They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs. Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to one another by Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descended the stairs, they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conolly went aside to get their umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered the building, and halted in surprise at finding himself among so many acquaintances.
“Hallo!” he cried, seizing Douglas’s hand, and attracting the attention of the bystanders by his boisterous tone. “Here you are again, old man! Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George told me you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last Thursday; but she pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh? Very much in the old style, I suppose?”
“Thank you,” said Douglas. “I trust your people are quite well.”
“Hang me if I know!” said Marmaduke. “I have not troubled them much of late. How d’ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?” Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly.
“Dont roar so, Marmaduke,” said Marian. “Everybody is looking at you.”
“Everybody is welcome,” said Marmaduke, loudly. “Douglas: you must come and see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all of you. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should enjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all proper and right. Let us have a regular party.”
Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiously for Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door.
“Here, Marmaduke,” she said, offering him her hand. “Goodbye. You are in one of your outrageous humors this afternoon.”
“What am I doing?” he replied. “I am behaving myself perfectly. Let us settle about the party before we go.”
“Good evening, Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, coming up to them with the umbrellas. “This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax.”
“Good evening,” said Marmaduke, subsiding. “I —— Well, you are all off, are you?”
“Quite time for us, I think,” said Elinor. “Goodbye.”
Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out with
Conolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke.
“First rate,” said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; “and beginning to talk like one o’clock. Oh yes, I tell you!” He shook Elinor’s hand at such length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she was much relieved when a servant in livery interrupted him.
“Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes,” said the man.
Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the rest outside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an open carriage, in which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate artificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dress attracted their attention. Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly was watching her as she looked at the woman in the carriage. She was about to say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged her. Then she understood too, and looked solemnly at Susanna. Susanna, observing her, stared insolently in return, and Marian averted her head like a guilty person and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not speak until they rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly.
“How do you propose to go home?” said Douglas.
“Walk to St. James’s Street, where the carriage is waiting at the club; take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park,” said Elinor.
“I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me,” said
Douglas.
Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they disappeared, when he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his sister’s carriage.
“Well, Susanna,” said he. “How are you?”
“Oh, there’s nothing the matter with me,” she replied carelessly, her eyes filling with tears, nevertheless.
“I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past.”
“Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“What is its name?” he said more gravely.
“Lucy.”
“Is it quite well?”
“I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill.”
Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner in which he had used to talk with his sister. “Tired of it already?” he said. “Poor little wretch!”
“It is very well off,” she retorted, angrily: “a precious deal better than I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father, heaven knows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work.”
“You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You are quite famous.”
“Yes,” she said, bitterly. “We are both celebrities. Rather different from old times.”
“We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us hope all that is over now.”
“Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?”
“Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch.”
“I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a great man, why dont you marry a swell?”
“I intend to do so.”
“The Lord help her then!”
“Amen. Goodbye.”
“Oh, goodbye. Go on to Soho,” she added, to the coachman, settling herself fretfully on the cushions.
CHAPTER IX
On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr. Lind’s club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St. James’s Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions, both gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as their having put up at the same hotel or travelled by the same line of railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed that they should retire to the smoking-room.
“I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone here,” said Douglas.
“Certainly,” said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation of being appealed to as a parent. “Certainly, Sholto.”
“What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probably surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and was only prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which have happily since lost their significance. When I tell you that my communication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its nature.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. “Well, Sholto, if it be so, you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her marriage will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a few regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She must leave me some day. I have no right to complain.”
“We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian’s nature to form many ties, but to break none.”