Lord Tony’s married brothers and sisters were continually and clamorously urging heiresses upon his notice; it was “his only chance,” they assured him. “He must marry money.” If this pretty girl now speaking to West, with visible trepidation and becomingly heightened colour, was the heiress he was always swaggering about and dragging into his conversation, Lord Tony told himself, as he took his cigarette out of his mouth and blew away a cloud of smoke, “that, by George! he might do worse.” And so he might. Presently he was formally introduced to the young lady and her companion, and Mr. West, who was metaphorically carried off his feet by Madeline’s unexpected grace, was in a condition of rampant satisfaction. She would go down. She would take anywhere; and actually, for a few lofty seconds, he scorned a mere lord, and saw a wreath of strawberry leaves resting on her pretty dark hair.
Miss Harper was not slow to read the signs of the times—to interpret the expression of the millionaire’s growing complacency: he found Madeline prettier than he had anticipated; he was greatly pleased; and she immediately improved the occasion, and murmured a few well-timed words into his ear about “dearest Madeline’s air of distinction, her exquisitely shaped head, her vivacity, her remarkable beauty; fitted to adorn any sphere; always a favourite pupil; a most accomplished, popular girl;” whilst Madeline gravely answered Lord Anthony’s blunt questions. He was the first lord she had ever spoken to, and as far as she could judge, neither formidable nor imposing.
After a little she found herself being led up and presented to the captain and to several of the passengers, with a look and tone that told even Madeline, who had a very humble opinion of herself, that her father was exceedingly proud of her!
Oh, if he would only be kind—only be good to her! if her pretty face, that he appeared to value so much, would but open the door of his heart, and admit her and Laurence and his grandchild! But it would not. Do not think it, simple Madeline; it will only admit you in company with a peer of the realm.
After much fuss and bustle, Mr. West and his party disembarked. Never in all her life had Madeline been so much stared at. And she was not merely looked at curiously—as a pretty girl who had never seen her father since she was a child—she was doubly interesting as a great heiress, and a very marketable young person. She was not sorry to make her escape, and was conducted down the gangway in a kind of triumphal procession, led by her exultant parent, her arm on his, whilst Miss Harper followed, leaning on Lord Anthony—who was to be Mr. West’s guest at his hotel—and I have no hesitation in affirming that this was the happiest moment of Miss Harper’s life, if it was not that of her pupil’s (as to this latter I cannot speak with certainty). Arm-in-arm with a lord! What would people say at home when she went back? Her heart already beat high with anticipation of the sensation she would produce upon the minds of her particular circle. If one of them could only see her! But there is always an “if.”
Mr. West was rather indisposed after his voyage. He could not sleep, he declared; he missed the engines; and he remained at Plymouth for a few days. So did Lord Anthony, who was in no particular hurry. Miss Harper had reluctantly taken leave, and returned to Harperton, endowed with a valuable present “for all her kindness to Madeline,” quoth Mr. West, as he presented it with considerable pomp, and this offering she graciously and modestly accepted—yes, without the quivering of an eyelid, much less the ghost of a blush! Perhaps, so crooked are some people’s ideas, she had brought herself to believe that she had been kind to Madeline—and, indeed, she had never been as hard as Miss Selina. She would have liked to have remained at this luxurious hotel a few days longer. Everything was done en prince. A carriage and pair, a really smart turn-out (cockades and all), took them for a delightful drive. There were excursions to Mount Edgecumbe, promenades on the Hoe. Plymouth was gay, the weather was magnificent, Lord Anthony Foster of the party—and so amusing! Miss Harper was easily amused—sometimes. She threw out one or two hints to Mr. West to the effect that she was excessively comfortable, that this little visit was quite too delightful—an oasis in her existence; that mamma was not lonely—in short, that she dreaded parting with her dearest pupil; but nevertheless she had to go. Mr. West was ruthless, he was blunt; he was, moreover, wonderfully keen at interpreting other people’s motives. He perfectly understood Miss Harper. She was, no doubt, very much at her ease; but he owed her nothing. She had been amply paid; she had had his girl for twelve years, and could afford to part with her young charge.
Moreover, Miss Harper did not belong to the class of people he particularly wished to cultivate—that was sufficient—and he smilingly sped the parting guest, after a four days’ visit. During those four days Madeline had been installed as mistress of her father’s establishment, and was endeavouring to accustom herself to her new rôle. Everything was deferred to her, the ordering of dinner, the ordering of carriages, and of various items that meant a considerable outlay. She took up her position at once with a composure that astonished her school-mistress. She stared at Madeline in amazement, as she sat at the head of the table in her new black gauze, and comported herself as though she had occupied the post for years.
In about a week’s time, the Wests (still accompanied by Lord Anthony) went to London, staying at the Métropole Hotel; and here Mr. West, who was a brisk man of action, and resolved to lose not an hour in enjoying his money and realizing his plans, set about house-hunting, con amore, assuring delighted house agents that price was no consideration—what he sought was size, style, and situation.
Under these favourable circumstances, he soon discovered what he required. A superb mansion in Belgrave Square, with large suites of reception rooms, twenty bedrooms, hot and cold water, electric light, speaking-tubes, stabling for twelve horses, and, in short, to quote the advertisement, “with everything desirable for a nobleman’s or gentleman’s family.” It had just been vacated by a marquis, which made it still more desirable to Mr. West. If not near the rose, the rose had lived there! Indeed, to tell the happy truth, a duke resided next door, and an ambassador round the corner. So far so good. The next thing was to be neighbourly. Then there was the business of furnishing—of course regardless of cost. Days and days were spent, selecting, measuring, matching, and discussing at one of the most fashionable upholsterers in town, and the result was most satisfactory, most magnificent, and most expensive. There was a dining-room hung with ancestors—Charles Surface’s, perhaps—but certainly not Mr. West’s. A full-length portrait of his father in prison dress would have been a startling novelty; there was an ante-room in turquoise blue, a drawing-room in yellow and white, and a boudoir in rose and pearl-colour brocade. Of the delights of these apartments, of the paintings, statuary, bronzes, and Chinese curios, of the old silver and china and ivory work, and pianos and Persian carpets, it would take a book to catalogue.
As for Madeline, accustomed, as we know, to four Windsor chairs, two tables, a shabby rag of Kidderminster carpet, and a horsehair sofa with a lame leg, her brain was giddy as she endeavoured to realize that she was to be mistress of these treasures, and to preside over this palatial establishment. Carriages and horses found places in stables and coach-houses; a troop of well-trained servants populated the house. There was a stately lady housekeeper, a French chef, a French maid for Madeline, three footmen in mulberry and silver buttons, and a butler whom one might have mistaken for a dean, and whose deportment and dignity were of such proportions as to overawe all timid natures, and of very high value in his master’s eyes.