Mr. Witt's Widow

Chapter 8

"I never heard anything so absurd in all my life," said Mr. Blodwell, with emphasis.

George had just informed him of the treaty between himself and Neaera. He had told his tale with some embarrassment. It is so difficult to make people who were not present understand how an interview came to take the course it did.

"She seemed to think it all right," George said weakly.

"Do you suppose you can shut people's mouths in that way?"

"There are other ways," remarked George, grimly, for his temper began to go.

"There are," assented Mr. Blodwell; "and in these days, if you use them, it's five pounds or a month, and a vast increase of gossip into the bargain. What does Gerald say?"

"Gerald? Oh, I don't know. I suppose Mrs. Witt can manage him."

"Do you? I doubt it. Gerald isn't over easy to manage. Think of the position you leave him in!"

"He believes in her."

"Yes, but he won't be content unless other people do. Of course they'll say she squared you."

"Squared me!" exclaimed George, indignantly.

"Upon my soul, I'm not sure she hasn't."

"Of course you can say what you please, sir. From you I can't resent it."

"Come, don't be huffy. Bright eyes have their effect on everybody. By the way, have you seen Isabel Bourne lately?"

"No."

"Heard from her?"

"She sent me a message through Tommy Myles."

"Is he in her confidence?"

"Apparently. The effect of it was, that she didn't want to see me till I had come to my senses."

"In those words?"

"Those were Tommy's words."

"Then relations are strained?"

"Miss Bourne is the best judge of whom she wishes to see."

"Quite so," said Mr. Blodwell, cheerfully. "At present she seems to wish to see Myles. Well, well, George, you'll have to come to your knees at last."

"Mrs. Witt doesn't require it."

"Gerald will."

"Gerald be-- But I've never told you of my fresh evidence."

"Oh, you're mad! What's in the wind now?"

Five minutes later, George flung himself angrily out of Mr. Blodwell's chambers, leaving that gentleman purple and palpitating with laughter, as he gently re-echoed,

"The cat! Go to the jury on the cat, George, my boy!"

To George, in his hour of adversity, Mrs. Pocklington was as a tower of strength. She said that the Nestons might squabble among themselves as much as they liked; it was no business of hers. As for the affair getting into the papers, her visiting-list would suffer considerably if she cut out everybody who was wrongly or, she added significantly, rightly abused in the papers. George Neston might be mistaken, but he was an honest young man, and for her part she thought him an agreeable one-anyhow, a great deal too good for that insipid child, Isabel Bourne. If anybody didn't like meeting him at her house, they could stay away. Poor Laura Pocklington protested that she hated and despised George, but yet couldn't stay away.

"Then, my dear," said Mrs. Pocklington, tartly, "you can stay in the nursery."

"It's too bad!" exclaimed Laura. "A man who says such things isn't fit--"

Mrs. Pocklington shook her head gently. Mr. Pocklington's Radical principles extended no more to his household than to his business.

"Laura dear," she said, in pained tones, "I do so dislike argument."

So George went to dinner at Mrs. Pocklington's, and that lady, remorseless in parental discipline, sent Laura down to dinner with him; and, as everybody knows, there is nothing more pleasing and interesting than a pretty girl in a dignified pet. George enjoyed himself. It was a long time since he had flirted; but really now, considering Isabel's conduct, he felt at perfect liberty to conduct himself as seemed to him good. Laura was an old friend, and George determined to see how implacable her wrath was.

"It's so kind of you to give me this pleasure," he began.

"Pleasure?" said Laura, in her loftiest tone.

"Yes; taking you down, you know."

"Mamma made me."

"Ah, now you're trying to take me down."

"I wonder you can look any one in the face--"

"I always enjoy looking you in the face."

"After the things you've said about poor Neaera!"

"Neaera?"

"Why shouldn't I call her Neaera?"

"Oh, no reason at all. It may even be her name."

"A woman who backbites is bad, but a man--"

"Is the deuce?" said George inquiringly.

Laura tried another tack. "All your friends think you wrong, even mamma."

"What does that matter, as long as you think I'm right?"

"I don't; I don't. I think--"

"That it's great fun to torment a poor man who--"

George paused.

"Who what?" said Laura, with deplorable weakness.

"Values your good opinion very highly."

"Nonsense!"

George permitted himself to sigh deeply. A faint twitching betrayed itself about the corners of Laura's pretty mouth.

"If you want to smile, I will look away," said George.

"You're very foolish," said Laura; and George knew that this expression on a lady's lips is not always one of disapproval.

"I am, indeed," said he, "to spend my time in a vain pursuit."

"Of Neaera?"

"No, not of Neaera."

"I should never," said Laura, demurely, "have referred to Miss Bourne, if you hadn't, but as you have--"

"I didn't."

Presumably George explained whom he did refer to, and apparently the explanation took the rest of dinner-time. And as the ladies went upstairs, Mrs. Pocklington patted Laura's shoulder with an approving fan.

"There's a good child! It shows breeding to be agreeable to people you dislike."

Laura blushed a little, but answered dutifully, "I am glad you are pleased, mamma." Most likely she did not impose on Mrs. Pocklington. She certainly did not on herself.

George found himself left next to Sidmouth Vane.

"Hallo, Neston!" said that young gentleman, with his usual freedom. "Locked her up yet?"

