And really, Mother was a little crude in places, was n’t she?

Still, we are bound to do Mother the justice to say that she was not aware of the fact. Indeed, to her it seemed that the higher diplomacy was really doing very well indeed. Everything so pleasant so agreeable; iron hand in velvet glove, but used so lightly that Bohemian Circles were hardly conscious of its presence. Mother was getting on famous in her own opinion, and she ought to have known.

Matrimony quite out of the question, of course, between the granddaughter of Lady Macbeth and eldest son of the House. The Governing Classes hoped that that had been made quite clear to the wife of the Thane of Cawdor. The wife of the Thane appeared to think it had been.

‘Of a pecuniary character, I think you said,’ said the goddaughter of Edmund Kean.

‘Yes, pecuniary; Lord Shelmerdine had no reason to think that Phil-ipp had been so unwise as to enter into a formal engagement, but it was his desire to be quite fair, even generous.’

Steady, Cavalry! whispered the Distinguished Shade in the ear of Peggy.

‘Or even generous, Madam! One would be happy to have an idea of the shape Lord Shelmerdine’s generosity might assume.’

The unhappy Braided Morning-Coat regretted exceedingly that it could not disclaim responsibility for both parents.

‘But, Mater— !’

‘No, do not interrupt, dear Phil-ipp. This is all so important and so delicate. Lord Shelmerdine thinks that five hundred pounds — and I am empowered — ’

And then it was that Mother found trouble.

Trouble came to Mother quite unexpected, like a bolt from the blue — or like a shot out of a cannon, according to the subsequent version of an eyewitness.

It would hardly be kind to describe the scene in detail. Lady Macbeth, in spite of her eighty-four summers, made rather short work of Mother. Not that Mother, you know, was overborne by Christian meekness altogether. Assured Social Position, knowing itself to be absolutely right, and acting all for the best, does not always offer the other cheek with the facility that comes of constant practice.

Please do not misunderstand us. It was hardly a scene. The combined genius of Mr. G-lsw-rthy and Mrs. Humphry Ward could not have observed the proprieties with a chaster rigidity; it was all very grande dame; but one being the Lady-Macbeth-toJohn-Philip-Kemble, and the other a leading Constitutional hostess who had moved quite lately to Grosvenor Square, — well —

Far from Mother’s intention to offer an insult to the granddaughter of Lady Macbeth. But Miss-Footlight-of-theFrivolity had quite recently received the sum of ten thousand pounds from the people of young Lord Footle, which sum was of course excessive, as dear Justice Brusher had said to Mother last evening between the soup and the savory.

‘ Madam, I hold no opinion of Justice Brusher; Miss Footlight I don’t know, and Lord Footle I don’t desire to know; but it is impossible for my granddaughter, a member of an old theatrical family, to pocket this insult.’

And Grandmamma rang the bell with tremendous dignity.

Jane, the parlor-maid, it was, who appeared this time, looking all the prettier for her afternoon out.

‘Jane,’ said the acknowledged Queen of Tragedy, ‘pray conduct Lady Shelmerdine to her carriage — and in the future I shall not receive her.’

Poor old Mother!

‘Phil-ipp, accompany me.’

Philip accompanied Mother down the stairs, past the bust of Kean in the front hall, down the nine steps of Number Ten Bedford Gardens and handed her into her carriage.

‘We dine at eight this evening, Philip. Your father will expect you.’

‘ Impossible, Mater. Dinin’ at the Old Players’ Club.’

To give the Governing Classes their due, they certainly made exit in pretty good style from Bohemia. As for Mr. Philip, he returned to the front hall to retrieve his hat and his coat with the astrachan collar and other belongings, and wondered if it would be wise to say good-bye to Grandmamma, and decided that perhaps he had better not risk it. But, before he could get into his infamous garment, the Bad Girl of the Family descended upon him from the basement — we are not quite sure how she managed to do it, but simple little feats in elementary acrobatics are always possible to a pantomime performer — and haled the young man by main force into what she called her Private Piggery, which in reality was a small back parlor of sorts in an indescribable state of confusion.

Having brought the froward young man to this undesirable bourn, the Bad Girl turned up the electric light and then broke down badly. She laughed herself into a state of tears and general collapse.

The heir to the barony was not feeling so very amused just now, though.

‘My opinion you were listening, you cat.’

‘ Granny — the dreadful old spitfire! ’

‘Tactless of the mater, I’ll admit. Quite well meant, though, Polly.’

‘How dare you call me Polly, after all that has happened!’

And the youngest of the old theatrical family whisked away her tears with a rather smart lace-broidered handkerchief, and looked almost as fierce as the Cat in the moral drama of Dick Whittington.

