“Nothing; but I very much want to know her; and I pledge myself to approach her with all the respect due to the best woman in England.”
“To approach her, yes; I can believe that. No doubt Lucifer approached Eve with all possible courtesy; yet the acquaintance ended badly. I don’t see that any good could arise from your acquaintance with my charming Venetian.”
“I understand,” said Sefton, with an aggrieved air; “she is so charming that you would like to keep her all to yourself.”
“Oh, come now, that’s a very weak thing in the way of sneers,” exclaimed the composer. “I hope I am secure from any insinuations of that sort. Look here, Sefton, I’m just a bit afraid of you; but if you promise to act on the square I’ll get my wife to send you a card for a Sunday evening, at which I believe she is going to get Vivanti to sing for her. That is always the first thing Lavinia thinks of if I venture to introduce her to a singer.”
“That would be very friendly of you, and I promise to act on the square. I am not a married man, and I am my own master. If I were desperately in love——”
“You wouldn’t marry a Venetian lace-maker, with a damaged reputation. I know you too well to believe you capable of that sort of thing.”
“Nobody knows of what a man is capable; least of all the man himself,” said Sefton, sententiously.
Mr. and Mrs. Hawberk lived in a smart little house in that dainty and artistic region of Cheyne Walk, which even yet retains a faint flavour of Don Saltero, of Bolingbroke and Walpole, of Chelsea buns and Chelsea china, Ranelagh routs, and Thames watermen. Mr. Hawberk’s house was in a terrace at right angles with the Embankment, but further west than Tite Street. It was a new house, with all the latest improvements, and all the latest fads—tiny panes to Queen Anne windows, admitting the minimum of light and not overmuch air; a spacious ingle nook in a miniature dining-room, whereby facetious friends had frequently been heard to ask Mrs. Hawberk which was the ingle nook and which was the dining-room.
The house was quaint and pretty, and being entirely furnished with Japaneseries was a very fascinating toy, if not altogether the most commodious thing in the way of houses. For party-giving it was delightful, for less than a hundred people choked every inch of space in rooms and staircase, and suggested a tremendous reception: so that the smallest of Mrs. Hawberk’s parties seemed a crush.