Lady Maude's Mania

“Except a headache,” said Maude.

“Sorry – very,” said the baronet, hunting for his glass, which was now hanging between his shoulders. “Bad things headaches, very. Should go for a walk.”

“I preferred staying at home this afternoon,” said Maude.

“Did you, though! Ah!” said Sir Grantley. “Sorry about the headache. Always take brandy and soda for headache I do, don’t you know. By the way, Lady Maude,” he continued, taking his hat off the little dog as if he were performing a conjuring trick, “I bought this beautiful little creechaw in Regent Street just now. Will you accept it from me?”

“Oh, thank you, no,” said Maude. “I’m sure mamma would not approve of my accepting such a present.”

“Oh, yes, I asked her yesterday, don’t you know, and she said you’d be most happy. Very nice specimen, not often found so small. May I set it down?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Maude, colouring with annoyance; and evidently very glad to get rid of the little animal, the baronet set it down and it began to make a tour of the room.

“Don’t be nervous about accepting presents from me,” said Sir Grantley, “because I shall bring you a great many.”

“I beg you will not, Sir Grantley,” said Maude, flushing. “You must really by now be quite sure that such attentions are distasteful to me.”

“Not used to them, you know,” said the baronet smiling; “but I have her ladyship’s full permission, and we shall understand each other in time. Old gentleman sleeps well.”

“Papa is getting old, and his health is feeble,” said Maude, rather indignantly.

“Yes, very,” said the baronet. – “I don’t want to be a bore, but I’ve said so little to you about our future.”

“Our future?”

“Yes; it’s all settled. I proposed down at Hurst, and thought it was all over; but her ladyship kindly tells me that I may hope.”

“Sir Grantley Wilters,” cried Maude, rising, “I am not of course ignorant of what mamma’s wishes are, but let me tell you as a gentleman that this subject is very distasteful to me, and that I can never, never think otherwise of you than I do now.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” said Sir Grantley, in a most unruffled manner. “You are very young, don’t you know. Think differently by and bye. Bad job this about poor Melton.”

Maude started, and her eyes dilated slightly.

“Thought he was a decent fellow once, but he’s regularly going to the dogs.”

“Mr Melton is a friend of mine, Sir Grantley – a very dear friend of mine,” cried Maude, crushing the stiff paper of the note she held in her hand.

“Say was, my dear Maude,” said Sir Grantley, making pokes at the pearl buttons on his patent leather boots with his walking cane. “Poor fellow! Was all right once, but he’s hopelessly gone now.”

“I will not believe it,” cried Maude indignantly. “It is cruel and ungentlemanly of you to try to blacken Mr Melton thus when he is not present.”

“Cruel perhaps, but kind,” said Sir Grantley; “ungentlemanly, no.” He drew himself up slightly, as he spoke. “Poor beggar, can’t help being poor, you know. They say – ”

“Sir Grantley, I will not believe anything against Mr Melton,” cried Maude with spirit.

“Not till you have proved it, my dear child. I don’t want to pain you, but I know that the thoughts of Charles Melton have kept you from listening to me. Now, my dear Maude, if I were out of the race, you could not marry a man who is hopelessly in the hands of the Jews. Couldn’t do it, you know; and they do say.”

“Sir Grantley Wilters,” cried Maude, with her head thrown back, “these are cruel calumnies. Mr Charles Melton is a gentleman, and the soul of honour. I shall tell him your words.”

“I shall be very glad to retract them, and apologise,” said the baronet calmly; and then he busied himself in fixing his glass, for the little toy terrier had suddenly made a dead set at one end of the couch, where from beneath the chintz cover there peered out one very large prominent and peculiar eye, which kept blinking at the terrier in the calmest manner, its owner never attempting to move in spite of the angry demonstrations of the newcomer.

At last its demonstrations became so loud that, not seeing the great eye himself, the baronet rose slowly, drove the terrier into the back drawing-room and closed the door.

“A little new to the place, don’t you know,” he said. “There, I’m going now; I did not mean to blacken Mr Melton’s character, but ask your brother to inquire. Sorry for any man to go to the bad. Gone regularly. Good-day.”

He took Maude’s hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, while she was too much agitated to resist. Then backing to the door, he smiled, kissed his glove, and was gone.

“Oh, this is monstrous!” cried Maude in anguished tones, when she remembered the note and opened it hastily, to read a few lines full of manly love and respect; and as she read of her wooer’s determination never to give her up, her heart grew stronger in its faith.

“I knew it was false,” she exclaimed, proudly. “How dare he calumniate him like that!”

Then going to a writing table, she glanced at her father, saw that he still slept, and, blushing at her duplicity, she wrote a note, folded it so that it would go in the tiny leather pocket, and in a low voice called the dog.

Joby came out directly, and laid his great head in her lap, while the note was securely placed in its receptacle.

“Now go to your master, good dog,” she cried, kissing him once more, and at the word “master” Joby started to the door and looked back, when Maude followed and opened it. The dog trotted downstairs and settled himself under the porter’s chair in the hall till the door was opened. Then he trotted off to his master’s chambers.

Meanwhile, as soon as she had despatched her messenger, Maude seated herself upon the carpet by her father, and laid her cheek against his hand.

He opened his eyes directly, saw who it was, and laid his other hand upon her head.

“Ah, Maude, my pet,” he said. “I have, been sitting here with my eyes closed.”

“Yes, papa. Did you hear what Sir Grantley Wilters said?”

“No, my child. Has – has – he been here?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Then I suppose I must have been quite asleep.”

“Yes, papa – for quite an hour. – Papa, dear.”

“Yes, my love.”

“I cannot rest happy with any secret from you,” said the girl, with averted head, and her cheeks burning for shame at the clandestine correspondence she was carrying on.

“That’s right, my darling,” said the old man, patting the soft fair hair and smoothing it over her forehead.

“Papa, dear,” she continued, after a long pause, during which she fought hard to nerve herself for what she had to say.

“Yes, my child. There, you’re not afraid of me.”

“Oh, no, dear,” she cried, drawing his arm around her neck, and holding his hand with both hers to her throbbing bosom. “Papa, I’m afraid – ”

“Afraid, my dear?”

“Afraid that I love Mr Melton very dearly.”