‘Howlin’ blunder, I ’ll admit; but you are n’t crabbed about it, are you, old girl?’

‘Please don’t admit anything, Mr. Shelmerdine — and how dare you call me “old girl,” after what has happened? Don’t let me have to ring for Jane and not receive you in future —’

‘So you were listening, you cat!’

‘Wouldn’t you have been — Phil-ipp?’

‘It’s a horrid mix-up, though, is n’t it? Look here, old girl, I really think the best thing that we can do is to go and get married to-morrow mornin’ before the Registrar.’

Cinderella seemed to think, however, that such a proposal was outside the field of practical politics.

‘I know, old girl, that a Church is considered a bit more respectable; but I thought that the Registrar would be quicker and easier.’

‘You are rather taking it for granted, aren’t you, Philip, that I’m going to marry you, when you know I’m not.’

‘Well, I do think, Polly, after all that has happened — !’

But somehow Polly did n’t quite see it in that way. She could n’t think of such a thing without Granny’s consent. And even if Granny did give her consent — which, of course, she never would — his people would never give theirs, would they? so even that would not make their prospects any rosier.

Decidedly he must pluck this peach, and he must pluck it immediately. But how, — that was the problem, when the Fates had loaded the dice.

XV

IN WHICH WE SIT AT THE FEET OF GAMALIEL

On the morrow, — or about midnight that same day, to be precise, — when Arminius Wingrove came into the Club after attending an important première, the great man was engaged in conversation by Mr. Philip while they dallied with deviled kidneys and other comestibles.

‘Minnie,’ said the vain young fellow, ‘everybody says you are the cleverest chap in London, so I want your advice.’

Rather cool perhaps to demand advice of the cleverest chap in London in this point-blank manner; but Arminius, who kept a generous heart beneath his waistcoat of white piqué, showed no displeasure.

‘ If you mean about the girl you are making a fool of yourself over,’ said the great man, ‘don’t is the advice I shall have to give you.’

4Oh, but I’ve got beyond that already, Minnie,’ said the vain young fellow, with a rather grand simplicity.

‘ Have you though?’ said Arminius, pensive-like.

‘Yes, I’m goin’ to marry her if she’ll have me; but the trouble is, she won’t.’

‘Won’t she, though,’ said Arminius.

‘No, she won’t, Minnie, and that’s all about it, until her old grandmother gives her consent, and her old grandmother simply won’t hear of it.'

‘Who is her old grandmother?’ inquired Arminius, ‘and why won’t she?'

‘Her grandmother is Mrs. Cathcart who played Lady Macbeth with Kean, and she’s taken a prejudice against me because I’m the son of a peer.’

The manner of Arminius seemed to imply that old Mrs. Cathcart had been guilty of a very unfeminine proceeding. But being a disciple of Talleyrand, the great man did not clothe his thoughts with words.

‘And to make matters worse, Minnie, there was a simply frightful turnup between her grandmother and my mater yesterday afternoon.’

With the flair of a playwright whom Hannibal had himself approved, Arminius Wingrove asked for further information.

‘Simply gorgeous, Minnie, for a chap who had n’t to be in it. Would n’t have missed it for worlds — except that I kind of was n’t in a position to enjoy it, was I? But it has n’t half crabbed the piece! Tragedy Queen ordered Mater out of the house, and says she shan’t receive her in future. So it’s all up with my people, and I ’m afraid it’s all up with hers; and the girl is n’t going to marry me without the consent of all parties.’

The statement of the vain young fellow seemed both florid and ingenuous to Arminius Wingrove, who had hardly been so much amused by anything since the revival of The Importance of Being Earnest.

‘And so you don’t think she’ll marry you, do you, my son?’

‘Why, what reason have you to think she will, Minnie?’ said the heir to the barony in a voice of tense emotion.

‘ Because there’s not half a reason why she should n’t, my son.’

‘But she is simply devoted to —her old grandmother.’

‘The old lady has all her faculties, I presume?’

‘My mater thinks so, anyway.’

‘Well, then, there’s not half a reason why the girl should n’t marry you.’

The reasoning of Arminius Wingrove was not altogether clear to the heir to the barony, who, to be sure, was somewhat slow in the uptake.

‘Do you suppose, young feller, that any girl’s grandmother would stand in the way of forty thousand a year and a peerage?’

The young man shook his head.

‘You are mistaken, Minnie. She’s not that sort of girl at all; and she’s not that sort of grandmother. It is the confounded peerage that has crabbed the piece.’

Polite incredulity on the part of the audience.

