Lady Maude's Mania Part 37

"Poor fellows!" said Maude, "they seem very glad of a few pence, and they are far away from home."

"Yes," said her ladys.h.i.+p, "where they ought to be sent back."

"I remember once," said Lord Barmouth, "in the old days when they used to have moving figures dancing in front of their organs, one of Lady Betty Lorimer's daughters actually got--he, he, he! carrying on a clandestine correspondence with one of those handsome vagabonds."

Maude looked at her father in a startled way.

"Barmouth, be silent," cried her ladys.h.i.+p, as the butler entered the room with a fresh present upon a tray. "Robbins," she said, "go downstairs and tell that man that he will be given into custody if he does not go away directly. Tell him some one is ill,"--for just then a fresh strain was ground out in a most doleful fas.h.i.+on, and Maude began softly humming the air to herself as she gazed down, still in the man's handsome face.

"Some one ill, my lady?"

"Yes; I am ill. You should have sent him away without orders."

"I did try to dismiss him, my lady, when he came," said the butler.

"Well, and what did he say?"

"Only smiled, my lady."

"But did you say that the police should be sent to him?"

"Yes, my lady, but he only smiled the more; and then," continued the butler, lowering his voice as he glanced at where Maude stood outside, "he pointed up to the drawing-room window here, and wouldn't go. If you please, my lady," he continued in an undertone, "he never will go while Lady Maude gives him money."

"That will do: go away," said her ladys.h.i.+p, sighing; and Lord Barmouth got up and toddled towards the window to look down and elicit a fresh series of bows from the Italian, who kept on playing till the window was closed, when he directed his attention to the area, where a couple of the maids were looking up at him, ready to giggle and make signs to him to alter the tune.

Tom came back into the drawing-room just as her ladys.h.i.+p had closed the window and sent Lord Barmouth back to a chair, where he sat down to rub his leg. Tryphie came back a few minutes later to glance timidly at her aunt, who, however, thought it better to ignore the past for the time being, fully meaning, though, to take up poor Tryphie's case when her mind was more free.

"Will you come and see the dress that has just come in?" said Tryphie to Maude, who was sitting gazing dreamily out of the window.

"No," she said, "no."

"My dear child," cried her ladys.h.i.+p, "pray, pray take a little interest in your dresses."

"I cannot, mamma," cried Maude, pa.s.sionately. "I have not the heart."

"Bah, Maude!" cried Tom, "be a trump, I say. When you are married and have got your establishment, I'd jolly soon let some one know who was mistress then."

"Tom, your language is disgraceful," cried her ladys.h.i.+p. "It is as low and disrespectful as that of the people in the street."

"I wish your treatment of your children were half as good. Here's every s.h.i.+lling a fellow wants screwed out, till I feel as if I should like to enlist; and as for Maudey here, you've treated her as if she were a piece of sculpture, to be sold to the highest bidder. I suppose she has not got a heart."

"Lord Barmouth!" exclaimed her ladys.h.i.+p, faintly, as she lay back in her chair, and lavishly used her smelling-salts, "if one of my brothers had spoken to dear mamma as that boy speaks to me, dear papa would have felled him to the earth."

"There you are, gov'nor, there's your chance," said Tom, grinning.

"Come and knock me down, but don't bruise your knuckles, for my head's as hard as iron."

Lord Barmouth took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his hands upon it, not noticing that it was stained with gravy, gazing in a troubled way from wife to son, and back, and then crossed to the former to say something in a whisper, to which her ladys.h.i.+p replied--

"Pshaw."

"Thank you, Tom," whispered Tryphie, as he went to the window where she stood. "I did not think you could stand up so bravely for your sister, and be so true."

"Didn't you?" said Tom, sulkily. "It's a good job I can be true, for I don't believe there's a spark of truth anywhere else in the world. If Charley had had the spirit of a fly, he'd have come and walked her off.

Hang it all! I'm mad and savage. Pretty sort of a husband you've got for her. Pretty sort of a brother-in-law to have! I'm ashamed of him.

I'm only a little one, and nothing to boast of, but he's no better than a pantaloon. Truth indeed! There isn't such a thing in the world."

"Oh, Tom!" whispered Tryphie.

"More there isn't," cried Tom. "Pretty brother-in-law indeed!"

"Maude," exclaimed her ladys.h.i.+p, "I think you might have a word to say on behalf of your intended husband."

The girl glanced at her in a stony way, and turned once more to the window, where she had been looking out with Tryphie, listening with aching heart to the encounter between mother and son.

"Such a brilliant match as I have made," cried her ladys.h.i.+p, harping on her old string. "And such opposition as I have from the girl who owes me so much."

"Indeed, mamma, I have yielded everything. You are having your own way entirely," said Maude pa.s.sionately.

"Have I not saved you from throwing yourself away upon a disreputable creature?" sobbed her ladys.h.i.+p.

"Tryphie," whispered Maude, "I cannot bear this. It is dreadful. I feel as if I should go mad."

"He saw plainly enough," whined her ladys.h.i.+p, "that it could not be-- that it would have been a complete _misalliance_."

"This is unbearable," whispered Maude, clasping her cousin's hand, which pressed hers warmly and encouragingly, as they stood in the window recess, half screened by the heavy curtains.

"Try not to listen, dear," whispered Tryphie.

"It nearly maddens me. I feel as if I could do anything wicked and desperate."

"Oh, hush, hush, dear," whispered Tryphie; and Lady Barmouth maundered on in tones asking for sympathy, as she set herself up as the suffering ill-used mother whom no one tried to comfort in her distress.

"Saved you as I did from a life of misery," continued her ladys.h.i.+p, whimpering. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! how children strive to throw themselves away."

Maude moaned, and held her hand to her side.

"Are you ill, dear?" whispered Tryphie.

"No, no," was the reply. "It is past now--past."

"I shall be sorry when you are gone, Maude," said her father simply.

"Oh, papa, papa," she cried, running to him and throwing her arms round his neck; for the tenderly-spoken sympathetic words brought the tears to her eyes. Then, unable to bear it, she turned to leave the room, but just then the door opened and the butler announced Sir Grantley Wilters.

"Ah, how do!" he said in a high-pitched voice, saluting all in turn, and bending low over Maude's hand. "Thought I'd come soon, don't you know, _sans ceremonie_, eh, mamma!" he said with a smile to Lady Barmouth, and then gave his gla.s.s a screw, and brought it to bear on all present.

"I am so glad," said her ladys.h.i.+p; "so is Maude; but don't take any notice," she whispered. "Poor child, she is _distrait_, and seems cold.

So deeply attached to Lord Barmouth. Ready to break her heart at leaving him."