Mr. Witt's Widow: A Frivolous Tale

“Of course you don’t know what day! Shall it be directly?”

“What does ‘directly’ mean?” asked Neaera, mustering a rather watery smile.

“In a week.”

“Gerald!”

But, after the usual negotiations, Neaera was brought to consent to that day three weeks, provided Lord Tottlebury’s approval was obtained.

“And, please, don’t quarrel with your cousin any more!”

“I can afford to let him alone now.”

“And – Are you going, Gerald?”

“No time to lose. I’m off to see the governor, and I shall come back and fetch you to dine in Portman Square. Good-bye for an hour, darling!”

“Gerald, suppose – ”

“Well!”

“If – if – No, nothing. Good-bye, dear; and – ”

“What is it, sweet?”

“Nothing – well, and don’t be long.”

Gerald departed in raptures. As soon as he was out of the room, the tailless cat emerged from under the sofa. He hated violent motion of all kinds, and lovers are restless beings. Now, thank heaven! there was a chance of lying on the hearth-rug without being trodden upon!

“Did you hear that, Bob?” asked Neaera. “I – I went the whole hog, didn’t I?”

Lord Tottlebury, who was much less inflexible than he seemed, did not hold out long against Gerald’s vehemence, and the news soon spread that defiance was to be hurled in George’s face. The Bull’s-eye was triumphant. Isabel Bourne and Maud Neston made a hero of Gerald and a heroine of Neaera. Tommy Myles hastened to secure the position of “best man,” and Sidmouth Vane discovered and acknowledged a deep worldly wisdom in Gerald’s conduct.

“Of course,” said he to Mr. Blodwell, on the terrace, “if it came out before the marriage, he’d stand pledged to throw her over, with the cash. But afterwards! Well, it won’t affect the settlement, at all events.”

Mr. Blodwell said he thought Gerald had not been actuated by this motive.

“Depend upon it, he has,” persisted Vane. “Before marriage, the deuce! After marriage, a little weep and three months on the Riviera!”

“Oh, I suppose, if it came out after marriage, George would hold his tongue.”

“Do you, by Jove? Then he’d be the most forgiving man in Europe. Why, he’s been hunted down over the business – simply hunted down!”

“That’s true. No, I suppose he’d be bound to have his revenge.”

“Revenge! He’d have to justify himself.”

Mr. Blodwell had the curiosity to pursue the subject with George himself.

“After the marriage? Oh, I don’t know. I should like to score off the lot of them.”

“Naturally,” said Mr. Blodwell.

“At any rate, if I find out anything before, I shall let them have it. They haven’t spared me.”

“Anything new?”

“Yes. They’ve got the committee at the Themis to write and tell me that it’s awkward to have Gerald and me in the same club.”

“That’s strong.”

“I have to thank Master Tommy for that. Of course it means that I’m to go; but I won’t. If they like to kick me out, they can.”

“What’s Tommy Myles so hot against you for?”

“Oh, those girls have got hold of him – Maud, and Isabel Bourne.”

“Isabel Bourne?”

“Yes,” said George, meeting Mr. Blodwell’s questioning eye. “Tommy has a mind to try his luck there, I think.”

“Vice you retired.”

“Well, retired or turned out. It’s like the army, you know; the two come to pretty much the same thing.”

“You must console yourself, my boy,” said Mr. Blodwell, slyly. He heard of most things, and he had heard of Mrs. Pocklington’s last dinner-party.

“Oh, I’m an outcast now. No one would look at me.”

“Don’t be a humbug, George. Go and see Mrs. Pocklington, and, for heaven’s sake let me get to my work.”

It was Mr. Blodwell’s practice to inveigle people into long gossips, and then abuse them for wasting his time; so George was not disquieted by the reproach. But he took the advice, and called in Grosvenor Square. He found Mrs. Pocklington in, but she was not alone. Her visitor was a very famous person, hitherto known to George only by repute, – the Marquis of Mapledurham.

The Marquis was well known on the turf and also as a patron of art, but it is necessary to add that more was known of him than was known to his advantage. In fact, he gave many people the opportunity of saying they would not count him among their acquaintances; and he gave very few of them the chance of breaking their word. He and Mrs. Pocklington amused one another, and, whatever he did, he never said anything that was open to complaint.

For some time George talked to Laura. Laura, having once come over to his side, was full of a convert’s zeal, and poured abundant oil and wine into his wounds.

“How could I ever have looked at Isabel Bourne when she was there?” he began to think.

“Mr. Neston,” said Mrs. Pocklington, “Lord Mapledurham wants to know whether you are the Mr. Neston.”

“Mrs. Pocklington has betrayed me, Mr. Neston,” said the Marquis.

“I am one of the two Mr. Nestons, I suppose,” said George, smiling.

“Mr. George Neston?” asked the Marquis.

“Yes.”