‘Minnie, old boy, everybody says you are the cleverest chap in London, but you don’t know Mary Caspar.’

Arminius Wingrove knew something about Woman though.

‘ Young Shelmerdine, ’ said the Great Man, ‘what the dooce do you want to go foolin’ around the stage door at all for? A chap like you ought to marry Adela Rocklaw. Make things unpleasant at home. No longer be welcomed in the best houses. Bored to tears about the second week of the honeymoon. Opportunities squandered. Much better have stayed in the Second and gone racing quietly than to have come into money and to have broken out in this way. Now take the advice of a friend; and let us see you at the Church of Paul or of Peter at an early date awaiting the arrival of old Warlock’s seventh and most charming daughter, and I will have my hat ironed, and I shall be proud to accompany you down the nave of the cathedral.’

It was not often that this man of the world was moved in this way; but he had just staged a rattling good comedy, and deviled kidneys and Welsh rarebits and tankards of strong ale are a stimulating diet when you sit listening to the chimes at midnight. It is a disconcerting psychological fact, though, that no young man has ever heeded the voice of wisdom in these circumstances.

‘It is awful good of you, Minnie, to take the trouble to advise me, but I’m goin’ to marry Mary Caspar if flesh and blood can manage it.’

‘Then it’s a walk over for flesh and blood, you silly young fool,’ said Arminius Wingrove, with rather brutal frankness.

XVI

IN WHICH THE MOUNTAIN COMES TO MAHOMET

Mr. Philip found that an imperious mandate from Grosvenor Square had been laid beside his silver cigar-box when he returned to the Albany at a quarter past two in the morning.

DEAR PHILIP [it ran], Your father desires to see you most particularly upon important business at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.
Your loving Mother,
AGATHA H. A. SHELMERDINE.

‘ She means this mornin’, and I shan’t be up if I don’t go to bed soon,’ said the heir to the barony, sitting down before the remains of the fire to consider the situation in all its bearings.

The melancholy consequence was that not all the King’s horses and not all the King’s men, including the young man’s body-servant, were able to wake him until something after eleven, in spite of the fact that a special messenger had been round from the Home Department.

If, however, Mahomet declines to move, it is time for the Mountain to be up and doing. Therefore, just as Mr. Philip, enveloped in a sky-blue dressing-gown, was pouring out his coffee with an uncertain hand, something rather portentous was ushered into the presence of the young prodigal.

The white eyebrows of the great Proconsul were a triumph of brushwork; the set of the tie was stern uncommonly; indeed the whole paternal aspect was enough to strike awe in the heart of the beholder.

The evidence that it did so, however, is not altogether conclusive.

The young waster, buttering his toast at a quarter past eleven, in a skyblue dressing-gown, rose and offered his hand in an easy and leisurely but withal in a manly and unaffected fashion.

‘I was just comin’ round, Father,’ said the young man.

Father declined a cup of tea and a cigarette without any effervescence of gratitude.

‘Take a pew, won’t you,’ said the young man, resuming business with the toast and butter.

Cool and off-handed young fellow, perhaps, thus to receive a great Proconsul; still his tone was not without deference, even if his air was casual.

Father took a pew.

‘You don’t look very comfy in that one. Take the one with the arms to it.’

‘Do quite well, thanks,’ said Father, in a deep bass voice.

A state of armed neutrality?— ye-es it did seem rather like it. Father did n’t seem quite to know where to begin; Son knew better than to provide assistance.

‘See in the paper that Van rather got across old Balsquith last night,’ said Son, conversationally.

Father had heard the debate from the Peers’ gallery.

Son wondered what would win the Coronation Vase — havin’ forgotten that Father did n’t go in for racin’.

‘ Philip,’ said Father, in tones of deep emotion, ‘it seems to me that you —’ And Father paused.

— Are going to the Devil, as fast as you can, is really what your distinguished parent desires to say to you, but he is trying to say it without treading on your feelings, which is more consideration than you deserve, you blighter!

No business of his if I am, was the very unfilial rejoinder of the latter.

‘Philip,’ said Father, after a pause, ‘your mother is very upset.’

Young fellow was sorry to hear it, very, but in February the weather was always so full of surprises.

Mother had not yet recovered, it appeared, from the most painful scene last Sunday afternoon with the grandmother of the Person. As the occurrence had been reported to the great Proconsul, the Person’s venerable relative had not behaved as nicely as she might have done.

Son was awfully cut up about it, but he did n’t quite agree. With all respect to Mother he could not help thinking that Miss Caspar’s venerable relative had been in receipt of provocation.

White eyebrows erected themselves archwise.

‘ We won’t go into That,’ said Father. ‘ But there are the facts, my dear boy. Let them be looked in the face.’

