Lady Maude's Mania

Melton bowed again.

“Then it was doosed good of you, Charley; but I don’t see what we are to do, old man. It’s very horrible for all of us, but I can’t see what is to be done. I came out with the intention of dragging her home, but if the poor girl is infatuated with the fellow our cause is lost.”

“What do you propose doing then?” said Melton, hoarsely.

“Seeing her, and letting her know that when she likes to return home there is a place for her, either there or with me. That’s all.”

“And you mean to let her stay with this – this scoundrel.”

“Yes, Charley; I suppose he is her husband. We can do nothing.”

“Have you any suspicion of where she is?”

“Yes, old man. In this town, and I have set a waiter to work to bring me news. They’re ten times better than detectives. But it’s very good of you, Charley, and I’m sorry I abused you so.”

“You have been abusing me, then?” said Melton with an amused look.

“Yes, for giving up so easily,” said Tom. “Oh, here’s my man. I suppose,” he added hastily, as the hotel waiter entered, “some one for me.”

“Yes, milor, the head waiter from the Vesuvio.”

“Show him in. Now, Charley, there’ll be news.”

“All right, get it then,” said Melton, and he walked to the window, while Tom turned to face a little dark Italian, with a face suggestive of his being developed from a shaven rat.

The interview was short and decisive, and accompanied by much gesticulation, terminating in a chinking of coin as the man left.

“There, old fellow,” cried Tom, excitedly, “I’ve done more than you have. I’ve run them to earth.”

“You have? They are in Naples?”

“They are here!” cried Tom, excitedly. “In this very hotel, where I’ve been drawn by a sort of filial – no, that’s not it – fraternal magnetic attraction, and now.”

“Stop,” cried Melton. “I thought you were not going to interfere.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Tom, “a little while ago; but hang it all, now I am under the same roof with the scoundrel who deluded my poor sister away, curse his Italian blood, I’ll strangle him.”

“But you must be wrong, Tom; such a man as you suspect would not stay in an hotel like this. What do you say, Miss Wilder?”

“I say,” cried Tryphie, with a malicious look, “that there seems to be some mistake.”

“Tryphie – Tryphie, my child!” came from without.

“Coming, aunt,” said the girl, rising.

“Not a word to the old girl, Tryphie,” cried Tom.

“Not tell her?”

“Not a word. There, I beg of you.”

“Very well,” she said with another peculiar look and tripped out of the room.

“That’s better,” cried Tom. “Now come along.”

“Where are you going?”

“To dieci otto. That’s where the man said they were – not they, he said she was alone now. Come on: I’ll get her away, and if he comes to claim her, why then, damn him!”

“No violence, Tom, for your sister’s sake. He may be there. Let me go and see her.”

“You? Not me, my boy. Why, I might mark the scoundrel, but you would kill him.”

“No,” said Melton, thoughtfully, “I don’t think I should do that to the man she loved.”

“You’re a good fellow, Charley. There, I’ll go. I haven’t hunted them all this time to give up at the last. Don’t hinder me, old chap.”

“But look here, there has been exposé enough. Had it not all better be settled quietly?”

“But you can’t settle matters quietly with an organ-grinder, Charley. Look here, my plan is simple. I’ll get Maude away, then it’s a question of pounds, shillings, and pence.”

“In any case then, from respect to your sister, let the affair be arranged quietly.”

“Very well,” said Tom, sulkily.

“You will let me go first – say, to prepare her for your coming?”

“No. I’ll go.”

“You do not wish to inflict pain upon the poor girl?”

“No. I want her home again, and free from this degrading tie.”

“But suppose – ”

“No, no – don’t say that, Charley, old fellow. You couldn’t look over it. Impossible now, old chap. Poor Maudey, she’ll have to be like a widow to her very end. There: we shall have the old woman here directly.”

“Then you’ll let me go and prepare your sister?”

“No; it’s my business, sir. I’ll do it myself.”

“But you’ll forgive her, Tom?”

“Perhaps. Now leave me alone. Stop, where’s dieci otto?”

“Ask the waiter,” said Melton, coldly, and he left the room.

“He needn’t have turned rusty,” grumbled Tom, crossing to reach the bell: but at that moment her ladyship came in, hurriedly followed by Tryphie and Lord Barmouth.