THE question of the title had at length been settled: the simplest solution was felt to be the best; and Mrs. Osborne need not have felt so strange at the thought of changing her name, for she only changed the “Mrs.” into “Lady.” The eminently respectable name of Osborne, after all, was associated, as seen on the labels in the fish market at Venice, with the idea of hardware all the world over, a thing which Mr. Osborne had been anxious to “bring in,” and, at the same time, it had a faintly territorial sound. Lady Osborne, however, was a little disappointed; she would so much have enjoyed the necessity of getting quantities of table linen with the new initial worked on it. As it was, it was only necessary to have a coronet placed above it. Indeed, within a week coronets blossomed everywhere, with the suddenness of the coming of spring in the South—on the silver, on the hot-water cans, on writing paper and envelopes, on the panels of carriages and cars, and an enormous one, cut solid in limestone (the delivery of which seriously impeded for a while the traffic in Park Lane), was hoisted into its appropriate niche above the front door of No. 92 by the aid of a gang of perspiring workmen and a small steam crane. It had been a smart morning’s work, so said Lord Osborne, who looked out from the Gothic windows of his snuggery every now and then to see how it was getting on; and it became even smarter in the afternoon when gold-leaf had been thickly laid on it.
It was on the evening of that day that Lady Osborne had only a family party. She had planned that from the very beginning of the settlement of the summer campaign, had declined a very grand invitation indeed in order not to sacrifice it, and was going to send it to the Morning Post and other papers, just as if it had been a great party. Lady Austell was there and Jim, Dora and Claude, Uncle Alf, Per and Mrs. Per, and her husband and herself. That was absolutely all, and there was nobody of any description coming in afterward; nor was any form of entertainment, except such as they would indulge in among themselves, to be provided. The idea was simply to have a family gathering, and not heed anybody else, for just this one evening; to be homely and cosy and comfortable.
So there they all were, as Lady Osborne thought delightedly to herself, as she sat down with Jim on her right and Alfred on her left, just a family party, and yet they were all folk of title now except Alfred. It showed that money was not everything, for Alfred was the richest of them all, while the Austells, who were the “highest,” were also the poorest. She had looked forward immensely to this evening, but not without trepidation, for if Alfred was “worried” he could spoil any party. Alfred, however, seemed to be in the most excellent humour, and when, as they sat down, she said to him, “Well, Alfred, it’s your turn next to be made something,” he had replied that he had just received a most pressing offer of a dukedom. And the witticism was much appreciated.
There was no keeping relations apart, of course, since they were all relations, and Claude was sitting next his father, with Mrs. Per between him and Jim, and it was his voice that his mother most listened for with the unconscious ear that hearkens for sounds that are most beloved. He was apologizing to his father for the mislaying of some key.
“I’m really awfully sorry,” he said, “but I’m such a bad hand at keys. I never lock anything up myself. Everything’s always open in the flat, isn’t it, Dora? But I’m very sorry, Dad. It was careless.”
“Ah, well, never mind,” said his father. “And I’m not one as locks up overmuch either. Give me the key of my wine cellar and my cash box, and the drawer of your mother’s letters to me when I was a-courting her, and the Tantalus, and the drawer where I keep my cheque-book and cash box, and I don’t ask for more. I’m no jailer, thank Heaven! But don’t you even have a key to your cellar, my boy?”
“Oh, I suppose there is one, and I suppose Parker has it,” he said.
Jim, too, had caught some of this and turned to Lady Osborne.
“By Jove! that’s so like Claude,” he said.
Lady Osborne beamed delightedly upon him.