‘I wish, father, you would consent to meet Mary. She’s an absolute nailer, you know.’

Father was so disconcerted by the behavior of Son that he began to clothe his thoughts with language. A singularly unfortunate entanglement; people would be shocked; family interests would suffer; such unions never turned out well—how could they? Besides, Warlock was so sensitive. In fact, with all the conviction of which he was capable, and a Proconsul is capable of a good deal, Father urged Son to pause and reflect.

Son had already done so.

Was it conceivable?

Oh, yes, quite, if Father did n’t mind his saying so. He had a private income, and she was the nicest girl in London,—an opinion, he was sure, in which Father was bound to concur when he’d seen her.

But a-!!

Yes, but people were getting so much broader-minded, were n’t they?

Father had heard that that was the case, but in his opinion excess of Breadth was an even more serious menace to the Empire — being a great Proconsul, of course, Father always thought Imperially — than to err a little on the other side. Moreover, he felt the time was ripe to impart in strict confidence this pearl of wisdom to his offspring: i.e. that a comparatively recent creation should always be fastidious.

If you looked at things in that way, thought Mr. Philip.

How else could one look at things? the Proconsul inquired in tones of pained expostulation.

‘This is the way I look at things, Father,’ said Mr. Philip, ‘if you don’t mind my goin’ into details.’

‘Pray do so, my boy. I shall welcome them.’

‘Well, this is my feelin’ on the subject. You are sort of shot here, don’t you know, without anybody askin’ you whether you wanted to come. You are sort of dumped here, don’t you know, and told to make the best of a pretty bad mix-up. Well, I don’t mind telling you, Father, I’ve been gettin’ rather fed up with the whole affair lately.’

An idle and selfish course of life leads invariably to that state of mind, said Father in effect, though his language was more polished. It was a great mistake ever to have left the Second.

Son had got just as fed up there, though. It seemed such a silly arrangement for grown men of five and twenty.

Father was pained at This.

‘Fact is,’ said the Green Chartreuse, who was a veritable Swaggering Companion this morning, ‘a chap is bound to get fed up with Things unless he can find a real nice girl to take him on and give him an interest outside himself. And I reckon I’ve found her, although I have n’t persuaded her yet; but, Father, if you’ll be so kind as to go and talk to her grandmother, a real good sort, who has played Kean with Lady Macbeth, and put in a word for me, I’m sure it would straighten things out a bit.’

Father was constrained to remark at this point that he was afraid the Eldest Son of the House was hopeless. It was truly unfortunate that he could not be brought to realize the gravity of the issue.

Mr. Philip seemed willing to concede that from one point of view it would be quite right to marry Adela. But suppose you were not built in that way?

Father, however, found not the least difficulty in making a rejoinder. ‘ Marry Adela, my dear boy, whatever way you are built in, and you will never regret it. You will have done your duty in a manner becoming to the sphere to which it has pleased Providence to call you. Your mother will be pleased; I propose to double your present income; Warlock is prepared to be generous in regard to Adela’s settlement; I am sure High Cliffe will view the arrangement favorably; the little house in Grosvenor Street can be had on a short lease on reasonable terms; Mr. Vandeleur is inclined to think it would do no harm to the Party; most agreeable, accomplished, and charming girl; what could any young fellow — but why labor the point?’

Son rather agreed it might be taken as read. Still the fact remained that if you are not built in that way you are bound to be up against it.

The Proconsul had no pity for such weakness of fibre, such general infirmity of character. ‘Do you suppose, my dear boy, that when I married your dear mother I had no qualms?’

It may have been that this important truth was wrung from the great Proconsul before he realized his danger. It was a period of considerable emotional stress just now, you must please remember.

‘Do you suppose I did not realize that my life was not going to be altogether a bed of roses at first? But I am proud to say I was ambitious, and I can look all the world in the face and say I have never regretted my action. Our life together has been exceedingly harmonious; your mother is a most estimable and a thoroughly good woman; and I should have been guilty of the greatest error of my career had I allowed my perfectly natural qualms to frustrate a union which has been so abundantly blessed by heaven.’

Seldom had the great Proconsul been moved so deeply.

‘Let us beware, my dear boy, lest the weakening of fibre of the present generation does not undermine our Empire. It may be easier for you at first not to marry Adela Rocklaw; but it is a great mistake to suppose you will ever regret such a step if you have the courage to embrace it. As for this other step, I assure you, my dear boy, it is unthinkable.’

Having thus unburdened his mind, the Proconsul rose, and still in the fury of deep emotion swayed majestically forth from the Albany B 4.

(To be continued.)