Mr. Witt's Widow: A Frivolous Tale

“And you let him come here, Mrs. Pocklington?”

“Ah, you know my house is a caravanserai. I heard you remark it yourself the other day.”

“I shall go,” said the Marquis, rising. “And, Mrs. Pocklington, I shall be content if you say nothing worse of my house. Good-bye, Miss Laura. Mr. Neston, I shall have a small party of bachelors to-morrow. It will be very kind if you will join us. Dinner at eight.”

“See what it is to be an abused man,” said Mrs. Pocklington, laughing.

“In these days the wicked must stand shoulder to shoulder,” said the Marquis.

George accepted; in truth, he was rather flattered. And Mrs. Pocklington went away for quite a quarter of an hour. So that, altogether, he returned to the opinion that life is worth living, before he left the house.

CHAPTER X.

REMINISCENCES OF A NOBLEMAN

Once upon a time, many years before this story begins, a certain lady said, and indeed swore with an oath, that Lord Mapledurham had promised to marry her, and claimed ten thousand pounds as damages for the breach of that promise. Lord Mapledurham said his memory was treacherous about such things, and he never contradicted a lady on a question of fact: but the amount which his society was worth seemed fairly open to difference of opinion, and he asked a jury of his countrymen to value it. This cause célèbre, for such it was in its day, did not improve Lord Mapledurham’s reputation, but, on the other hand, it made Mr. Blodwell’s. That gentleman reduced the damages to one thousand, and Lord Mapledurham said that his cross-examination of the plaintiff was quite worth the money. Since then, the two had been friends, and Mr. Blodwell prided himself greatly on his intimacy with such an exclusive person as the Marquis. George enjoyed his surprise at the announcement that they would meet that evening at the dinner-party.

“Why the dickens does he ask you?”

“Upon my honour, I don’t know.”

“It will destroy the last of your reputation.”

“Oh, not if you are there, sir.”

When George arrived at Lord Mapledurham’s, he found nobody except his host and Mr. Blodwell.

“I must apologize for having nobody to meet you, Mr. Neston, except an old friend. I asked young Vane – whose insolence amuses me, – and Fitzderham, but they couldn’t come.”

“Three’s a good number,” said Mr. Blodwell.

“If they’re three men. But two men and a woman, or two women and a man – awful!”

“Well, we are men, though George is a young one.”

“I don’t feel very young,” said George, smiling, as they sat down.

“I am fifty-five,” said the Marquis, “and I feel younger every day, – not in body, you know, for I’m chockful of ailments; but in mind. I am growing out of all the responsibilities of this world.”

“And of the next?” asked Blodwell.

“In the next everything is arranged for us, pleasantly or otherwise. As to this one, no one expects anything more of me – no work, no good deeds, no career, no nothing. It’s a delicious freedom.”

“You never felt your bonds much.”

“No; but they were there, and every now and then they dragged on my feet.”

“Your view of old age is comforting,” said George.

“Only, George, if you want to realize it, you must not marry,” said Mr. Blodwell.

“No, no,” said the Marquis. “By the way, Blodwell, why did you never marry?”

“Too poor, till too late,” said Mr. Blodwell, briefly.

The Marquis raised his glass, and seemed to drink a respectful toast to a dead romance.

“And you, Lord Mapledurham?” George ventured to ask.

“Ay, ask him!” said Mr. Blodwell. “Perhaps his reason will be less sadly commonplace.”

“I don’t know,” said the Marquis, pondering. “Some of them expected it, and that disgusted me. And some of them didn’t, and that disgusted me too.”

“You put the other sex into rather a difficult position,” remarked George, laughing.

“Nothing to what they’ve put me into. Eh, Blodwell?”

“Now, tell me, Mapledurham,” said Mr. Blodwell, who was in a serious mood to-night. “On the whole, have you enjoyed your life?”

“I have wasted opportunities, talents, substance – everything: and enjoyed it confoundedly. I am no use even as a warning.”

“Ask a parson,” said Mr. Blodwell, dryly.

“I remember,” the Marquis went on, dreamily, “an old ruffian – another old ruffian – saying just the same sort of thing one night. I was at Liverpool for the Cup. Well, in the evening, I got tired of the other fellows, and went out for a turn; and down a back street, I found an old chap sitting on a doorstep, – a dirty old fellow, but uncommonly picturesque, with a long grey beard. As I came by, he was just trying to get up, but he staggered and fell back again.”

“Drunk?” asked Mr. Blodwell.

The Marquis nodded. “I gave him a hand, and asked if I could do anything for him. ‘Yes, give me a drink,’ says he. I told him he was drunk already, but he said that made no odds, so I helped him to the nearest gin-palace.”

“Behold this cynic’s unacknowledged kindnesses!” said Mr. Blodwell.

“Sat him down in a chair, and gave him liquor.

“‘Do you enjoy getting drunk?’ I asked him, just as you asked me if I had enjoyed life.

“His drink didn’t interfere with his tongue, it only seemed to take him in the legs. He put down his glass, and made me a little speech.

“‘Liquor,’ says he, ‘has been my curse; it’s broken up my home, spoilt my work, destroyed my character, sent me and mine to gaol and shame. God bless liquor! say I.’

“I told him he was an old beast, much as you, Blodwell, told me I was, in a politer way. He only grinned, and said, ‘If you’re a gentleman, you’ll see me home. Lying in the gutter costs five shillings, next morning, and I haven’t got it.’

“‘All right,’ said I; and after another glass we started out. He knew the way, and led me through a lot of filthy places to one of the meanest dens I ever saw. A red-faced, red-armed, red-voiced (you know what I mean) woman opened the door, and let fly a cloud of Billingsgate at him. The old chap treated her with lofty courtesy.

“‘Quite true, Mrs. Bort,’ says he; ‘you’re always right: I have ruined myself.’

“‘And yer darter!’ shrieked the woman.

“‘And my daughter. And I am drunk now, and hope to be drunk to-morrow.’