“Only think, dear girl!”—convulsive sobs—“a coolie has just come—and brought a letter from P.—They have made him a K.C.B.”—boisterous sobs—“and your poor old auntie—is—a lady at last!”
CHAPTER XLIII.
“RAFFLE IT!”
“Major and Mrs. Granby Langrishe request the honour of Mr. and Mrs. Blanks’s company at St. John’s church at two o’clock on the afternoon of the 20th inst., to be present at the marriage of their niece and Sir Gloster Sandilands.”
These invitation cards, richly embossed in silver, were to be seen in almost every abode in Shirani. The wedding dress was on its way from Madame Phelps, in Calcutta. The cake and champagne were actually in the house. There were to be no bridesmaids, only two little pages—“they were cheaper,” Mrs. Langrishe said to herself; “a set of girls would be expecting jewellery and bouquets.” Happy Mrs. Langrishe, who had been overwhelmed with letters and telegrams of congratulations. She had indeed proved herself to be the clever woman of the family. It was her triumph—more than Lalla’s—and she was radiant with pride and satisfaction. Yea, her self-congratulations were fervent. She was counting the days until her atrocious little incubus went down the ghaut as Lady Sandilands. A little incubus, securely fastened on another person’s shoulders—for life!
Lalla was entirely occupied with letters, trousseau, and preparations. She was to have taken the principal part in a grand burlesque, written specially for her, by Toby Joy. The burlesque had been on hand for two months, and was to bring the Shirani season to a fitting and appropriate close. The piece was called “Sinbad the Sailor.” Lalla had been rehearsing her songs and dances most industriously, until she had been called upon to play another part—the part of Sir Gloster’s fiancée.
Sir Gloster did not care for burlesques; he had never seen Miss Paske in her true element—never seen her dance. It was not befitting her future position that she should appear on the boards. No, no; he assured her that he was somewhat old-fashioned, his mother would not like it. She must promise him to relinquish the idea, and never to perform in public again. But Lalla was stubborn; she would not yield altogether. Urged by Toby Joy, by the theatrical troupe—who felt that they could not pull through without their own bright particular star—she held out in a most unreasonable and astonishing manner. At length she submitted so far as to declare that “she would wear Turkish trousers, if he liked!” This she reluctantly announced, as if making an enormous concession.
“He certainly did not wish her to wear Turkish trousers!” he returned, greatly scandalized. “How could she make such a terrible suggestion?” He was heavy and inert, but he could oppose a dead, leaden weight of resistance to any scheme which he disliked. This he called “manly determination;” but Lalla had another name for it—“pig-headed obstinacy!” However, she coaxed, promised, flattered, wept, and worked upon her infatuated lover so successfully, that he reluctantly permitted her to take a very small part, so as not to have her name removed from the bills; but this was to be positively “Her last appearance,” and she might announce it on the placards, if she so pleased. He himself was summoned to Allahabad on urgent business—in fact, to arrange about settlements—and he would not be present, he feared; but he would do his best to return by the end of the week.
Miss Paske’s part, the dancing, singing peri, was given to a very inferior performer—who was the stage manager’s despair, and a most hopeless stick. Toby Joy, who was in woefully low spirits respecting the certain failure of the burlesque, and—other matters—came to Lalla on the night but one before the play.
“She has got influenza—so it’s all up,” making a feint of tearing his hair, “and every place in the house sold for two nights, and—an awful bill for dresses and properties. What is to become of me? Can’t you take it? It was your own part—you do it splendidly—no professional could beat you. Come, Lalla!”
“I promised I would not dance,” she answered with a solemn face.