“Look here, Morris,” I said—“There’s nothing more useless or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people’s affairs. The prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his servants—I am sure he pays royally for his privileges. And whether his cook lives in or [p 125] out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter of mine. He has been a great traveller and no doubt has his peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very particular and fastidious. But I don’t want to know anything about his ménage. If you dislike Amiel, it’s easy to avoid him, but for goodness sake don’t go making mysteries where none exist.”
Morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special care. I saw I had effectually checked his flow of confidence.
“Very well, sir,”—he observed, and said no more.
I was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant’s solemn account of Amiel’s peculiarities as exhibited among his own class,—and when we were driving to Lord Elton’s that evening I told something of the story to Lucio. He laughed.
“Amiel’s spirits are often too much for him,”—he said—“He is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control himself.”
“Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him!” I said—“I thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition.”
“You know the trite saying—appearances are deceptive?” went on my companion lightly—“It’s extremely true. The professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. As for Amiel, he is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. His only fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he serves me well, and I do not inquire further. Is Morris disgusted or alarmed?”
“Neither I think,” I responded laughing—“He merely presents himself to me as an example of outraged respectability.”
“Ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety;” said Lucio—“Very respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters! Soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear Geoffrey, and tell him that Amiel is the very soul [p 126] of virtue! I have had him in my service for a long time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. He does not pretend to be an angel. His tricks of speech and behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. He dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in India; I have often warned him of the danger there is in practising this force on the uninitiated. But—a scullery-maid!—heavens!—there are so many scullery-maids! One more or less with the ‘jumps’ will not matter. This is Lord Elton’s.”
The carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a little back from Park Lane. We were admitted by a man-servant gorgeous in red plush, white silk hose and powdered wig, who passed us on majestically to his twin-brother in height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more disdainful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the air of one who should say “See to what ignominious degradation a cruel fate reduces so great a man!” In the drawing-room we found Lord Elton, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and directly opposite him in a low arm chair, reclined an elegantly attired young lady with very small feet. I mention the feet, because as I entered they were the most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced petticoats towards the warmth of the fire which the Earl rather inconsiderately screened from view. There was another lady in the room sitting bolt upright with hands neatly folded on her lap, and to her we were first of all introduced when Lord Elton’s own effusive greetings were over.