He found Miss Tallant, her disinterested gaze fixed upon a sculptured slab from the Temple of Nike Apteros, enduring a lecture from Lord Bridlington, quite in his element. It was Lady Bridlington who first perceived his tall, graceful figure advancing across the saloon, for since she had naturally seen the collection of antiquities when it was on view at Lord Elgin’s residence in Park Lane, and again when it was removed to Burlington House, she felt herself to be under no obligation to look at it a third time, and was more profitably engaged in keeping a weather eye cocked for any of her acquaintances who might have elected to visit the British Museum that morning. Upon perceiving Mr. Beaumaris, she exclaimed in accents of delight: “Mr. Beaumaris! What a lucky chance, to be sure! How do you do? How came you not to be at the Kirkmichael’s Venetian Breakfast yesterday? Such a charming party! I am persuaded you must have enjoyed it! Six hundred guests—only fancy!”
“Amongst so many, ma’am, I am flattered to know that you remarked my absence,” responded Mr. Beaumaris, shaking hands. “I have been out of town for some days, and only returned this morning. Miss Tallant! ’Servant, Bridlington!”
Arabella, who had started violently upon hearing his name uttered, and quickly turned her head, took his hand in a clasp which seemed to him slightly convulsive, and raised a pair of strained, enquiring eyes to his face. He smiled reassuringly down into them, and bent a courteous ear to Lady Bridlington, who was making haste to assure him that she had come to the Museum merely to show the Grecian treasures to Arabella, who had not been privileged to see them on their first showing. Lord Bridlington, not averse from any aggrandizement to his audience, began in his consequential way to expound his views on the probable artistic value of the fragments, a recreation which would no doubt have occupied him for a considerable period of time had Mr. Beaumaris not cut him short by saying, in his most languid way: “The pronouncements of West, and of Sir Thomas Lawrence, must, I imagine, have established the aesthetic worth of these antiquities. As to the propriety of their acquisition, we may, each one of us, hold to our own opinion.”
“Mr. Beaumaris, do you care to visit Somerset House with us?” interrupted Lady Bridlington. “I do not know how it comes about that we were not there upon Opening Day, but such a rush of engagements have we been swept up in—that I am sure it is a wonder we have time to turn round! Arabella, my love, I daresay you are quite tired of staring at all these sadly damaged bits of frieze, or whatever it may be called—not but what I declare I could feast my eyes on it for ever!—and will be glad to look at pictures for a change!”
Arabella assented to it, throwing so beseeching a look at Mr. Beaumaris that he was induced to accept a seat in the barouche.
During the drive to the Strand, Lady Bridlington was too much occupied in catching the eyes of chance acquaintances, and drawing their attention to the distinguished occupant of one of the back seats by bowing and waving to them, to have much time for conversation. Arabella sat with her eyes downcast, and her hand fidgeting with the ribands tied round the handle of her sunshade; and Mr. Beaumaris was content to watch her, taking due note of her pallor, and the dark shadows beneath her eyes. It was left to Lord Bridlington to entertain the company, which he did very willingly, prosing uninterruptedly until the carriage turned into the courtyard of Somerset House.
Once inside the building, Lady Bridlington, whose ambitions had for some time been centered on promoting a match between Arabella and the Nonpareil, seized the first opportunity that offered of drawing Frederick away from the interesting pair. She stated her fervent desire to see the latest example of Sir Thomas Lawrence’s art, and dragged him away from a minute inspection of the President’s latest enormous canvas to search for this fashionable masterpiece.
“In what way can I serve you, Miss Tallant?” said Mr. Beaumaris quietly.
“You—you had my letter?” faltered Arabella, glancing fleetingly up into his face.
“This morning. I went instantly to Park Street, and, apprehending that the matter was of some urgency, followed you to Bloomsbury.”