Here ensued a short silence, during which Mr. Jessop was nerving himself to speak his mind to his friend—to speak for that friend’s good—a thankless task, but he assured himself that it was his duty.
“Larry, old chap, you and I have been pals since we were in jackets at Harrow, and I’ve been your ally ever since the day you licked Thompson, major, for pitching into me. We’ve always stuck together somehow ever since. I think a great deal about your concerns. What hurts you hurts me.”
“Out with it,” cried the other, brusquely. “Out with it. I know you are going to say something disagreeable. That will do for the overture!”
“I must say one word to prepare you, old man,” suddenly standing up, laying his hand on his companion’s shoulder, and looking down into his face. “It is a fatal mistake to expect too much in life—to be too sanguine! Don’t—don’t be too sure that she wants to come back.”
CHAPTER XVI.
TWO VISITS AND A LETTER.
Miss West returned from her drive. She had been to Lord’s to see the Oxford and Cambridge cricket match. She had been surrounded by admirers, like flies round a pot of honey, and had the most eligible partis of the season endeavouring to win their way to her good graces as she promenaded up and down between the innings, and partook of tea and strawberries in the tents; and Lady Rachel (who had her own diversions) looked on and said to herself, “That Madeline was becoming much too run after, and Tony would have to mind what he was about.” Meanwhile, Mr. West, for whose society there was no competition, hugged himself with joy, as he saw a baronet and a baron approach Madeline in turn. This was precisely as it should be! Then he went up to Lord Tony and said, “I say, Tony, wasn’t that the Duke of Margate I saw you talking to just now—a funny old Johnny, with a shabby hat and red face?”
“Ye-e-s—I—I believe so,” shrinking instinctively from what he knew was to follow—as per usual.
“Then just, when you get a nice little opening, introduce me, there’s a good fellow. Watch him when he comes out of the long tent; he is having tea with the FitzMorse Montagues. I’ll do as much for you another time.”
Lord Tony dreaded these demands. He even went so far as to hide from Mr. West, or to absent himself altogether from gatherings where they were likely to meet. He had introduced his sister to the Wests. He liked Madeline immensely. His aunt, Lady Clapperclaw, had called, and Miss West had got cards from a few good houses, but he really drew the line at presenting “the old squatter,” as Mr. West was nicknamed by all his acquaintances. People did not like it. They glared fiercely when this dapper, well-dressed, white-spatted, white-hatted little person was introduced to them—a man who bowed and talked, and talked and grinned, exactly like a toy monkey! Confound Tony Foster, who the deuce was this infernal little cad? What was Tony about? He was always mixed up with a second-rate set, but why thrust his shoddy friends on them? However, when it came to be hinted that the “squatter” was rolling in money, and dying to spend it—literally panting to give entertainments of the costliest description—a second Monte Cristo, with a spirit of unbounded generosity and one lovely daughter—matters took a different complexion. Mr. West was elected to a couple of good clubs, some visiting-cards and invitations were left on Mr. and Miss West by footmen who had descended from coroneted landaus. Ladies with slim, smiling, scapegrace sons called on the heiress. Fast young married women, who looked forward to dances and all manner of festivities, called (and made their friends leave cards). Young men who had seen and admired Miss West got introduced, and dropped in on Sundays. Lord Moneycute, an elderly baron, who had long been looking for a wife with money, also Sir Crete Levanter, called—and they subsequently dined—frequently at 365. Many people whom the ignorant colonial thought smart, grand, and distinguished, called; but it was not all gold that glittered; there was a great deal of brass about some of these visitors! On the other hand, pretty mammas, with daughters who were in the best set, set their faces against these parvenus. Mammas with rich and titled sons were equally stand-off. One or two great ladies, who had been introduced, as it were, accidentally to Miss West, cut her at once.
But the Wests were as yet ignorant of the lights and shades of London society, and they were both—Mr. West especially—perfectly satisfied that, though not in the Marlborough House set, they were close upon its borders.