ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Lady Maude's Mania. Fenn George Manville
Читать онлайн.Название Lady Maude's Mania
Год выпуска 0
isbn
Автор произведения Fenn George Manville
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
“Ah, signora – ah, bella signora.”
Maude Diphoos’ head was withdrawn rapidly and her cheeks paled, flushed, and turned pale again, as she stood gazing at her maid, and wondering what had possessed her to attempt to do such a thing as dismiss this man.
“Ah, signora! Ah, bella signora!” came again from below; and this seemed to arouse Maude to action, for now she hastily closed the window and seated herself before the glass.
“Undo my hair and finish brushing it,” she said austerely; “and, Dolly, there is to be no more of this wicked folly.”
“No, my lady.”
“It is disgraceful. Mind, I desire that you never look out at this man, nor speak to him again.”
“No, my lady.”
“I shall ask her ladyship to look over your error, and mind that henceforth you are to be a very good girl.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“There: I need say no more; you are very sorry, are you not?”
“Ye-yes, my lady.”
“Then mind, I shall expect you to do credit to my interference, for her ladyship will be exceedingly angry if anything of this kind occurs again. Now, you will try?”
“Ye-yes, my lady,” sobbed poor Dolly, “I’ll try; but you don’t know, miss, how hard it is. Some day you may feel as I do, and then you’ll be sorry you scolded me so much.”
“Silence, Dolly; I have not scolded you so much. I have only interfered to save you from ruin and disgrace.”
“Ruin and disgrace, my lady?”
“Yes, you foolish girl. You could not marry such a man as that. There, now go downstairs – no, go to your own room and bathe your eyes before you go down. I feel quite ashamed of you.”
“Yes, my lady, so do I,” sobbed Dolly. “I’m afraid I’m a very wicked girl, and father will never forgive me; but I can’t help it, and – Ow – ow – ow!”
“Dolly! Dolly! Dolly! There, do go to your room,” cried Maude impatiently, and the poor girl went sobbing away, leaving her mistress to sit thinking pensively of what she had said.
Lady Maude Diphoos should have continued dressing, but she sat down by her mirror with her head resting upon her hand thinking very deeply of the weak, love-sick girl who had just left the room. Her thoughts were strange, and it seemed to her that so soon as she began to picture the bluff, manly, Saxon countenance of Charley Melton, the dark-eyed, black-bearded face of the Italian leered at her over his shoulder, and so surely as she made an effort to drive away the illusion, the face disappeared from one side to start out again upon the other.
So constant was this to the droning of the organ far below that Maude shivered, and at last started up, feeling more ready now to sympathise with the girl than to blame as she hurriedly dressed, and prepared to go downstairs to join her ladyship in her afternoon drive.
“Are you aware, Maude, that I have been waiting for you some time?”
“No, mamma. The carriage has not yet come.”
“That has nothing whatever to do with it,” said her ladyship. “You have kept me waiting. And by the way, Maude, I must request that you do not return Mr Melton’s very particular bows. I observed that you did yesterday in the Park, while directly afterwards, when Sir Grantley Wilters passed, you turned your head the other way.”
“Really, mamma, I – ”
“That will do, child, I am your mother.”
“The carriage is at the door, my lady,” said Robbins, entering the room; and soon afterwards the ladies descended to enter the barouche and enjoy the air, “gravel grinding,” in the regular slow procession by the side of the Serpentine, where it was not long before Maude caught sight of Charley Melton, with his ugly bull-dog by his legs.
He bowed, but Lady Barmouth cut him dead. He bowed again – this time to Maude, who cut him alive, for her piteous look cut him to the heart; and as the carriage passed on the remark the young man made concerning her ladyship was certainly neither refined nor in the best of taste.
Chapter Six.
Not at Home
For Charley Melton’s father was better, hence his presence in town, where he had sped as soon as he found that the Diphoos family had left the Hurst, where Lady Barmouth hatched matrimony.
That cut in the Park was unpleasant, but nothing daunted in his determination not to be thrown over, the young man made his way next day to Portland Place, eager, anxious, and wondering whether Maude would be firm, or allow herself to be influenced by her ladyship to his downfall.
Robbins unclosed the door at the great family mansion looking very severe and uncompromising. So stern was his countenance, and so stiff the bristles on his head, that any one with bribery in his heart would have felt that silver would be an insult.
“Not at home.”
He left his card, and called next day.
“Not at home.”
He waited two days, and called again.
“Not at home.”
Another two days, and another call. The same answer.
“Not at home.”
Charley Melton turned away with his brow knit, and then thought over the past, and determined that, come what might, he would not be beaten.
The next day he went again, with his dog trotting closely at his heels. He knocked; the door was opened by Robbins the butler, and to the usual inquiry, that individual responded as before —
“Not at home, sir.”
As Melton left his card and turned to go away, Joby quietly walked in, crossed the hall, and went upstairs, while his master, who was biting his lips, turned sharply back and slipped half a sovereign into the butler’s hand.
“Look here, Robbins,” he said; “you may trust me; what does this mean?”
The butler glanced behind him, and let the door swing nearly to as he stood upon the step.
“Fact is, sir, her ladyship said they was never to be at home to you.”
A curious smile crossed Melton’s lip as he nodded shortly and turned away, going straight back to his chambers in Duke Street, Saint James’s, and walking impatiently up and down till he was fain to cease from utter exhaustion, when he flung himself impatiently in his chair, and sat trying to make plans for the future.
Meanwhile Joby, feeling himself quite at home in the Portland Place mansion, had walked straight into the dining-room, where the luncheon was not yet cleared away. The dog settled himself under the table, till, hearing a halting step, he had come slowly out to stand watching Lord Barmouth, who toddled in hastily, and helped himself to three or four slices of cold ham, which he was in the act of placing in his pocket as the dog touched him on the leg.
“Eh! I’m very sorry, Robbins – I – eh? Oh dear, how you frightened me, my good dog,” he said; “I thought it was the butler.”
He was hurrying out when, thinking that perhaps the visitor might also like a little extra refreshment, he hastily took up a couple of cutlets and threw them one by one to the dog, who caught them, and seemed to swallow them with one and the same movement, pill-fashion, for they disappeared, and Joby waited for more.
“I dare not take any more, my good dog,” said his lordship, stooping down and patting him; and then, feeling that there was nothing more to be done here, Joby quietly trotted upstairs into the drawing-room, where Maude was seated alone, with her head resting upon her hand, and the tears silently stealing