"Yes, I know, Molly, and I'll keep my word with you. If father makes a partner of me, he shall make partners of both of us."
"No, do you mean it though?"
"Haven't I said it, you stupid?"
"Yes, you dear ducks of diamonds! You do look so handsome this morning! And when shall it be? If you are to go to this business, the sooner the better, you know, darling. Oh, I shall be so happy!"
Happy or not, the lady was at least successful. In the course of a week Mary Anne Waters became extinct, and from her ashes rose the surprizingly fine, and surpassingly vulgar, Mrs Augustus Brammel. Augustus, notwithstanding his vapoury insubjection, visited his father and the partners in the bank, leaving his bride in snug lodgings at a respectable distance from all. He remained a few days at the banking-house, and then absented himself on the plea of finally arranging his incompleted affairs in Oxford and elsewhere. He had engaged to return to business at the end of a month. Nearly three had passed away, and no tidings whatever had been heard of him. Allcraft, as it has been seen, grew anxious—less perhaps for his partner's safety, than for the good name and credit of the firm. He had heard of his precious doings, and reports of his inauspicious marriage were already abroad. No wonder that the cautious and apprehensive Michael trembled somewhat in his state of uncertainty. As for Mr Augustus Brammel himself, the object of his fears, he, in conformity with general custom, and especially in compliance with the wishes of his wife, had quitted England on a wedding tour. With five hundred pounds in his purse—a sum advanced by his father to liquidate his present outstanding liabilities—he steamed from Dover on the very day that he was supposed to have reached Oxford for his final arrangements. From Boulogne, he, his wife, and suite, proceeded to Paris; and there they were, up to their eyes in the dissipation of that fascinating city, when Allcraft started on their track, followed them, unwittingly enough, from town to town, and came upon them at length in the great city itself, and in the very hotel in which they lodged. It was at night that Michael first caught sight of the runaway. And where? In a gaming-house, the most fashionable of the many legalized haunts of devils in which, not many years since, Paris abounded. Allcraft had entered upon the scene of iniquity as into a theatre, to behold a sight—the sight of human nature in its lowest, most pitiable, and melancholy garb; in its hour of degradation, craziness, and desperation. He had his recreation in such a spectacle, as men can find their pleasure in the death-struggle of a malefacter on the gibbet. He came, not to join the miserable throng that crowded round the tables, exhibiting every variety of low, unhealthy feeling; nor did he come, in truth, prepared to meet with one in whose affairs and conduct he had so deep an interest. It was with inexpressible astonishment and horror that he beheld his colleague, busy and active amongst the busiest of the crew, venturing rouleau after rouleau, losing stake upon stake, and growing more reckless and madder with every new defeat. For a time Michael would not, could not, believe his own eyes. It was one of the curious resemblances which we meet every now and then in life: it was any thing but what he dreaded it to be—the actual presence of Augustus Brammel. Michael retreated to a distant part of the room, and watched his man. The latter spoke. He used a disgusting English oath, and flung his last rouleau across the table like a drunken fiend. The heart of Allcraft grew sick, but still he kept his eye upon the gamester. Losing his stake, Brammel quitted the apartment, and retired to a spacious saloon, splendidly furnished. He called for champagne—drank greedily—finished the bottle—returned to the gaming-room flushed and feverish—looked at the players savagely, but sottishly, for a few moments, and then left the house altogether. Michael was on his heels. The worthy Brammel stopped at many small public-houses on his road, in each drank off a glass of brandy, and so went on. Michael had patience, and kept to his partner like a leech. It was midnight when he found himself once more before his hotel.
Brammel had rung at the porter's bell, and gained admittance. A quarter of an hour afterwards Allcraft followed his example. Before he retired to rest he learnt that Brammel and himself were inmates of the same house. About eleven o'clock on the following morning, Augustus quitted his dressing-room. Michael had been waiting some hours for this operation. A few minutes afterwards Mr Brammel's servant announced a visitor. Great was the consternation of Augustus Brammel when Mr Michael Allcraft looked him in the face. First the delinquent turned very white, like a guilty man—then his colour returned to him, and he tried to laugh like an innocent and careless one; but he was not so happy in the second instance. As a third experiment, he smoothed his hair with his fingers—pointed to a chair—and held out his hand. Mrs Brammel was at the breakfast table, reading an English newspaper.
"Ah! Mr Allcraft—glad to see you—glad to see you. Out on the same business, eh? Nothing like it—first weeks of marriage are delightful—there's nothing like a honey-moon on the Continent to my thinking. Mrs Brammel, my wife—Mr Allcraft, my partner, my dear."
Mrs Brammel looked up from her newspaper and giggled.
"I cannot tell you, Mr Brammel," said Allcraft in a serious tone, "how surprised I am to find you here. Are you aware, sir, that neither your father, nor any one of your partners, have the least knowledge of your movements. You were supposed to be in England. You gave your word to return to business within a month of your departure. You have not written or given the slightest account of yourself."
"Come, that's very good, Mister. Given an account of myself, indeed! Pray, whom am I accountable to?"