“By the way, my dear fellow, I have taken the liberty of suggesting to your accomplished mother that it might help her literary career if she moved a little nearer to the center. A little flat in Knightsbridge might be a judicious investment. As you may be aware, publishers as a race are highly susceptible, and an address in Knightsbridge might favorably impress them.”
“Do you think so?” said Jim, who did not know in the least what he was saying.
But there is really no reason to persist in this history. In spite of scruples, which were as much due to pride as to generosity, Jim Lascelles married the Goose Girl at Saint Sepulchre’s Church on the First of April. On that significant occasion the presiding genius of Hill Street displayed an amount of Christian feeling which, in the opinion of a contemporary, was without parallel in his experience.
The entire family of Slocum Magna, including Milly, whose pigtail was the color of a yellow chrysanthemum, and was tied with a ribbon, came up to London and stayed a whole week at Morley’s Hotel. Among other things, they all went one day to see the Exhibition, and found there wasn’t one. Papa dined twice in Hill Street, and met dukes and people; and he brought back the report that Aunt Caroline was less worldly than he had feared she was. He gave his daughter away on the glorious First; and Muffin wore her new mauve on that occasion. In the opinion of all qualified persons it was quite as successful as the peerless original. Polly, who took after her papa, and had more intellect than all the rest of the family put together, Dickie and Doggo included, looked charmingly proper in a “costume” more reticent than Muffin’s. Her young man assisted the Dean of Dunstable, the uncle of the bride, in performing the ceremony.
Jim Lascelles and the Goose Girl spent a month in the land of Cervantes and Velasquez. They are living now at the Red House at Widdiford. Jim is quite likely to be elected to an Associateship of the Royal Academy before long. At least, he is getting very good prices for his work, and his “Miss Perry” has been esteemed a rare triumph for British art. His “Naiad” also, purchased by the Chantrey Bequest, has been generally and justly admired.
The accomplished mother of the rising artist took the disinterested advice of a well-wisher, and a fortnight after her son’s brilliant marriage—the Morning Mirror described it as such—she left “P.P.C.” cards on the Miss Champneys at the Chestnuts, and moved “nearer to the center.” It may have been coincidence, or it may have been cause and effect, but within a fortnight of her installation at No. 5, Beaufort Mansions, W., “The Fair Immortal” was accepted on a royalty by an eminent firm of publishers, and made its appearance in the course of the summer. It won such unanimous approval from the Press and the public, that it can now be purchased for sixpence of any self-respecting bookseller in the United Kingdom; its fortunate authoress has signed contracts for work for the next three years and has been elected a member of three of the best ladies’ clubs in the metropolis.
Muffin’s season at Hill Street was an even greater triumph than her sister’s—but thereby hangs a tale for a wet afternoon. Aunt Caroline, in spite of her advanced years, is worth “a good many dead ones” at present, and in the opinion of her oldest friend her manner has more amenity. Perhaps it is that the influence of youth has been a good one in her life. It is right to think so since there is no reason to believe that she has altered her opinion of the clergy.
Polly has not yet married her parson, but she is certain to do so. Serious people, however, “make haste slowly,” as the wise Italians say. It is well that they should. Charley has found his way to Sandhurst all right, and feels himself to be a field-marshal already. Dickie has lately been presented to a living worth eleven hundred a year—a really preposterous emolument, considering the widespread depression in things ecclesiastical. However, in justice to Dickie, it should be stated that he was always quietly confident that something would come of his left-arm bowling. And so it ought if you break both ways.
Milly has been two terms already at her Brighton boarding school. In the opinion of her mistresses she is the best inside right at hockey on the South Coast. If she is not chosen to play against Wales in the forthcoming international match she will be much disappointed.
Entertaining at Cheriton House is still to seek. The thing threatens to become a national scandal. Comparisons, highly unfavorable to the present peer, are being constantly drawn by convinced free-fooders and the praisers of past times. The noble earl, however, is fully occupied at present in steering a course between the Scylla of Hill Street on the one hand, and the Charybdis of No. 5, Beaufort Mansions on the other. The presiding genius of the former locality, however, defines a coxcomb as a person who never means anything. Still, it doesn’t do to be too sure in these days.