“Deplorable,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “Down, Ulysses! Learn that my pantaloons were not made to be pawed by such as you!”
“He’ll learn quick enough, sir,” remarked Brough, setting a glass and a decanter down on the table at his master’s elbow. “You can see he’s as sharp as he can stare. Would there be anything more, sir?”
“No, only give this animal back to Clayton, and tell him I am perfectly satisfied with his appearance.”
“Clayton’s gone off, sir. I don’t think he can have understood that you wished him to take charge of the little dog,” said Brough.
“I don’t think he can have wanted to understand it,” said Mr. Beaumaris grimly.
“As to that, sir, I’m sure I couldn’t say. I doubt whether the dog will settle down with Clayton, him not having a way with dogs like he has with horses. I’m afraid he’ll fret, sir.”
“Oh, my God!” groaned Mr. Beaumaris. “Then take him down to the kitchen!”
“Well, sir, of course—if you say so!” replied Brough doubtfully. “Only there’s Alphonse.” He met his master’s eye, apparently had no difficulty in reading the question in it,, and said: “Yes, sir. Very French he has been on the subject. Quite shocking, I’m sure, but one has to remember that foreigners are queer, and don’t like animals.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Beaumaris, with a resigned sigh. “Leave him, then!”
“Yes, sir,” said Brough, and departed.
Ulysses, who had been thoroughly, if a little timidly, inspecting the room during this exchange, now advanced to the hearth-rug again, and paused there, suspiciously regarding the fire. He seemed to come to the conclusion that it was not actively hostile, for after a moment he curled himself up before it, heaved a sigh, laid his chin on Mr. Beaumaris’s crossed ankles, and disposed himself for sleep.
“I suppose you imagine you are being a companion to me,” said Mr. Beaumaris.
Ulysses flattened his ears, and gently stirred his tail.
“You know,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “a prudent man would draw back at this stage.”
Ulysses raised his head to yawn, and then snuggled it back on Mr. Beaumaris’s ankles, and closed his eyes.
“You may be right,” admitted Mr. Beaumaris. “But I wonder what next she will saddle me with?”
X
When Arabella had parted from Mr. Beaumaris at the door of Lady Bridlington’s house, the butler who had admitted her informed her that two gentleman had called to see her, and were even now awaiting her in the smaller saloon. This seemed to her a trifle unusual, and she looked surprised. The butler explained the matter by saying that one of the young gentlemen was particularly anxious to see her, since he came from Yorkshire, and would not be unknown to her. A horrid fear gripped Arabella that she was now to be exposed to the whole of London, and it was with an almost shaking hand that she picked up the visiting-card from the salver the butler was holding out to her. But the name elegantly inscribed upon it was unknown to her: she could not recall ever having heard of, much less met, a Mr. Felix Scunthorpe.
“Two gentlemen?” she said.
“The other young gentleman, miss, did not disclose his name,” replied the butler.
“Well, I suppose I must see them,” Arabella decided. “Pray tell them that I shall be downstairs directly! Or is her ladyship in?”
“Her ladyship has not yet returned, miss.”
Arabella hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. She went up to her room to change her soiled gown, and came down again some few minutes later hoping that she had schooled her face not to betray her inward trepidation. She entered the saloon in a very stately way, and looked rather challengingly across it. There were, as the butler had warned her, two young gentleman standing by the window. One was a slightly vacuous looking youth, dressed with extreme nicety, and holding, besides his tall hat, an ebony cane, and an elegant pair of gloves; the other was a tall, loose-limbed boy, with curly dark hair, and an aquiline cast of countenance. At sight of him, Arabella uttered a shriek, and ran across the room to cast herself upon his chest. “Bertram!”
“Here, I say, Bella!” expostulated Bertram, recoiling. “Mind what you are about, for the lord’s sake! My neck-cloth!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, but I am so glad to see you! But how is this? Bertram, Papa is not in town?”
“Good God, no!”
“Thank heaven!” Arabella breathed, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
Her brother found nothing to wonder at in this exclamation. He looked her over critically, and said: “Just as well he ain’t, for he’d be bound to give you one of his scolds for dressing-up as fine as fivepence! I must say, Bella, you’re turned out in prime style! Slap up to the mark, ain’t she, Felix?”
Mr. Scunthorpe, much discomposed at being called upon to give an opinion, opened and shut his mouth once or twice, bowed, and looked despairing.
“He thinks you’re complete to a shade,” explained Bertram, interpreting these signs. “He ain’t much of a dab with the petticoats, but he’s a great gun, I can tell you! Up to every rig and row in town!”
Arabella looked at Mr. Scunthorpe with interest. He presented the appearance of a very mild young man; and although his fancy waistcoat bespoke the man of fashion, he seemed to her to lack address. She bowed politely, which made him blush very much, and fall into a fit of stuttering. Bertram, feeling that some further introduction might be considered desirable by his sister, said: “You don’t know him: he was at Harrow with me. He’s older than I am, but he’s got no brains, y’know: never could learn anything! I ran into him in the High.”
“The High?” repeated Arabella.
“Oxford, you know!” said Bertram loftily. “Dash it, Bella, you can’t have forgot I’ve been up to take my Smalls!”
“No, indeed!” she said. “Sophy wrote that you were gone there, and that poor James was unable to accompany you, because of the jaundice. I was so sorry! But how did you go on, Bertram? Do you think you have passed?”
“Lord, I don’t know! There was one devilish paper—but never mind that now! The thing is that I met old Felix here, the very man I wanted!”
“Oh, yes?” Arabella said, adding with a civil smile: “Were you up for Smalls too, sir?”
Mr. Scunthorpe appeared to shrink from such a suggestion, shaking his head, and making a sound in his throat which Arabella took to be a negative.
“Of course he wasn’t!” said Bertram. “Don’t I keep telling you he can’t learn anything? He was visiting some friends in Oxford! He found it pretty dull work, too, didn’t you, Felix? They would take him to blue-parties, all professors, and Bag-wigs, and the poor fellow couldn’t follow the stuff they talked. Shabby thing to do to him, for he was bound to make a cake of himself in that sort of company! However, that’s not what I want to talk about. The thing is, Bella, that Felix is going to show me all the sights, because he’s at home to a peg in London—been on the town ever since they threw him out of Harrow.”
“And Papa gave his consent?” exclaimed Arabella.
“As a matter of fact,” said Bertram airily, “hedon’t know I’m here.”
“Doesn’t know you’re here?” cried Arabella.
Mr. Scunthorpe cleared his throat. “Given him the bag,” he explained. He added: “Only thing to do.”
Arabella turned her eyes wonderingly towards her brother. He looked a little guilty, but said: “No, you can’t say I’ve given him the bag!”
Mr. Scunthorpe corrected himself. “Hoaxed him.”
Bertram seemed to be about to take exception to this, too, but after beginning to refute it he broke off, and said: “Well, in a way I suppose I did.”
“Bertram, you must be mad!” cried Arabella, pale with dismay. “When Papa knows you are in town, and without leave—”