It needs not to be pointed out that there are limits to parody, as to all other forms of light and sportive literature, whose main object is, after all, to divert and amuse. Good taste should guide the course of parody, in fact should never be absent from it. Let the parodist hit as hard as he pleases, but let him deal no foul blow, nor aim his strokes at aught that tradition and the world’s verdict have made sacred and to be revered. Parody may be as clever, laughable, and amusing as you can make it; but it should always be good-natured, fair, and gentlemanly.
TWO DAYS IN A LIFETIME.
A STORY IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.
BY T. W. SPEIGHT.
CHAPTER V.
After his rebuff by Lady Dimsdale, the Baronet made up his mind to set off home as soon as possible. He was stung as he had rarely been stung in his life before, and was in no humour for the company of any one. But before he could get away, an almost incredible rumour reached his ears that Mr Boyd’s long-lost wife had unexpectedly appeared at Rosemount. This was enough to induce Sir Frederick to change his plans, especially when backed up by the Captain’s pressing invitation to stay for dinner, for who could tell what unexpected turn events might now take? So he sent his groom in the dogcart to fetch his dress clothes, and made up his mind to remain where he was till the following morning.
Sir Frederick had easily discovered, by questioning one of the servants, in which particular room Mr Boyd and his wife had located themselves. It was the room next the library. So into the library went Sir Frederick, on the pretext of having some letters to write, and there he sat with the door a little way open—waiting. A certain strange idea was fermenting in his brain, which he could not get rid of till he had satisfied himself whether it had any foundation in fact or otherwise. The moment he saw Boyd pass the library door, he knew that the opportunity for which he had been waiting had come.
Sir Frederick advanced a step or two, and looked round, as if in search of some one. ‘Pardon my intrusion,’ he said with a bow; ‘but—Mr Boyd—is he not here?’
‘Mr Boyd has left the room for a few minutes. He will be back presently.’
The Baronet gave a well-simulated start at the first sound of Mrs Boyd’s voice. Then he seemed to regard her attentively for a moment or two, with his head a little on one side. ‘Pardon me,’ he said with a half-smile of inquiry, ‘but have I not the honour of addressing Mrs Boyd?’