Having shown no special aptitude for growing sugar he had been early put into diplomacy, under the erroneous impression that it would keep him out of mischief.
He was, on the evening on which he is first introduced to us, standing in the immaculate glory of his dress suit, on the top step of the grand staircase of the Hyde Park Club.
His party, a very nice little party of six, had all arrived save one, and that one was his chaperon. The two young ladies, safe in harbour of the cloak-room, awaited her coming to flutter forth; the two gentlemen wandered aimlessly about the now nearly deserted reception-room, for dinner was served and most of the brilliant parties had already gone to their respective tables.
Surely she would come, he told himself; something unavoidable had detained her. Lady Rainsford was much too conscientious to leave an unfortunate young man in the lurch without sending at least a substitute—yet, with it all, there was the sickening suspicion that she might have met with a carriage accident in crowded Piccadilly; have received, as she was on the point of starting, the news of some near relative's death; some untoward accident or stroke of fate, which took no count of social obligations, and would leave him in this most awful predicament. Why had he departed from his invariable rule of asking two married ladies—what if it did cramp him in the number of his guests? Anything was better than this suspense! If fate was only kind to him this once, he vowed he would never, as long as he lived, tempt her again in this respect.
Hark—what was that! a hansom was driving at break-neck speed up to the ladies' entrance. Some other belated guest—Lady Rainsford had her own carriage—no, a man—and— Good Heavens! it, was her Ladyship's—butler. Something had happened. He needed no page to summon him—he rushed down, two stairs at a time.
"No, sir, no message," explained the flustered butler—"I come on my own responsibility—seeing as her Ladyship had fainted dead away as she was just a putting on her opera cloak—and knowing as she was coming to you, sir, as soon as the doctors had been sent for, I jumps into a cab and comes here to let you know as you couldn't expect her no-how—her not having revived when I left—and— Thank you, sir——" as Stanley, cutting short his volubility, pressed a half-sovereign into his hand, to pay him for his cab fare and his trouble—adding as he did so:—
"Pray request her Ladyship not to worry herself about me, I shall be able, doubtless, to make other arrangements—and—express my deep regrets at her indisposition." The man touched his hat and was gone, and the Secretary slowly reascended the stairs.
"Make other arrangements!" Ah, that was easier said than done. What would his guests say when he confessed to them his awkward dilemma? Lady Isabelle McLane would raise her eyebrows, call a cab, and go home, would infinitely prefer to do so than to remain under the present conditions. But Belle? Without doubt Belle Fitzgerald would do the same—not because she wished to, but because Lady Isabelle did. And the two men—they would probably stay and chaff him about it the rest of the evening. Lieutenant Kingsland always chaffed everybody—he could stand that—but Kent-Lauriston's quiet, well-bred cynicism, would, he felt, under the circumstances, simply drive him mad.
Yet, they must be told. He must face the music, or find a chaperon, and how could he do the latter in a maze of people whom he did not know, and who were all engaged to their own dinner-parties? Outside the Club it was hopeless, for there was no time to send for any lady friend, even were such an one dressed and waiting to come at his behest. A telephone might have saved the situation, but London is above telephones; they are not sufficiently exclusive. No, he must meet his fate, and bear it like a man, and none of his guests would ever forget it or forgive him, or accept any of his invitations again.
Stanley ascended the stairs with the sensations of an early Christian martyr going to the arena—indeed, he felt that a brace of hungry lions would be a happy release from his present predicament. As he reached the top step, a conversation, carried on in the low but excited tones of a man and a woman, reached his ears, which caused him to pause, partly out of curiosity at what he heard, but more because the words carried, in their meaning, a ray of hope to his breast.