Dacres paused now, and lighting a
fresh cigar, smoked away at it in silence, with long
and solemn and regular puffs. Hawbury watched
him for some time, with a look of dreamy curiosity
and lazy interest. Then he rose, and dawdled
about the room for a few minutes. Then he lighted
a cigar, and finally, resuming his seat, he said:
“By Jove!”
Dacres puffed on.
“I’m beginning to think,”
said Hawbury, “that your first statement is
correct. You are shot, my boy hit hard and
all that; and now I should like to ask you one question.”
“Ask away.”
“What are you going to do about
it? Do you intend to pursue the acquaintance?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“What do you intend to do next?”
“Next? Why, call on her, and inquire after
her health.”
“Very good.”
“Well, have you any thing to say against that?”
“Certainly not. Only it surprises me a
little.”
“Why?”
“Because I never thought of
Scone Dacres as a marrying man, and can’t altogether
grapple with the idea.”
“I don’t see why a fellow
shouldn’t marry if he wants to,” said
Dacres. “What’s the matter with me
that I shouldn’t get married as well as lots
of fellows?”
“No reason in the world, my
dear boy. Marry as many wives as you choose.
My remark referred merely to my own idea of you, and
not to any thing actually innate in your character.
So don’t get huffy at a fellow.”
Some further conversation followed,
and Dacres finally took his departure, full of thoughts
about his new acquaintance, and racking his brains
to devise some way of securing access to her.
On the following evening he made his
appearance once more at Hawbury’s rooms.
“Well, old man, what’s
up? Any thing more about the child-angel?”
“Well, a little. I’ve found out her
name.”
“Ah! What is it?”
“Fay. Her name is Minnie Fay.”
“Minnie Fay. I never heard of the name
before. Who are her people?”
“She is traveling with Lady Dalrymple.”
“The Dowager, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Who are the other ladies?”
“Well, I don’t exactly remember.”
“Didn’t you find out?”
“Yes; I heard all their names,
but I’ve forgotten. I know one of them
is the child-angel’s sister, and the other is
her cousin. The one I saw with her was probably
the sister.”
“What, the one named Ethel?”
“Yes.”
“Ethel Ethel Fay.
H’m,” said Hawbury, in a tone of disappointment.
“I knew it would be so. There are so many
Ethels about.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing. I once knew
a girl named Ethel, and Well, I had a faint
idea that it would be odd if this should be the one.
But there’s no such chance.”
“Oh, the name Ethel is common enough.”
“Well, and didn’t you find out any thing
about her people?”
“Whose Ethel’s?”
“Your child-angel’s people.”
“No. What do I care about
her people? They might be Jews or Patagonians
for all I care.”
“Still I should think your interest in her would
make you ask.”
“Oh no; my interest refers to
herself, not to her relatives. Her sister Ethel
is certainly a deuced pretty girl, though.”
“Sconey, my boy, I’m afraid
you’re getting demoralized. Why, I remember
the time when you regarded the whole female race with
a lofty scorn and a profound indifference that was
a perpetual rebuke to more inflammable natures.
But now what a change! Here you are, with a finely
developed eye for female beauty, actually reveling
in dreams of child-angels and their sisters.
By Jove!”
“Nonsense,” said Dacres.
“Well, drive on, and tell all about it.
You’ve seen her, of course?”
“Oh yes.”
“Did you call?”
“Yes; she was not at home.
I went away with a snubbed and subdued feeling, and
rode along near the Villa Reale, when suddenly I met
the carriage with Lady Dalrymple and the child-angel.
She knew me at once, and gave a little start.
Then she looked awfully embarrassed. Then she
turned to Lady Dalrymple; and by the time I had got
up the carriage had stopped, and the ladies both looked
at me and bowed. I went up, and they both held
out their hands. Lady Dalrymple then made some
remarks expressive of gratitude, while the child-angel
sat and fastened her wonderful eyes on me, and threw
at me such a pleading, touching, entreating, piteous,
grateful, beseeching look, that I fairly collapsed.
