“Of course not, ma’am; no more it wouldn’t to any one, without they were accustomed to know the right and wrong of the profession. Well, as I was saying, miss, that was a fresh disappointment to him. It worrited him more than you can imagine. Then came a deal of bother about the match with Paradise. First Paradise could only get five hundred pounds; and the boy wouldn’t agree for less than a thousand. I think it’s on your account that he’s been so particular about the money of late; for he was never covetous before. Then Mellish was bent on its coming off down hereabouts; and the poor lad was so mortal afraid of its getting to your ears, that he wouldn’t consent until they persuaded him you would be in foreign parts in August. Glad I was when the articles were signed at last, before he was worrited into his grave. All the time he was training he was longing for a sight of you; but he went through with it as steady and faithful as a man could. And he trained beautiful. I saw him on the morning of the fight; and he was like a shining angel; it would have done a lady’s heart good to look at him. Ned went about like a madman offering twenty to one on him: if he had lost, we should have been ruined at this moment. And then to think of the police coming just as he was finishing Paradise. I cried like a child when I heard of it: I don’t think there was ever anything so cruel. And he could have finished him quarter of an hour sooner, only he held back to make the market for Ned.” Here Mrs. Skene, overcome, blew her nose before proceeding. “Then, on the top of that, came what passed betwixt you and him, and made him give himself up to the police. Lord Worthington bailed him out; but what with the disgrace and the disappointment, and his time and money thrown away, and the sting of your words, all coming together, he was quite broken-hearted. And now he mopes and frets; and neither me nor Ned nor Fan can get any good of him. They tell me that he won’t be sent to prison; but if he is”—here Mrs. Skene broke down and began to cry—” it will be the death of him, and God forgive those that have brought it about.”
Sorrow always softened Lydia; but tears hardened her again; she had no patience with them.
“And the other man?” she said. “Have you heard anything of him? I suppose he is in some hospital.”
“In hospital!” repeated Mrs. Skene, checking her tears in alarm. “Who?”
“Paradise,” replied Lydia, pronouncing the name reluctantly.
“He in hospital! Why, bless your innocence, miss, I saw him yesterday, looking as well as such an ugly brute could look—not a mark on him, and he bragging what he would have done to Cashel if the police hadn’t come up. He’s a nasty, low fighting man, so he is; and I’m only sorry that our boy demeaned himself to strip with the like of him. I hear that Cashel made a perfect picture of him, and that you saw him. I suppose you were frightened, ma’am, and very naturally, too, not being used to such sights. I have had my Ned brought home to me in that state that I have poured brandy into his eye, thinking it was his mouth; and even Cashel, careful as he is, has been nearly blind for three days. It is not to be expected that they could have all the money for nothing. Don’t let it prey on your mind, miss. If you married—I am only supposing it,” said Mrs. Skene in soothing parenthesis as she saw Lydia shrink from the word—“if you were married to a great surgeon, as you might be without derogation to your high rank, you’d be ready to faint if you saw him cut off a leg or an arm, as he would have to do every day for his livelihood; but you’d be proud of his cleverness in being able to do it. That’s how I feel with regard to Ned. I tell you the truth, ma’am, I shouldn’t like to see him in the ring no more than the lady of an officer in the Guards would like to see her husband in the field of battle running his sword into the poor blacks or into the French; but as it’s his profession, and people think so highly of him for it, I make up my mind to it; and now I take quite an interest in it, particularly as it does nobody any harm. Not that I would have you think that Ned ever took the arm or leg off a man: Lord forbid—or Cashel either. Oh, ma’am, I thank you kindly, and I’m sorry you should have given yourself the trouble.” This referred to the entry of a servant with tea.
“Still,” said Lydia, when they were at leisure to resume the conversation, “I do not quite understand why you have come to me. Personally you are quite welcome; but in what way did you expect to relieve Mr. Byron’s mind by visiting me? Did he ask you to come?”
“He’d have died first. I came down of my own accord, knowing what was the matter with him.”
“And what then?”
Mrs. Skene looked around to satisfy herself that they were alone. Then she leaned towards Lydia, and said in an emphatic whisper,