“That’s neither here nor there, old boy,” interrupted Lacquers; “of course if I do you shall have the earliest intelligence. But come, here’s a book and a pencil; let’s see how the thing would work with good management and strict economy. Strict economy, you know, of course.” Lacquers had a great idea, in theory, of strict economy. So the young man sat down, and went deep into the various items of rent, and stable expenses, and opera-boxes and pin-money, and cigars and travelling; Sir Ascot arriving at the conclusion that a quiet couple might manage to exist upon something over two thousand a year; whilst Lacquers thought it was to be done, with strict economy, of course, for about five hundred less; but as they both entirely overlooked an indispensable item termed “housekeeping,” we think it needless to record their calculations for the benefit of the inexperienced.
“Well,” said Lacquers, when he had finished his arithmetic and put his betting-book once more into his pocket, “I think it can be done—I believe a fellow ought to marry, you know; what does Shakespeare say about ‘Solitude being born a twin’? it certainly sobers him”—(Sir Ascot smiled as he admitted that was undoubtedly a strong argument)—“and altogether married fellows get into more respectable habits. Look at a breakfast in a country-house; you see all the married ones up and dressed with the lark, while the single men come dawdling down at all hours. Yes, there’s a good deal to be said on both sides, like a Chancery lawsuit; but I’ll think it over, Uppy, my boy, I’ll think it over.” And Lacquers did think it over, and arrived at a conclusion as honourable to his heart as it was antagonistic to that worldly wisdom by which all with whom he associated thought it right to regulate their every action. Here was a man spoilt by the accident of personal beauty and good birth and position. From his earliest boyhood he had never been taught that there was any ulterior object in life save to shine in society, if not intellectually, why, physically, with a handsome person and fine clothes—a far more effectual passport than all the talents to the good graces of the world. What wonder that the tree grew up as it had been bent? what wonder that the hussar had scarcely two ideas beyond his uniform and his betting-book, and his seat upon a horse? that he looked on the world at large as the butterfly on the sunny square enclosed by the garden wall—a mere stage for display, a mere hot-bed for physical enjoyment, to be got the most out of during the bright, gaudy hours of noon; and afterwards—why, afterwards, when the sun goes down and the chill dews of evening clog his fading wings—the butterfly must do the best he can, and perish as he may. With such an education, the sole manly quality left was courage, and it was only the touchstone of a gentle face like Blanche’s that brought out the latent generosity of a character overlaid with faults, for which its training was more to blame than its organisation. We are obliged to confess that Lacquers was vain, thoughtless, self-opinionated, frivolous, ignorant, and empty-headed, but there was some good in him, and it was brought out, as it always will be when it exists at all, by a woman’s smile, and, above all, by a woman’s misfortunes.
Lacquers made up his mind that he would marry Blanche Kettering without a sixpence. The young lady’s consent he rather prematurely counted on as a matter of course, but in making this resolution he deserves some credit for the readiness with which he was prepared to sacrifice all that to him was precious in life, at the feet of his lady-love. He was a younger brother, and, it is needless to add, considerably involved—of course he must bid farewell to all those amusements and pursuits which have hitherto constituted his actual existence. No more Derbys and Hamptons, and Richmond breakfasts, and Greenwich dinners, all vanities enticing enough in their way—no more stalls at the opera, and supper-parties in the suburbs, likewise vanities of a more dangerous tendency—no more hunting in Leicestershire and deer-stalking in Scotland, yachting at Cowes and philandering at Paris—all these must be given up; and worse than all, the profession he delights in, the regiment he is devoted to, must be offered at the shrine of domestic respectability. That these would be privations no man could feel more keenly than Lacquers, yet was he prepared to go through with it, and had it been necessary, we firmly believe he would have cut off his very moustaches and laid them at the feet of Blanche Kettering! Therefore it was that he appeared on the evening in question at Lady Mount Helicon’s ball; therefore it was that his manner had assumed a softness and diffidence which made Blanche confess to herself, as she leaned on his arm in the intervals of the dance, that he was “really very much improved”; and therefore it was that he suggested the old excuse of “looking at the flowers in the conservatory,” and skilfully availing himself of a general rush down-stairs connected with supper, managed to entice his partner into a secluded corner of that love-making retreat, which had indeed been already occupied by several pairs for the same purpose, and having furnished her with a cup of tea, and himself with an ice to keep them both quiet, he entered with much circumlocution on one of those embarrassing interviews such as, we are quite sure, no lady who condescends to glance over these pages but must have experienced at least once before she had been out two seasons.
