But stay! In our chivalrous desire to excuse the Heroine, perhaps this statement is a little too general. There was one person, and just one person only, in Brighthelmstone who treated the handbill as a thing of consequence.
Mary, distributing her handbills along the King’s Parade, assisted by her two companions in guilt and at least four other Olympians who had been specially coöpted for the purpose, while Philip, with his hands in his pockets, was trying to look supremely unconscious of the fact that his leg was being pulled frightfully, came upon a Bath Chair, a Sealskin Coat and a Himalayan Dust Spaniel.
“Are you feeling any benefit this morning, Lord Warlock? And please let me give you one of these. And you, Lady Adela, must take one, please. It is so important.”
“Thank yah,” said His Britannic Majesty’s Ex-Ambassador to Persia. “If it’s votes for women, I think they oughtn’t to have ’em, although, mind you—benefit for the widow and five children of the late Joe McPherson—very praiseworthy object—shall be happy to subscribe a sovereign.”
The Sealskin Coat, however, did not appear to look at the object in that Christian light. Having perused the handbill with an eye of cold disdain, Adela folded up the handbill neatly, and, without making any observation upon the merits of the case, placed it in her muff. But as soon as she returned to the Suffolk, she addressed an envelope to the Lady Shelmerdine of Potterhanworth, 88 Grosvenor Square, London, W., and therein enclosed, anonymously, of course, the announcement of the Honorable Philip’s arrival and reappearance. A rather feeble thing to have done really, and hardly worthy of mention, except that it shows what human nature can achieve in a moment of reaction.
Philip was greeted effusively by the rest of his brothers in arms, who had now arrived at the Magnificent; and the Bride was introduced to them all. The report of her charms had been carried to them by Toddles and W. W., who were sealed of the tribe of her admirers already. And it had been agreed by the whole team that if she never did anything else, the fact that she had caused the finest inside right save one in the country to return to this important position after a lapse of four years, must ever count to her for grace.
Poor Philip was in a rather nervous state when he drove on to the ground in a brake with his ten companions and with Mary on the box-seat. That enterprising young woman had already elected herself to the important position of commander-in-chief of the famous team of amateurs, which contained no less than nine International players. But even this achievement was not exactly the fruit of self-assertion. She was one of those gifted people who instinctively, yet quite pleasantly and unobtrusively, take charge of everything and everybody. Already persona gratissima at the Suffolk; already saluted by the most dignified constables in Brighton; on terms of intimacy with the master of the longest pier—she had taken the Olympians under her wing in the most comprehensive manner.
The spectators came in their thousands because it was Saturday afternoon and the Albion were announced to play their full League team; and the Olympians with their nine International players were ever a great attraction. But the start was delayed ten minutes, and a great concourse was kept waiting because Mary had brought her kodak. She took charge of the Albion as well as their opponents; posing them for the camera, and appearing to know each of them by name, although she didn’t really; but it was all done with the charm and the naïve assurance that had made her so famous with the public.
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” said the Secretary and Manager; “don’t like to hurry you, but the crowd is getting a bit restive.”
“Oh, tell the band to play ‘Rule Britannia,’ and it will be all right,” said Mary.