Lady Maude's Mania

“Will you have the goodness to allow me to pass, Lord Diphoos?” she said, demurely.

“Lord!” he cried, peevishly.

“Very well, then, most spoiled child of the house,” said Tryphie, maliciously, “Master Diphoos.”

“You make my life quite miserable, Tryphie, you do, ’pon my honour. You’re the most ungracious – ”

“There’s pretty language to use to a lady, sir,” cried Tryphie, speaking as if in an angry fit. “Say I’m the most disgraceful at once, sir.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” said Tom; “I meant ungracious and unyielding.”

“Of course, sir. Pretty words to apply to a lady.”

“Bother!” cried Tom. “I never looked upon you as a lady.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, making him a most profound curtsey.

“Well, you know what I mean,” grumbled Tom; “I always think of you as Cousin Tryphie, whom I – there,” he whispered, “I will say it – I love with all my heart.”

“Bosh!” exclaimed Tryphie.

“There’s pretty language to use to a gentleman,” retorted Tom.

“I never look upon you as a gentleman,” said Tryphie in her turn; and she darted a mischievous look at him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tom, who was now quite out of heart and temper. “And so you go on snub, snub, peck, peck, till a fellow feels as if he would like to make a hole in the water, he’s so sick of his life.”

“But he only makes a hole in his manners instead,” cried Tryphie.

“I say, Tryphie, you know,” cried Tom, now appealingly. “Don’t be so jolly hard on a fellow who loves you as I do. I can’t bear it when you snub me so. I say, dear,” he continued, taking her hand, “say a kind word to me.”

“Let go my hand, sir, and don’t be stupid,” she cried.

“Tryphie!”

“Well, Tom! Now look here, I’ve got to be so that I can hardly believe in there being such a thing as sincerity in the world, after what I’ve seen in this house: but all the same I do think you mean what you say.”

“Thankye, Tryphie; that’s the kindest thing you’ve said to me for months,” said Tom.

“Stop a bit, sir, and listen. I was going to say – ”

“No, don’t say any more, dear,” cried Tom, imploringly. “You’ve said something kind to me, and I shall go and get fat on that for a month.”

“Listen to me, sir,” cried Tryphie, unable to repress a smile – “I was going to say – Do you think I am going to promise to marry an idle, thoughtless, selfish man, with only two ideas in his head?”

“Two?” said Tom, dolefully. “No, you’re wrong. I’ve only got one.”

“I say two, sir – cigars and billiards. Do you think I want to marry a chimney-pot, or an animated cue?”

“Chimney-pot! Animated cue!” said Tom, with a groan, as he took off his little scarlet smoking-cap, and wrung it in his hands as if it were wet.

“Let me see, sir, that you’ve got some energy in you as well as good sincere feeling, before you speak to me again, if you please.”

“I may speak to you again, then?” cried Tom.

“Of course you may,” said Tryphie, tartly.

“And then?” cried Tom.

“Well, then we shall see,” replied the sarcastic little lady.

“Energy, eh?” said Tom. “Well, I will: so now to begin again. You know I have been energetic about Maude?”

“Ye-es, pretty well,” said Tryphie. “Not half enough.”

“Well, now then, dear – may I say dear?”

“If you please, Lord Diphoos,” said Tryphie. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, I’m going to be energetic now, and see if I can’t do something for Maude.”

“What are you going to do?”

“See Charley Melton and stir him up. Then I shall stir up the gov’nor and Maude, and if none of these things do any good I shall have a go at Wilters.”

“Ah,” said Tryphie, “now I’m beginning to believe in you, and there is some hope that I shall not be forced into a marriage with that odious Captain Bellman.”

“Tryphie,” whispered Tom, as he stared, “just say that again.”

She shook her head.

Tom looked upstairs and then down, saw nobody, and hastily catching the little maiden in his arms, stole a kiss before she fled, when, giving his head a satisfied shake, he went down to the hall, saw that his hat was brushed, and went off to Duke street, in utter ignorance of the fact that his father had been sitting in the curtained recess on the landing, where the flowers dwindled in a kind of conservatory, calmly devouring a piece of Bologna sausage and half a French roll.

“He, he, he,” chuckled the old gentleman, “that’s how they make love when they’re young. I was – was – was a devil of a fellow among the ladies when I was Tom’s age; but somehow now I never want to meet her ladyship on the stairs and kiss her. I’d – I’d – I’d a doosed deal rather have a nice piece of chicken, or a bit of tongue.”

Chapter Twenty.

Tom Expresses his Opinion

Charley Melton was not at home.

Tom went again. Not at home.

Three weeks passed before he could meet him, and then it was by accident at one of the clubs, and during all this time Tryphie had grown colder, and the wedding-day was approaching. But at last the two young men encountered, and Tom went straight to the point, “Hit out,” as he termed it.

“Charley Melton,” he said, “are you going to let this cursed marriage come off?”

“What can I do?” said Charley, lighting a cigar. “I have tried everything, and am forbidden the house.”