She fell on her knees before Jacynth and took his hand and laid her cold cheek upon it, a cheek wet with tears. “Tell him his mother loves him,” said she. “Tell him, too, that his mother will forever love the one who will restore him to her.”
CHAPTER XVI.
BY ARTHUR A’BECKETT.
IN NEW YORK.
Mrs. Clutterbuck, the newly-married wife of Colonel Clutterbuck, of New York, was not “at home” to visitors. She had given orders to that effect, but the command was superfluous as there were no callers. To tell the truth, Mme. de Vigny had not been a great social success in the country of her adoption. The Senator, her husband, had married her to preside over his establishment, and to gracefully adorn his dinner table, and although she had accepted both duties, the result had been disappointment. Mrs. Clutterbuck’s notion of looking after a house was to take the minimum amount of trouble, and order the maximum amount of goods. She had run up bills in all directions, giving a special preference to the stores of jewelers, dressmakers, and venders of lace. Her idea of dispensing hospitality was scarcely in accord with the colonel’s notions on the same matter. The Senator, who was a power in Wall Street, firmly believed that more could be done over the viands and iced water than in the place of custom, and was in the habit of filling his dining room with people who could be useful. His desire was, of course, to conciliate those he invited by adopting a tone of business-like geniality, but he received no assistance from his wife, whose solitary aim seemed to be the unprovoked and contemptuous snubbing of her husband’s guests.
“Loo-cill,” said he one day after a banquet had ended in disaster, “I guess you are not particular to company. Guess, madame, you prefer solitude to some of the best-known persons in the United States.”
“If you mean by that,” replied Mrs. Clutterbuck, admiring herself in a mirror, “I do not care for the vulgar crowd you ask to dinner, you are certainly right. They are neither polished nor amusing.”
“Strikes me, madame, that you seem to feel the want of the British aristocracy. You can’t get on without them—that is so. It seems a pity that Lord Francis Onslow should be on the other side of the Atlantic. He would have been a decided acquisition to our family circle. See?”
“What do you mean?” asked Lucille, with her large eyes fixed upon the colonel menacingly. “What do you mean?”
“What I say,” retorted the colonel. “I do not want, madame, any unpleasantness, but I give you fair warning that I know a thing or two. I have special sources of information.”
“Do you want to insult me?” Lucille asked in a low tone, raising her head, and still keeping her steady gaze upon her husband, her eyes looking into his eyes, as if they would read his very soul.
“Come, come, madame, none of that,” cried Clutterbuck, waving her off. “I tell you, Loo-cill, I was not born yesterday, nor yet the day before. My will is a pretty strong one, and I tell you distinctly I am not a subject. I have been tried before, and it would not do. So take my word, madame, you are giving yourself a great deal of trouble for nothing. Take my advice, madame, and drop it. Guess it won’t do.”