Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“No; I’ll fill my pipe,” said Pratt, suiting the action to the word, and lighting up, to send big clouds of smoke through the large room.

“You mustn’t take any notice of the old butler and housekeeper, Frank,” said Trevor, after a pause.

“Don’t mean to.”

“You see, they’ve had their own way here since I was a child.”

“And now they don’t like to give it up?”

“I suppose not. But they mean well. They were always, I can remember, most affectionate to me.”

“Yes; they seem to like Master Dick.”

“Pish! yes, of course – their way. Sounds stupid, though, Franky; but you can’t wonder at it.”

“I don’t,” said Pratt. “But I should put my foot down, I think.”

“That I most decidedly shall, and before Van and the little Baronet come down.”

“Oh, by Jove!” said Pratt, starting, “why those two fellows are coming to-morrow.”

“Yes; they’ll be here about five.”

“And what in the world are you going to do with them?”

“Oh, there’s plenty to do – billiards, and cards, and smoking indoors; fishing and yachting out of doors.”

“Yes,” said Pratt, with a sigh; “but they’ll both be murmuring after the flesh-pots of Pall Mall. You’ll have your hands pretty full.”

“Never fear,” said Trevor; “I shall be able to entertain them. How strange it all seems, though – such a little while since we were boys at Eton, and now Van a perfect exquisite.”

“Landells an imperfect ditto.”

“You a barrister.”

“Yes,” said Pratt, “very barrister, indeed; and you altered into a tawny tar, regularly disguised by Nature.”

Here there was a tap at the door. “Come in,” said Trevor, who was sitting in a low, big-backed chair. And then, as the door opened, “Who is it?”

“Hebe!” said Pratt, softly.

“Eh?” said Trevor.

“If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in,” said a pleasant little voice; and Trevor swung himself round in his chair, to gaze upon a pretty little very round-faced girl of about seventeen or eighteen, with smooth brown hair, clear white complexion, rather large eyes, ruddy lips, and a face like fire with confusion. There were the faint traces, too, of tears lately wiped from her eyes, and her pleasant little voice had a plaintive ring in it as, in answer to Trevor’s “Eh?” and wondering stare, she repeated her words —

“If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in.”

“And pray what is this?” said Trevor, glancing at the salver the girl carried, bearing a good-sized silver flagon, with chased lid, and a snowy napkin placed through the handle.

“If you please, sir, it’s a pint of new milk beat up with three eggs, three glasses of sherry, and some lump sugar,” said the girl.

“And who’s it for?” said Trevor.

“For you and the gentleman, sir; Mrs Lloyd said the sea air must have made you faint.”

“Well,” said Trevor, “hand it to Mr Pratt, there.”

The girl bore the flagon to Pratt, who took it, but emitted such a volume of strong tobacco smoke that the girl sneezed, and choked, and then looked more scarlet and confused than ever.

“I beg your pardon,” said Pratt; and then he raised the flagon to his lips, and took a long draught, wiping the brim afterwards with the napkin. “Splendid, old fellow!” he said. “Take it to – your master.”

“And pray who may you be, my dear?” said Trevor, looking critically at the girl, but relieving her from his gaze the next moment, in compassion for her confusion.

“If you please, sir, I’m Aunt Lloyd’s niece,” said the girl.

“And are you anything here – housemaid, or – ?”

“Oh no, sir, if you please. I am here on a long visit to my aunt; and she said I was to help her.”

“Well,” said Trevor, setting down the flagon, “tell her the milk was excellent; but she is not to send anything in again without I ring for it. Well, what’s the matter?”

The girl was looking in a pitiful way at him, and she remained silent for a few moments, when he spoke again.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Must – must I tell her that, sir?”

“Yes. Why not?” said Trevor.

“Because – because, if you please, sir, I…”

The girl did not finish, but uttered a sob, and ran out of the room.

“Cornwall promises to be a queer place,” said Pratt; “but that stuff was heavenly – did you finish it, Dick?”

“Not quite, I think,” said Trevor.

“And you sent it away. Oh, Dick!”

The little maid had hardly got outside the door, when Mrs Lloyd came across the hall, followed at a short distance by the butler, rubbing his hands, smiling feebly, and looking anxious.

“Crying?” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply. “You little goose!”

“I – I – couldn’t help it, aunt, indeed,” sobbed the girl.

“’Sh! not a sound,” said Mrs Lloyd, sharply; and she caught the girl by the arm. “Did he drink the milk?”

“Yes, aunt.”