The Master of the Ceremonies

“I would far rather leave it,” said Colonel Mellersh slowly; “but perhaps if you leave the affair in my hands, Sir Harry Payne and I may be able to arrange for a peaceful issue. Major Rockley may be ready to withdraw or apologise.”

“S’death, sir!” cried Sir Harry; “apologise for being horsewhipped!”

“I beg pardon,” said the Colonel. “You see, I am not properly acquainted with the matter.”

“There can be no apology, Colonel Mellersh,” said Linnell, with a grave dignity that made the Colonel’s eyes light up. “I leave myself in your hands, and I shall be most grateful.”

“But – ”

“I need say no more,” said the young man. “Of course, I know what Sir Harry Payne’s visit means, and I am ready when and where you will.”

He bowed and left the room with all the formality of the time; and when, about a quarter of an hour later, Sir Harry Payne went away, the young officer uttered a contemptuous sneer.

“’Pon my soul,” he muttered, “it is horribly degrading for Rockley. The fellow really is no better than a fiddler after all.”

Volume Two – Chapter Four.

A Lesson in Pistol Practice

The reason for Sir Harry Payne’s sneering remark was patent to Colonel Mellersh as soon as he opened the door, for from the Linnells’ rooms came the sweet harmonies of a couple of exquisitely-played violins, and for a few minutes the Colonel seemed to forget the trouble on hand, as he stood with his face softened, and one delicate hand waving to the rhythm of the old Italian music.

“Poor lad!” he said, as his face changed, and a look of pain crossed his brow. “And for her, too. Weak, foolish lad! He’s infatuated – as we all are at some time or other in our lives.”

He stood in his doorway, thoughtful, and with brow knit.

“That chattering pie will spread it all over the town. Clode will get to know, and then – well, we must take care.”

He crossed the hall, tapped lightly on the opposite door, and then entered.

“Bravo – bravo!” he cried, clapping his delicate white hands. “Admirable!”

“Ah, Mellersh, come and join us,” said the elder Linnell, raising his glasses on to his forehead. “Just in time for a trio.”

“No, no, not to-day. Impossible. My head is terrible this morning. Late hours – cards – strong coffee. I came to ask Dick here if he would be my companion for a six-mile walk to Shankley Wood.”

The elder Linnell looked from one to the other with a smile.

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” he said. “Eh, Dick?”

“Of course, father, of course.”

“And out all the morning, too! Well, well, fresh air for health.”

“Why don’t you get more then, Linnell?”

“I – I?” said the grave, elderly man slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t want fresh air. I’m very well as I am. I shall do for my time here.”

“Why, father,” said Richard merrily, as he clapped him on the shoulder, “what a tone to take.”

He exchanged a quick, agonised glance with Mellersh, and then proceeded to replace his violin and bow in the case.

“Come to me, Dick,” said the Colonel; “I want to go to my room:” and he went out, busied himself for a few minutes in his bedroom, and then came out again into the hall, to find Mrs Dean disappearing up the staircase, and Cora giving some orders to her little groom.

He waited till she turned and came towards him with a scornful look in her eyes.

“Well,” he said, in a low voice, and with a longing undertook in his eyes that he evidently tried to conceal, “how many poor fellows slain this morning?”

“How many are there here worth slaying?” she said, in the same low tone.

“A matter of taste,” he said, gravely. “A matter of taste, Miss Cora Dean.”

“Not one,” she said, giving him her hand in response to his own held out.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking very keenly in her eyes, “anger – love – jealousy.”

She snatched her hand away.

“Don’t fool!” she cried angrily. “I? Jealous?”

“Yes, you – jealous,” he said; and then as she hurried up the stairs, “and there would be another emotion to trouble you, Cora Dean, if you knew all that I know now. Ah, Dick! Ready?”

“Yes. Who was that, here?”

“Your fair enslaver – Cora Dean!”

Richard looked up at him keenly and laughed as they left the house, ignorant of the fact that Cora was watching them intently, and Mrs Dean was keeping up a running fire of comment on what she called her “gal’s foolery.”

Mellersh led the way at a good brisk pace along the parade, and they had not gone far before they became aware of the tall figure of the Master of the Ceremonies showing himself, as was his wont, king of the place apparently, and bowing and acknowledging bows.

Richard Linnell drew his breath with a slight hiss, but there was no avoiding the encounter, and as they drew near and raised their hats, there was a smile and most courteous bow for Colonel Mellersh, and the most distant of salutes for his companion.

“Old impostor,” said the Colonel, as they took the first turning and made for the country beyond the Downs.

“No,” said Richard Linnell gravely, “I don’t think him that. He is a gentleman at heart, fond of his children, and his ways are forced upon him by his position.”

“Fond of his children! Bah! As objects of merchandise. I tell you, Dick, I hate the man.”

“And when you hate a man you are unjust.”

“Not here. My dear Dick, you look at old Denville through rose-coloured glasses. Pah! I detest him, and, by Jove, sir, I don’t acquit him of some knowledge of that terrible affair at his house.”

“Colonel Mellersh!”

“My dear boy!”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then, clear now of the town, Colonel Mellersh exclaimed:

“My dear Dick, you have always known my feelings regarding this unfortunate attachment.”