Lord Surbiton was the elder brother of Mr. Cranley, and bore the second title of the family.
“I don’t suppose there is another woman in London,” he thought to himself, “that has not heard all about the row at the Cockpit, and that would write to me.”
Then he tore the chromatic splendors of the device on the envelope, and read the following epistle:
“Early English Bunhouse,
“Chelsea, Friday.
“My dear Mr. Cranley,
“Where are you hiding, or yachting, you wandering man? I can
hear nothing of you from anyone—nothing good, and you
know I never believe anything else. Do come and see me, at
the old Bunhouse here, and tell me about yourself”
—(“She has heard,” he muttered)
—“and help me in a little difficulty. Our housekeeper (you
know we are strictly blue ribbon—a cordon bleu, I call
her) has become engaged to a plumber, and she is leaving
us. Can you recommend me another? I know how interested
you are (in spite of your wicked jokes) in our little
enterprise. And we also want a girl, to be under the
housekeeper, and keep the accounts. Surely you will come to
see me, whether you can advise me or not.
“Yours very truly,
“Mary St. John Deloraine”
“Idiot!” murmured Mr. Cranley, as he finished reading this document; and then he added, “By Jove! it’s lucky, too. I’ll put these two infernal women off on her, and Alice will soon do for the girl, if she once gets at the drink. She’s dangerous, by Jove, when she has been drinking. Then the Law will do for Alice, and all will be plain sailing in smooth waters.”
CHAPTER IX.—Mrs. St. John Deloraine
Mrs. St. John Deloraine, whose letter to Mr. Cranley we have been privileged to read, was no ordinary widow. As parts of her character and aspects of her conduct were not devoid of the kind of absurdity which is caused by virtues out of place, let it be said that a better, or kinder, or gentler, or merrier soul than that of Mrs. St. John Deloraine has seldom inhabited a very pleasing and pretty tenement of clay, and a house in Cheyne Walk.