Mr. Witt's Widow: A Frivolous Tale

George said Mrs. Witt was still at large. Vane had been his fag, and George felt he was entitled to take it out of him in after life whenever he could.

“Wish you would,” continued Mr. Vane. “That ass of a cousin of yours would jilt her, and I would wait outside Holloway or Clerkenwell, or wherever they put ’em, and receive her sympathetically – hot breakfast, brass band, first cigar for six months, and all that, don’t you know, like one of those Irish fellows.”

“You have no small prejudices.”

“Not much. A girl like that, plus an income like that, might steal all Northampton for what I care. Going upstairs?”

“Yes; there’s an ‘At Home’ on, isn’t there?”

“Yes, so I’m told. I shouldn’t go, if I were you.”

“Why the devil not?”

“Gerald’s going to be there – told me so.”

“Really, Vane, you’re very kind. We shan’t fight.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s simply mad.”

“Anything new?”

“Yes; he told me you’d been trying to square Mrs. Witt behind his back, and he meant to have it out with you.”

“Well,” said George, “I won’t run. Come along.”

The guests were already pouring in, and among the first George encountered was Mr. Dennis Espion, as over-strained as ever. Espion knew that George was aware of his position on the Bull’s-eye.

“Ah, how are you, Neston?” he said, holding out his hand.

George looked at it for a moment, and then took it.

“I support life and your kind attentions, Espion.”

“Ah! well, you know, we can’t help it – a matter of public interest. I hope you see our position – ”

“Yes,” said George, urbanely; “Il faut vivre.”

“I don’t suppose you value our opinion, but – ”

“Oh yes; I value it at a penny – every evening.”

“I was going to say – ”

“Keep it, my dear fellow. What you say has market value – to the extent I have mentioned.”

“My dear Neston, may I – ”

“Consider this an interview? My dear Espion, certainly. Make any use of this communication you please. Good night.”

George strolled away. “Suppose I was rather rude,” he said to himself. “But, hang it, I must have earned that fellow fifty pounds!”

George was to earn Mr. Espion a little more yet, as it turned out. He had not gone many steps before he saw his cousin Gerald making his bow to Mrs. Pocklington. Mr. Espion saw him too, and was on the alert. Gerald was closely followed by Tommy Myles.

“Ah, the enemy!” exclaimed George under his breath, pursuing his way towards Laura Pocklington.

The throng was thick, and his progress slow. He had time to observe Gerald, who was now talking to Tommy and to Sidmouth Vane, who had joined them. Gerald was speaking low, but his gestures betrayed strong excitement. Suddenly he began to walk rapidly towards George, the people seeming to fall aside from his path. Tommy Myles followed him, while Vane all but ran to George and whispered eagerly,

“For God’s sake, clear out, my dear fellow! He’s mad! There’ll be a shindy, as sure as you’re born!”

George did not like shindies, especially in drawing-rooms; but he liked running away less. “Oh, let’s wait and see,” he replied.

Gerald was looking dangerous. The healthy ruddiness of his cheek had darkened to a deep flush, his eyes looked vicious, and his mouth was set. As he walked quickly up to his cousin, everybody tried to look away; but out of the corners of two hundred eyes eager glances centred on the pair.

“May I have a word with you?” Gerald began, calmly enough.

“As many as you like; but I don’t know that this place – ”

“It will do for what I have to say,” Gerald interrupted.

“All right. What is it?”

“I want two things of you. First, you will promise never to dare to address my – Mrs. Witt again.”

“And the second?” asked George.

“You will write and say you’ve told lies, and are sorry for it.”

“I address whom I please and write what I please.”

Vane interposed.

“Really, Neston – you, Gerald, I mean – don’t make a row here. Can’t you get him away, Tommy?”

Gerald gave Tommy a warning look, and poor Tommy shook his head mournfully.

George felt the necessity of avoiding a scene. He began to move quietly away. Gerald stood full in his path.

“You don’t go till you’ve answered. Will you do what I tell you?”

“Really, Gerald,” George began, still clinging to peace.

“Yes or no?”

“No,” said George, with a smile and a shrug.

“Then, you cur, take – ”

In another moment he would have struck George full in the face, but the vigilant Vane caught his arm as he raised it.