“No, I don’t,” was the short, sharp, and decisive reply.
“Not like the ballet? Oh! Mr. Frere, what can be your reason?” inquired the surprised turtle-dove.
“Well, I have a reason good and sufficient, but I shan’t tell it to you,” growled Frere; then muttered as an aside, which was, however, sufficiently audible, “A set of jumping Jezebels skipping about in white muslin kilts, for they’re nothing better; respectable people ought to be ashamed of looking at ’em.” Having enunciated this opinion, Frere cast a doubly ferocious glance at Mr. Rasper, then eloquently describing to Rose the points of his favourite hunter, and relapsed into surly monosyllables, beyond which no amount of cooing could again tempt him.
Marmaduke de Grandeville, enthroned in state on the right hand of the lady of the house, gazed regally around him, and in the plenitude of his magnificence was wonderful to behold. But, after all, he was human, and the evident depth and reality of Lady Lombard’s admiration and respect softened even him, so that ere long he graciously condescended to eat, drink and talk—not like an ordinary mortal, for that he never did, but like himself. For instance, the topic under discussion being the new Houses of Parliament, then in even a more unfinished state than they are at present, De Grandcville elaborately explained the whole design, every detail of which he appeared to have at his fingers’ ends—a fact for which he accounted when he allowed it to be understood that—“Ar—he had—ar—given Barry a hint or two—ar—that Barry was a very sensible fellow, and not above—ar—acting upon an idea when he saw it to be a good one;” and it must be owned that as De Grandeville had only once been in Mr. Barry’s company, on which occasion he had sat opposite to him at a public dinner, he had made the best use of his time, and not suffered his powers of penetration to rust for want of use. Having in imagination put the finishing-stroke to the Victoria Tower (one of the furthest stretches of fancy on record, we should conceive), he contrived to work the conversation round to military matters, set General Gudgeon right on several points referring to battles in the Peninsula at which the General had himself been present, and gave so graphic an account of Waterloo, that to this day Lady Lombard believes he acted as Amateur Aide-du-Camp and Privy Counsellor-in-Chief to the Duke of Wellington on that memorable occasion. He then talked about the De Grandeville estates till every one present believed him to be an immense landed proprietor, and wound up by the anecdote of William of Normandy and the original De Grandeville, which, with a slight biographical sketch of certain later worthies of the family (one of whom, Sir Solomon de Grandeville, he declared to have suggested to King Charles the advisability of hiding in the oak), lasted till the ladies quitted the room, when, by Lady Lombard’s request, he assumed her vacant chair, and did the honours with dignified courtesy.
Bracy, who during dinner had appeared most devoted to Miss MacSalvo, now endeavoured to render himself universally agreeable. He applauded General Gudgeon’s stories, and plied him vigorously with port wine, which, as Mrs. Arundel had taken care the servants did not neglect to replenish his wine-glass at dinner, began to tell upon him visibly. He elicited the names, pedigrees, and performances of all Mr. James Rasper’s horses, and received from that fast young man a confidential statement of his last year’s betting account, together with a minute detail of how he had executed that singular horticultural operation yclept “hedging on the Oaks,” during which dry recital his throat required constantly moistening with wine, in spite of which precaution his voice grew exceedingly thick and husky before the sitting concluded. On two individuals of the party, however, all Bracy’s efforts were thrown away: Frere continued silent and moody, only opening his lips occasionally, shortly and sternly to contradict some assertion, and relapsing into his former taciturnity; while J. D. D. sat silently bewailing his postponed destiny over a glass of water and two ratafia cakes, which seemed to possess the singular property of never diminishing.
At length the gentlemen rose to go upstairs, a matter easily accomplished by every one but General Gudgeon, who made three unsuccessful attempts to get under weigh, and then looked helplessly round for assistance. Bracy, the ever-ready, was at hand in an instant.
“My dear General, let me lend you an arm. You’re cramped from sitting so long.”
“Tha-a-ank you, my dear bo-o-oy,” returned the gallant officer, who appeared to have been seized with a sudden, wild determination to alter the English language by dividing monosyllables into three parts, and otherwise fancifully to embellish his mother-tongue. “Tha-a-ank you! It’s that confou-wow-wow-nded gun-shot wound in my knee-ee. I got it at Bu-Bu-Bu—no! not Bucellas. What is it, eh?”
“Busaco,” suggested Bracy, fearing he had over-dosed his patient.
However, when once the General got upon his legs he used them to better advantage than might have been expected, and proceeded upstairs, “rolling grand,” as that prince of clever-simple biographers (to adopt one of Mrs. Browning’s double-barrelled adjectives), Boswell, said of his ponderous idol. Encountering Frere at the foot of the staircase, he stumbled against that gentleman with so much force as nearly to knock him down. As he recovered his footing Frere turned angrily towards his assailant; but his irritation changed to an expression of contemptuous pity as his eye fell upon the white hair of General Gudgeon, and stepping on one side, he allowed him to pass. He was quietly following, when Mr. James Rasper, who had witnessed his discomfiture with an ill-bred laugh, excited by the wine he had drank, attempted, by way of a stupid practical joke, to repeat General Gudgeon’s involuntary assault, and reckoning Frere a good-natured, quiet sort of person, not likely to resent such a jest, pretended to stumble against him, and pushed past him when about half-way up the first flight of stairs. Never did a man (to use a common but forcible expression) “mistake his customer” more completely. In an instant Frere had collared him, dragged him down a step or two, then retaining his grasp of the coat-collar, seized him by the waistband of his trousers, and by a great exertion of strength, swung him clear over the banisters, lowered him till his feet were about a yard from the floor, and then let him drop. After which performance, having glanced round to see that his victim was not injured by the fall, he coolly pursued his way upstairs.