“When Lady Dalrymple stopped, she turned to
her and said:
“’And oh, aunty darling,
did you ever hear of any thing like it?
It was so brave. Wasn’t it an awfully
plucky thing to do, now? And I was really inside
the crater! I’m sure I never could
have done such a thing no, not even for
my own papa! Oh, how I do wish I
could do something to show how awfully grateful
I am! And, aunty darling, I do wish you’d
tell me what to do.’
“All this quite turned my head,
and I couldn’t say any thing; but sat on my
saddle, devouring the little thing with my eyes, and
drinking in the wonderful look which she threw at
me. At last the carriage started, and the ladies,
with a pleasant smile, drove on. I think I stood
still there for about five minutes, until I was nearly
run down by one of those beastly Neapolitan calèches
loaded with twenty or thirty natives.”
“See here, old man, what a confoundedly
good memory you have! You remember no end of
a lot of things, and give all her speeches verbatim.
What a capital newspaper reporter you’d make!”
“Oh, it’s only her
words, you know. She quickens my memory, and
makes a different man of me.”
“By Jove!”
“Yes, old chap, a different man altogether.”
“So I say, by Jove! Head
turned, eyes distorted, heart generally upset, circulation
brought up to fever point, peace of mind gone, and
a general mania in the place of the old self-reliance
and content.”
“Not content, old boy; I never had much of that.”
“Well, we won’t argue,
will we? But as to the child-angel what
next? You’ll call again?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“To-morrow.”
“Strike while the iron is hot,
hey? Well, old man, I’ll stand by you.
Still I wish you could find out who her people are,
just to satisfy a legitimate curiosity.”
“Well, I don’t know the
Fays, but Lady Dalrymple is her aunt; and I know,
too, that she is a niece of Sir Gilbert Biggs.”
“What!” cried Hawbury, starting.
“Who? Sir what?”
“Sir Gilbert Biggs.”
“Sir Gilbert Biggs?”
“Yes.”
“Sir Gilbert Biggs! By
Jove! Are you sure you are right? Come, now.
Isn’t there some mistake?”
“Not a bit of a mistake; she’s
a niece of Sir Gilbert. I remember that, because
the name is a familiar one.”
“Familiar!” repeated Hawbury; “I
should think so. By Jove!”
Hawbury here relapsed into silence,
and sat with a frown on his face, and a puzzled expression.
At times he would mutter such words as, “Deuced
odd!” “Confounded queer!” “What
a lot!” “By Jove!” while Dacres
looked at him in some surprise.
“Look here, old fellow!”
said he at last. “Will you have the kindness
to inform me what there is in the little fact I just
mentioned to upset a man of your size, age, fighting
weight, and general coolness of blood?”
“Well, there is a deuced odd
coincidence about it, that’s all.”
“Coincidence with what?”
“Well, I’ll tell some
other time. It’s a sore subject, old fellow.
Another time, my boy. I’ll only mention
now that it’s the cause of my present absence
from England. There’s a bother that I don’t
care to encounter, and Sir Gilbert Biggs’s nieces
are at the bottom of it.”
“You don’t mean this one,
I hope?” cried Dacres, in some alarm.
“Heaven forbid! By Jove! No.
I hope not.”
“No, I hope not, by Jove!” echoed the
other.
“Well, old man,” said
Hawbury, after a fit of silence, “I suppose
you’ll push matters on now, hard and fast, and
launch yourself into matrimony?”
“Well I suppose so,”
said Dacres, hesitatingly.
“You suppose so.
Of course you will. Don’t I know you, old
chap? Impetuous, tenacious of purpose, iron will,
one idea, and all that sort of thing. Of course
you will; and you’ll be married in a month.”
“Well,” said Dacres, in
the same hesitating way, “not so soon as that,
I’m afraid.”
