III.
"Triggs, this is the deuce of a nice state of things!"
The latest ornament of the woolsack was seated in the privacy of his own apartment prior to retiring to rest. But the cares of his position had followed him there. He was working his way through a mass of papers when his host appeared at the door.
"To what state of things does Your Grace refer?"
The Duke looked round as if to make sure that they had the room to themselves. He seemed to be in a state of considerable agitation; indeed, the abruptness of his entry had in itself suggested agitation.
"Of—of course you know that I—I'm a magistrate."
"Certainly I know it."
Something in the other's tone seemed to have a soothing influence upon the Duke, possibly because it roused the spirit of mischief that was in him. He sat in an armchair. Crossing his arms upon his chest, stretching out his long legs in front of him, he regarded the toes of his evening shoes.
"Triggs, I have had an application made to me for a warrant for your arrest."
The Chancellor went a peony hue, as we have seen him do before.
"Your Grace is joking."
"I wish I were. I found it anything but a joke, and I am afraid that you are not likely to find it one either."
Sir Tristram removed his glasses. He held them in his hand. His face became hard and stern.
"May I ask Your Grace to be more explicit?"
The Duke turned. Placing one elbow upon the arm of his chair, he looked at Sir Tristram as he leaned his chin upon his hand.
"Triggs, Miss Cullen has applied to me to issue a warrant against you for assault."
"Surely such an application was irregular."
"I am not so sure of that, I am not so sure. Anyhow, I told her that it was. The only result of which, so far as I can judge, will be that she will make the application, in more regular form, either to me, or to someone else, to-morrow. But that is not the point. Triggs, did you do it?"
"Is it necessary that Your Grace should ask me?"
"You didn't kiss her?"
Sir Tristram took out his handkerchief. He actually gasped for breath. It is to be feared that at that moment the representative of English law almost told a lie. However, it was only almost; not quite. He merely temporised.
"The whole affair is a pure absurdity."
"How do you mean? Is the charge unfounded?"
Sir Tristram drew his handkerchief across his brow.
"Supposing I did kiss her."
"Supposing! Triggs? Good heavens! I remember your leading for a woman who brought exactly such a charge against a man. I remember how clearly you pointed out how, under certain circumstances, such an action might be, and was, an offence against good morals. Didn't Pickum give the man six months?"
The lawyer's resemblance to a bull-dog became more and more pronounced. He all but showed his teeth.
"I don't know, Duke, if you are enjoying a little amusement at my expense."
The Duke sprang to his feet. His bearing evinced an accession of dignity which, in its melodramatic suddenness, almost approached to farce.
"AN AMAZING RESEMBLANCE TO A SMILE."
"It is not my habit, Sir Tristram, to regard my magisterial duties as offering much scope for amusement. Situated as I am—as you are—as we all are—our party!—in the eyes of the nation, it seems to me that this matter may easily become one of paramount importance. Of such importance that I have come to you as a friend, to-night, to ask you, if there is a chance of Miss Cullen's charge becoming so much as whispered abroad, to seriously consider if it would not be advisable for you to place your resignation in the hands of the Prime Minister before your appointment to the Chancellorship is publicly announced."
Sir Tristram's jaw dropped open. His resemblance to a bull-dog perceptibly decreased.
"Duke!"
"I am not certain, in coming to-night, that I have not allowed my friendship for you to carry me too far. Still, I have come."
"Your Grace is more than sufficiently severe. If you will allow me to exactly explain my position in this matter, I shall have no difficulty in making that evident. I fear that Miss Cullen is a dangerous young woman."
The Duke shrugged his shoulders.
"You, of all men, ought to know that, under certain circumstances, women are dangerous—and even girls."
"Precisely. That is so. But, I think that, after I have made my explanation, you will allow that Miss Cullen is an even unusually dangerous example of a dangerous sex." He paused—perhaps for reflection. When he continued, it was with a hang-dog air. "Some short time since I did myself the honour of asking Miss Cullen to become my wife. I fear that—eh—circumstances induced me to take her answer too much for granted. So much so, indeed, that—eh—while I was waiting for her answer, I—eh—I—eh—kissed her. I do not wish to lay stress upon the accident that the kiss was but the merest shadow of a kiss. But such, in fact, it was."
"In plain language, Triggs, you kissed her against her will."
"I had no idea that it was against her will, or I should certainly not have done it. Her behaviour after—eh—my action, filled me with the most profound amazement. She jumped up. She addressed me in language which I can only describe as more pointed than elegant. And—eh—she walked away, leaving me, I do assure Your Grace, dumbfounded."
"Well?"
The Duke's back was turned to Sir Tristram, possibly because there was something on His Grace's face which bore an amazing resemblance to a smile.
"Well, I heard nothing more of the matter. Indeed, I have heard and seen nothing of the lady till I met her here to-day. This evening she has alluded to the matter in a manner and in terms which filled me with even more profound amazement than her behaviour on the—eh—original occasion."
"But, man, didn't you apologise?"
"I apologised in terms of almost abject humility. But that did not content her. I will be frank with Your Grace. She made me a proposition which——"
The Duke waved his hands. He cut Sir Tristram short.
