“Oh, papa, papa,” she cried, running to him and throwing her arms round his neck; for the tenderly-spoken sympathetic words brought the tears to her eyes. Then, unable to bear it, she turned to leave the room, but just then the door opened and the butler announced Sir Grantley Wilters.
“Ah, how do!” he said in a high-pitched voice, saluting all in turn, and bending low over Maude’s hand. “Thought I’d come soon, don’t you know, sans cérémonie, eh, mamma!” he said with a smile to Lady Barmouth, and then gave his glass a screw, and brought it to bear on all present.
“I am so glad,” said her ladyship; “so is Maude; but don’t take any notice,” she whispered. “Poor child, she is distrait, and seems cold. So deeply attached to Lord Barmouth. Ready to break her heart at leaving him.”
“Yas, oh, yas,” said Sir Grantley; and he took his seat beside Maude.
“Tryphie,” said Tom, “I can’t help it. I must be off. This fellow makes me ill. May I go?”
She gave him a nod of intelligence, and he said something about being ready for dinner, and left the room to go out, take a hansom, and bowl down to one of the clubs, where he was soon so busily engaged in a game of pool that he forgot all about the dinner.
Very shortly after, Maude rose, bowed to Sir Grantley, and left the room with Tryphie, when the baronet crossed to Lady Barmouth’s side, and was soon engaged in a most interesting conversation, whose murmur sent Lord Barmouth into a pleasant slumber, out of sight in a lounging chair, where he was quite forgotten, when her ladyship suggested that Sir Grantley should go with her to her boudoir to see the last new presents sent in for Maude.
“And you would like to wash your hands, too, before dinner,” said her ladyship. “We will not trouble about dressing to-night.”
Sir Grantley opened the door, and the old gentleman was left alone to wake up about a quarter of an hour later to find it was dark, and sit up rubbing his leg.
“Oh, damme, my leg,” he said, softly. “Where—where are they all gone? Why it’s—it’s past dinnertime,” he said, looking at his watch by the dim light. “I shall be doosed glad when everybody’s married and—and—and—why the doose doesn’t the dressing-bell ring? Heigh—oh—ha—hum!” he added, yawning. “There’s—there’s—there’s another of those abominable organs. I—I—I wish that all the set of them were at the bottom of the sea, for I lie at night with all their tunes coming back again, and seeming to grind themselves to fit the pains in my leg. Poor girl! she was always encouraging the fellows. Why dear me! Damme, haven’t I got a single sixpence left to give him, to go away. No, that I haven’t,” he continued fumbling, “not a sou. She—she—she does keep me short,” he muttered, opening the French window and looking out. “Oh, he’s done playing now, so I shan’t want the money. Why eh—eh—eh? Why—he—he, he! the fellow’s talking to one of the maids. He—he—he! Hi—hi—hi! They will do it. I—I—I was a devil of a fellow amongst the girls when I was a young man; but now—oh, dear, oh dear! this wind seems to give me tortures, that it does.”