In fact it was whispered that the grand mansion had caused his death. It was too splendid for comfort—it required a complete change in his habits; and perhaps he was troubled about the expense, which was wholesale, while he had been all his life accustomed to the retail.
From whatever cause, his spirits sank under its lofty ceilings, and after wandering for three months through the spacious apartments, listening to his own lonely tread, he lay down upon one of its luxurious couches and died!
It was more cheerful after his demise; but as yet unvisited by the élite. Mr Swinton was the first of this class who was to stretch his limbs under the Girdwood mahogany; but then he was at the head of it. A good beginning, reflected widow Girdwood.
“We shall have no one to meet you, my lord. We are too busy in preparing for our voyage to Europe. Only the girls and myself. I hope you won’t mind that.”
“Pway madam, don’t mention it. Yaw own intewesting family; just the sort of thing I take pleasyaw in. Nothing baws me more than one of those gweat pawties—gwand kwushes, as we call them in England.”
“I’m glad of it, my lord. We shall expect you then on next Tuesday. Remember, we dine at seven.”
This brief dialogue occurred in the Ocean House at Newport, just as Mrs Girdwood was getting into the hack to be taken to the New York boat.
Tuesday came, and along with it Mr Swinton, entering the Fifth Avenue mansion at 7 p.m., punctual to his appointment. The house was lit up brilliantly, and in the same style was the guest got up, having dressed himself with the greatest care. So, too, the hostess, her daughter, and niece.
But the dining party was not yet complete; two others were expected, who soon came in.
They were Mr Lucas and his acolyte, also returned to New York, and who, having made Mrs Girdwood’s acquaintance at Newport, through the medium of Mr Swinton, were also included in the invitation.