“Yes,” he muttered; “damme, that’s what it is. I could not make out what made the chicken taste so queer. He—he—he! it’s eau de Cologne. He—he—he—Poulet à la Jean Marie Farina. Damme, that’ll be a good thing to say at the next dinner-party, or to-morrow morning. No,” he said sadly, “not then. Oh, dear, it’s very hard to see them taken away from me like this, and I must get my strength up a bit. Who’s that?”
“It is only I, papa,” said Maude, seating herself on the hearthrug by his side, as the old man hastily popped the chicken bone out of sight.
“I’m glad to see you, my dear, glad to see you,” said Lord Barmouth, patting her soft glossy head. “Maude, my pet, I can hardly believe that you are going away from me to-morrow.”
“Pray, pray don’t talk of it, dear papa,” she faltered. “I’ve come to stay with you and talk to you; and you must tell me what to do, papa.”
“Yes, yes, yes, my dear,” he said, “I will; and you must be strong, and brave, and courageous, and not break down. Her ladyship would be so upset, you see. Maudey, my darling, matrimony’s a very different sort of thing to what we used to be taught, and read of in books. It isn’t sentimental at all, my dear, it’s real—all real—doosed real. There’s a deal of trouble in this world, my darling, especially gout, which you women escape. It’s very bad, my dear, very bad indeed, sometimes.”
Maude’s forehead wrinkled as she gazed piteously at her father, for her heart was full to overflowing, and she longed to confide in him, to lay bare the secrets of her laden breast; but his feeble ways—his wanderings—chilled the current that was beating at the flood-gates, and they remained closed.
“What can I do—what can I do?” she moaned to herself, and laying her head upon the old man’s knee, she drew his arm round her neck, and wept silently as he chatted on.
“I—I—I remember, my dear, when Lady Susan Spofforth was married, she was the thinnest girl I ever saw, and they said she hated the match—it was Lord Barleywood she married—Buck Wood we used to call him at the club. Well, next time I saw her, about three years after, I hardly knew her, she had grown so plump and round. It’s—it’s—it’s an astonishing thing, Maudey, how plump some women do get after marriage. Look at her ladyship. Doosed fine woman. Don’t look her age. Very curious, damme, yes, it is curious, I’ve never got fat since I was married. Do you know, Maudey, I think I’m thinner than I used to be.”
“Do you, papa?” she said, smiling up at him.
“Yes, my dear, I do indeed; but it don’t matter much, and I don’t think her ladyship minds. Let me see, Sir Grantley’s coming to dinner to-day, isn’t he, my dear?”