"SHE LOOKED CHARMING."
"I have heard too much already. Triggs, I have allowed my friendship for you to play havoc with my discretion, let me hear no more. My advice to you is compromise, compromise, at almost any cost. You don't want to have your career ruined by a girl, and for the mere shadow of a kiss. To consider nothing else, think of the laughter there would be. As you say, the young woman can be dangerous, and, if nothing happens to change her purpose, you may take my word for it that she means to be."
Before Sir Tristram could reply, the Duke was gone. The newly appointed representative of the majesty of English law was left alone with his papers and his reflections. These latter did not seem to be pleasant ones. Words escaped his lips which we should not care to print;—we fear they referred to that undutiful ward of his lordship's court. Inwardly, and, for the matter of that, outwardly, he cursed her with bell, book, and candle; certainly never was heard a more terrible curse. And, so thoroughly did he enter into the spirit of the thing, that he was still engaged in cursing her when the door opened, and in front of him was Miss Cullen with the handle in her hand.
She looked charming, and by that we mean even more charming than usual. She had changed her dress for a peignoir, or a dressing-gown, or something of the kind. Beyond question Sir Tristram had no notion what the thing was called. It suited her to perfection—few men had a better eye for that sort of thing in a woman than he had. There is no fathoming feminine duplicity, but no one ever looked more surprised than did that young woman then. She had thrown the door wide open and rushed into the room, and half closed it again behind her before she appeared to recognise in whose presence and where she really was.
"I—I thought—isn't this Mary Waller's room? Oh—h!"
As struck with panic she turned as if to flee. But Sir Tristram, who was gifted, before all else, with presence of mind, interposed. He rose from his chair.
"Miss Cullen, may I beg you for moment?"
"Sir! Sir Tristram Triggs!" Miss Cullen's air of dignity was perfect, and so bewitching. "I had something which I wished to say to Lady Mary Waller. There has been some misunderstanding as to which was her room. I must ask you to accept an apology."
"Unlike you, Miss Cullen, I always accept an apology."
"Indeed. Then my experience in that respect has, I presume, been the exception which proves the rule."
"May I ask when you apologised to me,—and for what?"
"This evening—," the lady looked down; her voice dropped; thrusting the toe of her little shoe from under the hem of her skirt, she tapped it against the floor—"for becoming a wife."
The grim man behind the table regarded her intently. Although he knew that the minx was worsting him with his own weapons, she appealed to, at any rate, one side of him so strongly, that he was unable to prevent the corners of his mouth from wrinkling themselves into a smile.
"May I ask, Mrs. Stanham——"
"Sir Tristram!" She threw out her arms towards him with a pretty little gesture. "You have set my heart all beating! You have brought the tears right to my eyes! You are the first person who has called me by my married name."
"'THEN I'LL KISS YOU.'"
He moved his hand with a little air of deprecation—as if the thing were nothing.
"May I ask, Mrs. Stanham, if Mr. Thomas Stanham is related to the Duke of Datchet?"
"Related?—Of course he is!—He's his favourite cousin."
"His favourite cousin?" We doubt if she was justified in her use of the adjective, but, the simple truth is, she was a dangerous young woman. "I see. The plot unfolds. May I ask, further, if this little comedy was rehearsed in advance?"
"And in my turn, may I ask, Sir Tristram, what it is you mean?"
They looked at each other, eye to eye. They understood each other pretty well by the time Sir Tristram's glance dropped down again to the papers on his table. His tone became, as it were, judicial.
"Well, Mrs. Stanham, I have been considering the matter of which you spoke to me this evening, and, having regard to the whole bearing of the case, to the social position of Mr. Thomas Stanham, and so forth, speaking, of course, ex parte, and without prejudice, I may say that, as at present advised, if proper settlements are made, the marriage might be one which would not meet with the active disapprobation of the court."
Sir Tristram raised his eyes. The lady shook her head—very decidedly.
"That won't do."
"Won't do?—What do you mean?"
"What I say. I'm not going to have Tommy bothered about settlements. I'm settlement enough for Tommy. What you have to do is to sit down and to simply write this: 'My dear Mrs. Stanham,—Speaking as Lord Chancellor, it gives me much pleasure in assuring you, as a ward of the court, that your marriage with Mr. Thomas Stanham meets with my entire and unreserved approval.—Yours faithfully, Tristram Triggs!'" Sir Tristram glowered—he might! But she was undismayed. "You will have to do it, sooner or later—you're a very clever man, and you know you will!—so why not do it at once?"
He did it at once. Actually! Possibly because the whole affair appealed keenly to his sense of humour,—one never knows! She read the paper, folded it, and then she said—with such a pout! and with such malice in her eyes!—
"Now you may kiss me again; if you like."
"I am obliged to you; but the costs in the suit have already been too heavy."
"Then I'll kiss you!"
And she did—with some want of precision, just over the right eye. Then she fled to the door. When she was half-way through it, she turned, and waved towards him the hand which held the paper.
"You are my guardian, you know."