“Why not?”
“Why, I have to get the lady first.”
“The lady; oh, she seems to
be willing enough, judging from your description.
Her pleading look at you. Why, man, there was
love at first sight. Then tumbling down the crater
of a volcano, and getting fished out. Why, man,
what woman could resist a claim like that, especially
when it is enforced by a man like Scone Dacres?
And, by Jove! Sconey, allow me to inform you
that I’ve always considered you a most infernally
handsome man; and what’s more, my opinion is
worth something, by Jove!”
Hereupon Hawbury stretched his head
and shoulders back, and pulled away with each hand
at his long yellow pendent whiskers. Then he
yawned. And then he slowly ejaculated,
“By Jove!”
“Well,” said Dacres, thoughtfully,
“there is something in what you say; and, to
tell the truth, I think there’s not a bad chance
for me, so far as the lady herself is concerned; but
the difficulty is not in that quarter.”
“Not in that quarter! Why,
where the mischief else could there be any difficulty,
man?”
Dacres was silent.
“You’re eager enough?”
Dacres nodded his head sadly.
“Eager! why, eager isn’t
the word. You’re mad, man mad
as a March hare! So go in and win.”
Dacres said nothing.
“You’re rich, not over
old, handsome, well born, well bred, and have saved
the lady’s life by extricating her from the crater
of a volcano. She seems too young and childlike
to have had any other affairs. She’s probably
just out of school; not been into society; not come
out; just the girl. Confound these girls, I say,
that have gone through engagements with other fellows!”
“Oh, as to that,” said
Dacres, “this little thing is just like a child,
and in her very simplicity does not know what love
is. Engagement! By Jove, I don’t believe
she knows the meaning of the word! She’s
perfectly fresh, artless, simple, and guileless.
I don’t believe she ever heard a word of sentiment
or tenderness from any man in her life.”
“Very likely; so where’s the difficulty?”
“Well, to tell the truth, the difficulty is
in my own affairs.”
“Your affairs! Odd, too.
What’s up? I didn’t know any thing
had happened. That’s too infernal bad,
too.”
“Oh, it’s nothing of that
sort; money’s all right; no swindle. It’s
an affair of another character altogether.”
“Oh!”
“And one, too, that makes me think that ”
He hesitated.
“That what?”
“That I’d better start for Australia.”
“Australia!”
“Yes.”
“What’s the meaning of that?”
“Why,” said Dacres, gloomily,
“it means giving up the child-angel, and trying
to forget her if I ever can.”
“Forget her! What’s
the meaning of all this? Why, man, five minutes
ago you were all on fire about her, and now you talk
quietly about giving her up! I’m all adrift.”
“Well, it’s a mixed up matter.”
“What is?”
“My affair.”
“Your affair; something that has happened?”
“Yes. It’s a sore
matter, and I don’t care to speak about it just
now.”
“Oh!”
“And it’s the real cause why I don’t
go back to England.”
“The mischief it is! Why,
Dacres, I’ll be hanged if you’re not using
the very words I myself used a few minutes ago.”
“Am I?” said Dacres, gloomily.
“You certainly are; and that
makes me think that our affairs are in a similar complication.”
“Oh no; mine is very peculiar.”
“Well, there’s one thing
I should like to ask, and you needn’t answer
unless you like.”
“Well?”
“Doesn’t your difficulty arise from some
confounded woman or other?”
“Well yes.”
“By Jove, I knew it! And, old fellow, I’m
in the same situation.”
“Oh ho! So you’re driven away from
England by a woman?”
“Exactly.”
Dacres sighed heavily.
“Yours can’t be as bad
as mine,” said he, with a dismal look. “Mine
is the worst scrape that ever you heard of. And
look at me now, with the child-angel all ready to
take me, and me not able to be taken. Confound
the abominable complications of an accursed civilization,
I say!”
“And I say, Amen!” said Hawbury.