“Do not hurry yourself,” was the sailor’s quiet reply. The truth is, that he had resolved upon having a tête-à-tête with Clemence’s arch tormentor, and was revolving in his honest mind how best to make it clear to her apprehension, without showing discourtesy to a lady, that as two suns cannot shine in one sphere, no more can two mistresses bear rule in one dwelling. Captain Thistlewood had sufficient observation to perceive that Lady Selina’s influence lay at the root of all the bitterness and unkindness which Clemence was called on to endure, and he considered that it would be a master-stroke of diplomacy, could he induce the grand lady voluntarily to resign a position which he could not think that she had any right to hold in the house of his niece.
Lady Selina was also meditating, though her eyes appeared to be riveted upon Punch. She was pondering how Mrs. Effingham’s new and strange ally, formidable from the straightforward vehemence of his manner, and his invulnerability to personal insult, could best be coaxed, since he could not be chased from the field. These were strange opponents left to face each other alone,—Simplicity versus Art—the warm-hearted, honest old sailor, versus the cold, calculating woman of the world!
Lady Selina was the first to commence the conversation. She laid her paper down upon the cushion beside her, and turning towards her auditor, observed with an air of affected indifference, as if merely fulfilling an office of common courtesy to a guest, “You must greatly miss, Captain Thistlewood, the delightful serenity of the country. I dare say that, after a life spent in charming seclusion, you find London a sad, noisy, bustling place.”
“I like it—I like it,” replied the old sailor good-humouredly; “there was never anything of the hermit about me. I was knocked about the world for many a long year, and rather like to live in a bustle, and see plenty of my fellow-creatures about me. No babbling stream pleases my old eyes so much as the stream of people down Oxford Street.”
Lady Selina was instantly upon another tack. “I perfectly agree with you,” she said; “and I must own” (here she lowered her voice confidentially) “that Belgrave Square is a great deal too dull and out of the way for my taste.”
“Is it?” cried the captain eagerly.
“So far from the best shops, all the exhibitions—from everything, in short, that gives its charm to the great metropolis.”
“So it is—the dullest spot in all London,” was the hearty rejoinder. “She’s really preparing for a removal,” thought the exulting captain.
“Now, there are a great many excellent lodgings a great deal nearer to the centre of the city—reasonable, too,” pursued Lady Selina, imagining that her fish was approaching the bait, and that, by a little delicate management, she could land him in some convenient spot well removed from the Effingham mansion. “I should say, now, that Bloomsbury Square is a very centrical situation.”
“I’ve no doubt of it—no doubt of it at all!” cried the captain, who had not the faintest idea of the locality, but caught something rural in the sound of the name.