“That’s a case,” said Mrs. Blacklamb, as she swept down to supper on Lord Mount Helicon’s arm, her dark, haughty features writhing with something between a smile and a sneer, while she caught a glimpse of Blanche’s well-cut profile, and one of Lacquers’s faultless boots in a mirror opposite their retreat. “Will it be, do you think?” she added with a softening expression, for all women warm towards a love-affair, and even Mrs. Blacklamb, with her many faults, was a very woman, perhaps rather too much so, in her heart of hearts.
“I hope not,” replied Mount, with a smile into his companion’s face. “I’m very much in love with her myself. If it hadn’t been for ‘the Division’ I should have been where Lacquers is at this moment. Look what my patriotism has cost me, but I don’t regret it now,” and he emphasised the monosyllable with an almost imperceptible pressure of the arm that hung upon his own, a movement that had little effect on Mrs. Blacklamb, with whom flirtation (whatever that comprehensive word may mean) was the daily business of life.
“Why, you know you would have married her, and too happy if she had only been the catch you all thought she was,” replied the lady. “I must say I could not help being delighted, though I was sorry for her, poor girl, to see you all ‘getting out’ just as you do when some racehorse breaks down, trying which could be first to pull himself clear of the scrape, and leave his neighbours in the lurch. Major D’Orville behaved shamefully, and you still worse, for she really was fond of you.”
“Mount’s” imperturbable good-humour was proof against quizzing, so the sneer fell harmless, and he replied carelessly, “Fond? of course she was, but not so very fond—no. Mrs. Blacklamb, I’m easily imposed on by ladies. I think it’s my diffidence that stands so much in my way; even where my affections are most irrevocably engaged, where I worship is hopeless constancy, and I feel my heart breaking, and my—my—my hair coming out of curl, I dare not ask my enslaver more than whether she will have a glass of wine. Give Mrs. Blacklamb some champagne, and I’ll have a little sherry, if you please;” so the pair went on jesting and philandering and making fools of each other and of themselves, but they troubled their heads no more about the couple in the conservatory; and when “Mount” deserted his fair companion and returned into the ball-room, as he said, “to dance just once with Miss Kettering, in common decency,” he sought her in vain, for she was gone.
“Uncle Baldwin,” said Blanche, when they reached home, and lingered a moment in the drawing-room before retiring—“Uncle Baldwin, I’ve got something to say to you.” Blanche blushed and hesitated, and looked at the little white satin shoe she was resting on the fender in every possible point of view. “To-night at the ball, I—that’s to say, Captain Lacquers—in short, I dare say you remarked—in the conservatory, you know—Oh, Uncle Baldwin, he proposed to me,” and Blanche, half-laughing, half-crying, and blushing over her neck and shoulders, hid her face on the breast of the General’s coat, as she used to do when she had been a naughty little girl and repented, ten years ago.
“Zounds! Blanche, what did you say?” burst out the General, in a terrible taking, as he thought now everything must come out. “Yes or No, my darling, don’t keep me in suspense—which is it, heads or tails? in or out? I mean, Yes or No?”
“No!” whispered Blanche, to the General’s inexpressible relief, who cooled down into a prolonged whew, like the escape of steam from a safety-valve; but it was rather difficult to say it, he seemed so sorry and so patient and considerate. “Do you know, Uncle Baldwin, I never thought so highly of Captain Lacquers as I do to-night.”