"No, papa; only you won't mind my running away."
"Of course not, my dear; of course not, And how is my young friend Gordon Frere? Blooming as usual. No need to ask that. Give your arm to an old boy, Gordon; and trot him round, and show him all the--the beauty of the day."
Gordon, who was eminently disgusted at the interruption of his conversation with Kate, and who was showing his feelings in his knitted brow and puckered mouth, had any hopes of a further causerie which he might have entertained dashed to the ground by Mr. Guyon, who passed his delicate lavender-glove through his young friend's arm and led him off in triumph, while Streightley and Yeldham followed on either side of Miss Guyon.
Few men could make themselves pleasanter companions than Ned Guyon when he was so inclined. He had not merely a capital flow of animal spirits, a store of what in women is called small-talk, but what in men may better be described as broad talk, a keen perception of the ludicrous, and a sufficient power of satire, but he had the great knack--learned in his long experience of life--of exactly suiting his conversation to his audience. He possessed in perfection the slang of the clubs, which nowadays passes current for what is called "swell talk," and which is not merely a peculiar argot with special words meaning special things, with excised pronouns and abbreviated nouns, but which, to be perfect, must be spoken in a voice specially pitched for the purpose. The voice and the language none had studied better than Guyon; there were few men of his age, indeed, who had taken the trouble to master either; but in the fashionable sinner's worldly experience he had found the greatest profit in keeping himself au courant with the ways and manners of men of the rising generation. Once let any of them perceive that he was a fogey, in the least antiquated in his ideas or pursuits, and all hope of influence over them was gone; but so long as he could take a leading part in their follies, and blend undoubted past experience with apparent present enjoyment, their houses, horses, purses were at his disposal; and it was considered rather an honour among the subalterns of the Rag or the Plungers from Aldershott to have dropped their money at écarté or baccarat to such a cool clever hand as Mr. Guyon.
Perhaps the old diplomatist had never been in better force than on the present occasion, although there was apparently little opportunity for the exercise of his powers. Frere, distrait, if not savage, at starting, found himself first listening to his companion's remarks; then laughing at his stories; finally answering him, and leading him on to further banter. With a fair proportion of the company present Mr. Guyon had some acquaintance, and of nearly every body who was any body he had some racy anecdote to whisper laughingly into his companion's ear. It did not strike Frere until long afterwards that all these piquant stories were indebted for their piquancy to a half-sneering cynicism, a half-avowed libertinism; that in all the broad principles of honour were ridiculed, and the scampish shifts of so-called "gallantry" exalted; that the whole conversation, in fact, was such as might have been expected from a blasé youth or a battered rake, but scarcely to be looked for in a gentleman whose marriageable daughter was walking within a few feet of him.
They remained in the gardens until past six o'clock, promenading, visiting the tents, stopping to speak to friends; but never on any occasion had Gordon Frere another chance of approaching Miss Guyon. He made several attempts; but invariably her father had something to say to her--or to him--and cut in between them with the pleasantest smile and the cheeriest remarks possible. It was not until just as they were getting into the carriage that Mr. Guyon suddenly turned aside, and saying, "Ah, by the way!" took out a card, wrote on it in pencil, in his airiest manner borrowed an envelope from the ticket-taker standing at his desk in the entrance, and despatched it by a commissionaire who was in waiting. In that short interval Gordon Frere managed to slip round to Miss Guyon's side and whisper, "The first valse, to-night?" and to receive in reply an almost imperceptible acquiescence in the glance of her eyes and the bending of her head. Then Mr. Guyon, wheeling round, took a very affectionate leave of Gordon, and made a polite bow to Charles Yeldham, handed his daughter into the carriage, motioned to Streightley to follow her; and finally jumping lightly in himself, they were whirled off, with much door-slamming and horse-pawing.
The concluding episode of the little drama in which he had asserted his position with Miss Guyon had reanimated Gordon Frere, and rendered him happy and amiable. "Such a lord is Love, and Beauty such a mistress of the world." So he turned cheerily to Yeldham, on whom he had not bestowed so much as a glance or a thought for the past two hours, and gripping his arm, said:
"Well, old boy, and what do you think of her?"
Mr. Charles Yeldham was seldom absent or preoccupied: he was far too practical for that. But on the present occasion his thoughts must have been engaged, for he started, with something like a flush on his cheeks, as he said:
"Who? what, Gordon? I wasn't attending, I fear."