The Master of the Ceremonies Part 41

Colonel Mellersh looked very grave.

"They'll have to meet, then?"

"Meet, my dear sir! Rockley says he'll lie in wait for him and shoot him like a dog if he doesn't come out. Fancy, you know, beaten like that before a lady!"

"And such a lady as Claire Denville," said Colonel Mellersh, with a sneer. "Well," he added, changing his manner, "I'm very sorry."

"Yes, so am I. Rockley's deuced haughty, and bullying, and overbearing, particularly lately--things seem to have gone wrong with him--but he's not a bad fellow."

"As men go," said the Colonel with a sneer.

"Exactly--as men go," replied Sir Harry, whose brains were not very a.n.a.lytical as regarded _double entendre_.

Just then Richard Linnell reached the door, encountered Cora Dean, and was finally beckoned into Colonel Mellersh's room.

"My dear Linnell," said the Colonel gravely, as the others exchanged distant bows, "Sir Harry Payne has called on behalf of Major Rockley--as his friend."

He watched Linnell's face intently, but there was only a slight contraction of the brows.

"Bravo!" said the Colonel to himself. "He's staunch."

"Mellersh," said Linnell gravely, "I have no friend to whom I can appeal but you in a case like this."

"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 IV.

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 gla.s.ses 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 d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k?"

"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, d.i.c.k," 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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, d.i.c.k! Ready?"

"Yes. Who was that, here?"