CHAPTER X.
Mr Portland had two reasons for not appearing at Usk Hall on the evening of the day he married Nell Llewellyn. In the first place, he did not fancy seeing the countess again after she had heard the truth about her letters; in the second, he foresaw more difficulty in getting away, if he left it till after dinner. To have received a summons to London by telegraph or post in the afternoon, and to have been compelled to quit Usk at once, seemed more feasible to him than to announce his determination before the assembled company, to be submitted to their cross questioning—sent to the railway station in Sir Archibald’s carriage, perhaps accompanied by the genial host himself, and to have to bribe the servants to conceal the fact that he never went at all. After that evening, so he argued, when all the world must know that he had married Nell, he would not mind confessing the little ruse to which he had had recourse, and felt sure of receiving sympathy and forgiveness. So he went to ‘The Three Pilchards’ and engaged his rooms, and ordered his dinner in a state of pleased expectancy. The accommodation was not very grand—the cuisine would, doubtless, not be first-rate, but Nell had never been a gourmande nor a sybarite, and Mr Portland pleased himself with thinking how well he would treat her in the future. What with the various race-meetings he had attended, he had been pretty lucky lately, and the visit to Usk Hall had not failed to recoup him still more. He would be able to take his wife abroad to Paris or Italy, if she so wished it, and show her a little life. Perhaps, though, it would be better to run over to Monte Carlo or Hamburg, and so combine business with pleasure. How divinely handsome she was, ‘a daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair!’ With what envious eyes he would be followed by the frequenters of the places he thought of. He had little fear that his wife would be recognised by the herd as Lord Ilfracombe’s former mistress. She had kept herself too much at home for that, and had hardly ever been seen in public whilst living with the earl. It would only be a few of his intimates who would be likely to know her again. And Jack Portland would not have concerned himself about it if they had. He had married his wife for himself—not for the world, and it was welcome to think what it liked of his choice. A few old cats, whose virtue had never been attacked during the best part of a century, might turn up their noses at her; but Nell was strong enough to hold her own, and so was he. If a thought crossed his mind that Ilfracombe, on hearing of his marriage with Nell, might insist on giving her as a wedding portion what she had refused as a peace-offering, we must do him the justice to say that it had no weight with him, excepting as it might prove the earl’s good feeling towards them both, and be the precursor of a renewed intimacy. For, if something of the kind did not interfere, Jack Portland felt that the condition Nell had made regarding the packet of letters would prove the quietus to his friendship with Ilfracombe. If the countess told her husband the whole truth, he would never receive him again. Of that he was certain. But there was the chance that, for her own sake, Nora would not tell him the truth, and in that case, if he heard of the marriage first, he might never be told of the other little affair at all, and the countess secure of herself, might join her husband in extending her hospitality to him. This was what Mr Portland was dreaming of as he sat in the parlour of ‘The Three Pilchards’ smoking, and waiting for Nell’s arrival. As the time went on, and she did not appear, he grew rather fidgety. He had had his dinner at his usual hour of seven, but, as nine o’clock sounded, it struck him that Nell might expect to see supper waiting for her, so rang the bell to order it.
‘What have you in the house? What can I have for supper?’
‘Supper, sir?’ echoed the country waiter, who though he could play a very pretty tune with a knife and fork himself, was rather taken aback at the gentleman requiring supper at nine, after a hearty dinner at seven.
‘Yes. Are you deaf? I expect my wife here soon, and she may require something to eat. What can we have?’
‘We have a joint of cold beef in the house, sir, and a veal and ham pie, and—’
‘None of those will do. I want something hot.’
‘A chicken, sir, with a cauliflower and potatoes?’ suggested the waiter.
‘Yes, yes. The best you have, whatever it may be. Get it ready as soon as you can. My wife may be here at any moment. Another bottle of that champagne too, which I had at dinner. Cursed bad stuff,’ he added to himself, as the servant left the room, ‘but women don’t know the difference. Well, who would ever have thought I could have stood such discomfort as this, with so good a grace, for the sake of a woman? But such a woman! I don’t believe she has her peer in England. As for that little sharp-featured, flirting, deceitful countess, she can’t hold a candle to her. What fools and blind men are with regard to women! It is quite impossible to decide why one piece of femininity should hold them as in a vice whilst they pass over or ignore the virtues of another. Now, to my mind, Nell combines all the perfections of which human nature is capable. She is beautiful, amiable (a bit of a temper, but she very seldom shows it, and a woman is worth nothing without a spice of the devil in her), dignified, sensible, and modest. She would have made a magnificent countess; beaten Lady D—— and Lady S——, and all the other Court beauties hollow. However, I’m very glad Ilfracombe didn’t see it in that light, and that the crumbs from the rich man’s table have fallen to my share. Hang it all! What a time she is. It’s nearly ten. Surely she isn’t going to play-off any airs and graces on me, and pose as a blushing bride. Or is it only a womanly dodge to make her welcome more assured? She needn’t fear missing it. I never felt so much for any woman in my life before. I almost think, if she thought it worth her while, that she might make a better man of me. I wonder if she will learn to love me? I know what her love for that ass Ilfracombe was, and that it is worth a man’s trying for. I wonder—I wonder—by Jove! that’s the half-hour striking. Whatever can be the reason of this delay? Waiter,’ continued Mr Portland to the man, who now appeared with the supper, ‘is that half-past ten that struck just now? Surely, your clocks must be very fast.’
‘Don’t think so, sir! I heard the missus asking the master to put ’em on a bit just now. Do you think the lady will come to-night, sir?’