George said Mrs. Witt was still at large. Vane had been his fag, and George felt he was entitled to take it out of him in after life whenever he could.

"Wish you would," continued Mr. Vane. "That ass of a cousin of yours would jilt her, and I would wait outside Holloway or Clerkenwell, or wherever they put 'em, and receive her sympathetically-hot breakfast, brass band, first cigar for six months, and all that, don't you know, like one of those Irish fellows."

"You have no small prejudices."

"Not much. A girl like that, plus an income like that, might steal all Northampton for what I care. Going upstairs?"

"Yes; there's an 'At Home' on, isn't there?"

"Yes, so I'm told. I shouldn't go, if I were you."

"Why the devil not?"

"Gerald's going to be there-told me so."

"Really, Vane, you're very kind. We shan't fight."

"I don't know about that. He's simply mad."

"Anything new?"

"Yes; he told me you'd been trying to square Mrs. Witt behind his back, and he meant to have it out with you."

"Well," said George, "I won't run. Come along."

The guests were already pouring in, and among the first George encountered was Mr. Dennis Espion, as over-strained as ever. Espion knew that George was aware of his position on the Bull's-eye.

"Ah, how are you, Neston?" he said, holding out his hand.

George looked at it for a moment, and then took it.

"I support life and your kind attentions, Espion."

"Ah! well, you know, we can't help it-a matter of public interest. I hope you see our position--"

"Yes," said George, urbanely; "Il faut vivre."

"I don't suppose you value our opinion, but--"

"Oh yes; I value it at a penny-every evening."

"I was going to say--"

"Keep it, my dear fellow. What you say has market value-to the extent I have mentioned."

"My dear Neston, may I--"

"Consider this an interview? My dear Espion, certainly. Make any use of this communication you please. Good night."

George strolled away. "Suppose I was rather rude," he said to himself. "But, hang it, I must have earned that fellow fifty pounds!"

George was to earn Mr. Espion a little more yet, as it turned out. He had not gone many steps before he saw his cousin Gerald making his bow to Mrs. Pocklington. Mr. Espion saw him too, and was on the alert. Gerald was closely followed by Tommy Myles.

"Ah, the enemy!" exclaimed George under his breath, pursuing his way towards Laura Pocklington.

The throng was thick, and his progress slow. He had time to observe Gerald, who was now talking to Tommy and to Sidmouth Vane, who had joined them. Gerald was speaking low, but his gestures betrayed strong excitement. Suddenly he began to walk rapidly towards George, the people seeming to fall aside from his path. Tommy Myles followed him, while Vane all but ran to George and whispered eagerly,

"For God's sake, clear out, my dear fellow! He's mad! There'll be a shindy, as sure as you're born!"

George did not like shindies, especially in drawing-rooms; but he liked running away less. "Oh, let's wait and see," he replied.

Gerald was looking dangerous. The healthy ruddiness of his cheek had darkened to a deep flush, his eyes looked vicious, and his mouth was set. As he walked quickly up to his cousin, everybody tried to look away; but out of the corners of two hundred eyes eager glances centred on the pair.

"May I have a word with you?" Gerald began, calmly enough.

"As many as you like; but I don't know that this place--"

"It will do for what I have to say," Gerald interrupted.

"All right. What is it?"

"I want two things of you. First, you will promise never to dare to address my-Mrs. Witt again."

"And the second?" asked George.

"You will write and say you've told lies, and are sorry for it."

"I address whom I please and write what I please."

Vane interposed.

"Really, Neston-you, Gerald, I mean-don't make a row here. Can't you get him away, Tommy?"

Gerald gave Tommy a warning look, and poor Tommy shook his head mournfully.

George felt the necessity of avoiding a scene. He began to move quietly away. Gerald stood full in his path.

"You don't go till you've answered. Will you do what I tell you?"

"Really, Gerald," George began, still clinging to peace.

"Yes or no?"

"No," said George, with a smile and a shrug.

"Then, you cur, take--"

In another moment he would have struck George full in the face, but the vigilant Vane caught his arm as he raised it.

"You damned fool! Are you drunk?" he hissed into his ear. "Everybody's looking."

It was true. Everybody was.

"All the better," Gerald blurted out. "I'll thrash him--"

Tommy Myles ranged up and passed his hand through the angry man's other arm.

"Can't you go, George?" asked Vane.

"No," said George, calmly; "not till he's quiet."

The hush that had fallen on the room attracted Mrs. Pocklington's attention. In a moment, as it seemed, though her movements were as a rule slow and stately, she was beside them, just in time to see Gerald make a violent effort to throw off Vane's detaining hand.

"I cannot get anybody to go into the music-room," she said; "and the signora is waiting to begin. Mr. Neston, give me your arm, and we will show the way." Then her eyes seemed to fall for the first time on George. "Oh, you here too, Mr. George? Laura is looking for you everywhere. Do find her. Come, Mr. Neston. Mr. Vane, go and give your arm to a lady."

The group scattered, obedient to her commands, and everybody breathed a little sigh, half of relief, half of disappointment, and told one another that Mrs. Pocklington was a great woman.

"In another second," said Tommy Myles, as he restored himself with a glass of champagne, "it would have been a case of Bow Street!"

"I think it fairly amounts to a fracas," said Mr. Espion to himself; and as a fracas, accordingly, it figured.