Lady Maude's Mania

“Why not coax Maudey to come and meet you somewhere?”

“I have tried,” said Melton, quietly, “but it is hopeless now.”

“Why?”

“Her ladyship never lets your sister go out of her sight.”

“Then make a bolt of it, Charley.”

“You proposed that before. Oh, undutiful son.”

“There, don’t talk like a Turk,” said Tom.

“I feel like one, Bismillah! It is Kismet,” said Charley Melton, grimly.

“Fate’s what a man makes himself.”

“Yes, but you can’t make bricks without straw. O! my Diphoos,” said the other, mockingly, “I have so little golden straw that her ladyship refuses to let me make bricks at all, and – There, let the matter slide, old man.”

“By George!” cried Tom, savagely. “And this is my old friend Charley Melton! Where’s your spirit?”

“Ah! where indeed.”

“I’d shoot Wilters if I were in your case.”

“It would be agreeable, but the consequences are so precious unpleasant, Tom. I’ve had one awful drop: I don’t want another.”

“You’re a coward, Charley, big as you are.”

“I am, Tom, if it comes to being hung for shooting a baronet dead. No, Tom, I love Maude very much, but I am not chivalrous enough to risk the rope.”

“Bah!”

“Yes, if you like, I am willing for the matrimonial noose, but that prepared for homicides – no: I would rather remain a bachelor.”

“Then I cut you henceforth,” said Tom, angrily. “I’ve done with you.”

“No, you haven’t, old fellow; some day after Maude is married we shall be quite brothers again.”

“Never.”

“Nonsense. Have a B. and S.”

“With you? No, sir; I have done. Good-day.”

“Good-bye, Tom, for I’m going off shortly.”

“And pray where?”

“Italy, I think,” said Melton, smiling.

“Won’t you stop and see Wilters married?”

“No; I will not. Have a B. and S., old fellow.”

Little Tom looked his friend over from top to toe, and then, with an ejaculation full of contempt, he stalked out of the club, and went straight to Portland Place, where the first person he met was Tryphie alone in the drawing-room.

“Well,” she cried, “have you seen Mr Melton?”

“Yes.”

“And – ”

“And? Bah! he’s a miserable sneak. I haven’t patience with him. Here, Tryphie, don’t go.”

The little maiden made no answer, but sailed out of the room, just as Lord Barmouth came in.

“Ah, Tom, my boy, any news?”

“Yes, governor – the world’s coming to an end.”

“Dear me! Is it, my boy? I was in hopes that it would have lasted my time. But perhaps it’s for the best. Will it stop poor Maudey’s marriage?”

“I hope so, gov’nor. Here, come along with me.”

“Certainly, my boy, certainly; but, by the way, I’m very hungry. Can we get something to eat?”

The old man looked very haggard, for his internal wolf was gnawing.

“Come and see, gov’nor.”

“Yes, my boy, I will. But, by the way, have you noticed anything particular about Maudey?”

“Looks precious miserable.”

“Yes, my boy, she does; but I mean about her standing out in the balcony so much of an evening. You don’t think – ”

“Think what, gov’nor?”

“It’s – it’s – it’s a devil of a way down into the area, Tom; and if she were – ”

“To jump over and kill herself? Pooh! nonsense, old fellow. Here, come up to my room.”

“I’m – I’m glad to hear you speak with so much confidence,” said Lord Barmouth. “Yes, certainly, my boy, certainly. Dear me, I feel very faint.”

Tom took his father’s arm, and led the way to his bedroom, where he placed an easy-chair for the old man, and then stooping down, drew a case from beneath the bed and a glass or two from a cupboard.

“Why, Tom, my boy – wine?”