My Lord Kilcroney, with his Lady and the other friends interested in the erratic young couple, were all agreed that the Mad Brat was well matched in her spouse. For of all the hot-headed, light-witted, frantic fellows—these were my Lord’s own words—he had ever had to deal with, Lieutenant Fred Simpson, of the Marines, was the “jewel of the lot!” The united efforts of himself, Squire Day, and Lord Verney, were ultimately successful, however, in preventing the series of duels which Master Fred at first seemed bent on bringing about. Even Lord Kilcroney did not escape a challenge; but on his representing his services on the Salisbury Road, the affair had to end in a laugh. Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs, on Pamela’s prompting, made a very frank and full apology, couched in language so admirably chosen, that even the young Othello had to be satisfied with it.
“I confess,” he said, “that I was led away, Mr. Simpson. I confess that I lost my head (and very nearly my heart). But ask yourself whether, in such company, an angel from heaven might not have succumbed!”
Providence itself intervened in the matter of Colonel Endacott, for this gentleman’s wound, whether owing to original distemper in the blood, or to the ministrations of Doctor Dawson, became so inflamed that it was held as more than doubtful whether that gallant officer would ever walk again. He was invalided out of the regiment, thereby providing at least one step for Mr. Simpson.
There only remained Sir Jasper—no easy personage to deal with, as my Lord knew from long experience. But by the time the baronet’s sword arm had healed an excellent post abroad had been obtained for Mr. Simpson; and to the infinite relief of all her relations, the Mad Brat and her spouse carried their bickerings and reconciliations to another clime.
CHAPTER XVI
In which my Lady Kilcroney has the Last
Word
The best-tempered of women are apt to be a trifle peevish after a wedding, especially if they are responsible for the event, and have had most of the trouble of the bridal preparations.
My Lady Kilcroney had had two reasons for patronising the marriage between Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs and Miss Pamela Pounce.
In the first place she flattered herself that she had made it. It pleased her sense of rectitude to know that it was an heroic decision. Jocelyn, the rascal, had gone too far, and Pamela was a first-class good girl. ’Twas but justice.
Then my Lady Kilcroney was a woman of the world, to her finger-tips. The alliance, which she could not have prevented if she would, was a strange, foolish, unequal business. To silence ill-natured gossip and the malicious tattle of dear, intimate enemies, there was nothing for it but for her to take a firm stand of championship. ’Twas the only attitude to ensure respect, from Royalty downwards. To tell the truth, Kitty was getting a bit sick of Royalty, and would not have cared had she followed my Lady Flo’s example, but not upon this crisis. She knew how to take the Queen by this time, not being a born fool, and, indeed, had emerged more triumphantly than ever from a situation which might have lost her her place at Court.