LITMIR.BIZ

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was a coarse way of expressing himself, but “there” “she” did go – to wit her ladyship. Sir Grantley Wilters, whom she hoped some day to call son, was close at hand. It was quite time for her maternal feelings to assert themselves again, and they did, for she sank heavily into the nearest arms.

      They were not her husband’s but those of the baronet, most rotten reeds upon which a lady might lean. The result was that as Lady Barmouth gave way, Sir Grantley did the same, and both would have fallen heavily but for Doctor Todd, who seized the baronet in time, and with extraneous help her ladyship was placed in the porter’s great chair.

      “Salts, and a little air: she has only fainted,” said the doctor.

      By all the rules of family etiquette as observed in the best society, Maude should have run to her mother’s side, and made one in a pathetic group: but just at the same moment she encountered Charley Melton’s eyes, let her own rest upon them as a singular thrill ran through her, till she wrenched them away and encountered Sir Grantley Wilters’ eye-glass, and directly after she recalled a promise she had made to herself.

      “Open that door a little,” said the doctor – “ajar. Some fresh air.”

      Luigi Malsano was back in the street, and the organ struck up once more, “’Tis hard to give the hand where the heart can never be,” while at the same moment a dismal howl came from the doorstep and a head was thrust in, to be followed by a body rather out of proportion.

      It was only Charley Melton’s ugly bull-dog Joby, who had followed his master to the house, and been waiting on step and in area for the said master to come. He had several times made an attempt to enter, but had been driven back by Robbins the butler, and thought of going back to his master’s chambers, but at last the opportunity had come, and he too found his way in, for Luigi’s music nearly drove him mad.

      Meanwhile the Resident’s young wife was being carried towards Charing Cross en route for Brindisi – the Suez Canal – India – right away out of the country, and out of this story, leaving the stage clear for her sister’s important scene.

      Chapter Three.

      Down in the Country – The Angel

      “I’m afraid you are not serious, Mr Melton,” said Lady Barmouth; shaking her head at him sadly.

      “Serious, Lady Barmouth; indeed I am,” said Charley Melton, who was Viscount Diphoos’ guest down at the Hurst, Lord Barmouth’s seat in Sussex; “and as to personal matters, my income – ”

      “Hush, hush! you bad, wicked boy,” exclaimed her ladyship; “what do you take me for? Just as if the union of two young hearts was to be made a question of hard cash and settlements, and such mean, wretched, sordid matters. I beg you will never utter a word to me again about such things. They are shocking to me.”

      “I am very glad to hear you say so, Lady Barmouth,” said Melton, smiling frankly in her face, as in a gentle heaving billow style, she leaned, upon his arm, and undulated softly and tapped his fingers with her fan.

      “I like to think of my darling Maude as a sweet innocent girl in whose presence such a sordid thing as money ought never to be mentioned. There, there, there, they are calling you from the lawn, Charley Melton; go to them and play and be happy while you have your youth and high spirits. How I envy you all sometimes?”

      “Your ladyship has made me very happy,” said Melton, flushing slightly.

      “It is my desire to make all belonging to me happy,” replied her ladyship. “I have seen Diana, my sweet child, settled, now it is my desire to see Maude the same. There, there, go away, for my eyes are weak with tears, and I feel half hysterical. Go away, my dear boy, go away.”

      “But you will let me see your ladyship to a seat?”

      “No, no, no; go away, go away.”

      “Yo-hoy!” shouted a familiar voice. “Charley Melton! —are you coming!”

      “Yes, yes, coming,” replied Melton, as her ladyship tapped him on the arm very significantly, and shook her head at him, while her eyes plaintively gazed at his. And she said to herself – “Yes, his expectations, Lady Rigby said, were excellent.”

      The next moment he was on his way to the croquet lawn, where a gaily dressed party was engaged in preparing for a little match.

      “I never expected it,” said the young man to himself; “and either I’m in luck’s way, or her ladyship is not the mercenary creature people say. She is evidently agreeable, and if she is, I have no fear of Lord Barmouth, for the old man likes me.”

      “Come, old fellow,” cried Tom, advancing to meet him, with the biggest croquet mallet over his shoulder that could be found in the trade. “What have you and the old lady been chatting over? She hasn’t been dropping any hints about being de trop?”

      Melton was silent, for he enjoyed the other’s interest.

      “If she has,” cried Tom, “I’ll strike: I won’t stand it. It’s too bad; – it’s – ”

      “Gently, gently,” said Melton, smiling. “She has been all that I could desire, and it is evident that she does not look upon my pretensions to your sister’s hand with disfavour.”

      “What – disfavour? Do you mean to say in plain English that the old girl has not cut up rough about your spooning after Maude?”

      “Is that plain English?”

      “Never mind. Go on. What did she say?”

      “Called me her dear boy, and said her sole wish was to see her child happy.”

      “Gammon!” said Viscount Diphoos. “She’s kidding you.”

      “Nonsense! What a miserable sceptic you are!”

      “Yes; I know my dear mamma.”

      “I merely quote her words,” said Melton, coldly.

      “Then the old girl’s going off her chump,” said Tom. “But there, never mind; so much the better. Charley, old man, I give you my consent.”

      “Thank you,” said Melton, smiling.

      “Ah, you may laugh, but ’pon my soul I should like you to marry Maudey. She’s the dearest and best girl in the world, and I was afraid the old girl meant Wilters to have her. Well, I am glad, old man. Give us your fist. I’m sure Maudey likes you, so go in and win. Make your hay while the sun shines, my boy. Only stow all that now. It’s croquet, so get a mallet. You and Maudey are partners, against Tryphie Wilder and me.”

      He shook hands warmly with his friend, and they went down the path together.

      “I say, old man, Wilters is coming down to-day. He’s been in a fine taking. Saw him in London. Day before yesterday. Said he’d lost his diamond locket. Just as if it mattered to him with all his thousands. But he’s as mean as mean. I should like to get him in a line at billiards, and win a lot of money off him. I will, too, some day. Now girls! Ready?”

      They were crossing the closely shaven lawn now to where Maude, looking very sweet and innocent, stood talking to Tryphie Wilder, and she coloured with pleasure as the young men advanced.

      Soon after the match began, and for ten minutes the two couples played vigorously and well. Then the game languished, and the various players missed their turns, and were soon in a terrible tangle, forgetting their hoops, so that at last, Tom, who was standing under a hawthorn that was one blush of pink, was heard by a knowing old thrush, sitting closely over four blue speckled eggs, to whisper in a low tone —

      “Don’t be hard on a fellow, Tryphie dear, when you know how fond he is of you.”

      The thrush laughed thrushly, and blinked her eyes as she recalled the troubles of matrimony: how long eggs were hatching, and what a deal of trouble the little ones were to feed when the weather was dry and worms were scarce.

      Just at the same time too Charley Melton and Maude had come to a stand-still where a great laburnum poured down a shower

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