CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH WE GO TO THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE PARTY BREAKS UP.
Wylder was surprised, puzzled, and a good deal incensed--that saucy crafthad fired her shot so unexpectedly across his bows. He looked a littleflushed, and darted a stealthy glance across the table, but no one hethought had observed the manoeuvre. He would have talked to ugly Mrs. W.Wylder, his sister-in-law, at his left, but she was entertaining LordChelford now. He had nothing for it but to perform _cavalier seul_ withhis slice of mutton--a sensual sort of isolation, while all the world waschatting so agreeably and noisily around him. He would have liked, atthat moment, a walk upon the quarter-deck, with a good head-wind blowing,and liberty to curse and swear a bit over the bulwark. Women are so fullof caprice and hypocrisy, and 'humbugging impudence!'
Wylder was rather surly after the ladies had floated away from the scene,and he drank his liquor doggedly. It was his fancy, I suppose, to revivecertain sentimental relations which had, it may be, once existed betweenhim and Miss Lake; and he was a person of that combative temperament thatmagnifies an object in proportion as its pursuit is thwarted.
In the drawing-room he watched Miss Lake over his cup of coffee, andafter a few words to his _fiancee_ he lounged toward the table at whichshe was turning over some prints.
'Do come here, Dorothy,' she exclaimed, not raising her eyes, 'I havefound the very thing.'
'What thing? my dear Miss Lake,' said that good little woman, skipping toher side.
'The story of "Fridolin," and Retzch's pretty outlines. Sit down besideme, and I'll tell you the story.'
'Oh!' said the vicar's wife, taking her seat, and the inspection andexposition began; and Mark Wylder, who had intended renewing his talkwith Miss Lake, saw that she had foiled him, and stood with a heightenedcolour and his hands in his pockets, looking confoundedly cross and verylike an outcast, in the shadow behind.
After a while, in a pet, he walked away. Lord Chelford had joined the twoladies, and had something to say about German art, and some pleasantlights to throw from foreign travel, and devious reading, and was asusual intelligent and agreeable; and Mark was still more sore and angry,and strutted away to another table, a long way off, and tossed over theleaves of a folio of Wouverman's works, and did not see one of the plateshe stared at so savagely.
I don't think Mark was very clear as to what he wanted, or, even if hehad had a cool half-hour to define his wishes, that he would seriouslyhave modified existing arrangements. But he had a passionate sort ofobstinacy, and his whims took a violent character when they were crossed,and he was angry and jealous and unintelligible, reminding one ofCarlyle's description of Philip Egalite--a chaos.
Then he joined a conversation going on between Dorcas Brandon and thevicar, his brother. He assisted at it, but took no part, and in fact waslistening to that other conversation which sounded, with its pleasantgabble and laughter, like a little musical tinkle of bells in thedistance. His gall rose, and that distant talk rang in his ears like acool but intangible insult.
It was dull work. He looked at his watch--the brougham would be at thedoor to take Miss Lake home in a quarter of an hour; so he glided by oldLady Chelford, who was dozing stiffly through her spectacles on a Frenchnovel, and through a second drawing-room, and into the hall, where he sawLarcom's expansive white waistcoat, and disregarded his advance andrespectful inclination, and strode into the outer hall or vestibule,where were hat-stands, walking-sticks, great coats, umbrellas, and theexuviae of gentlemen.
Mark clapped on his hat, and rifled the pocket of his paletot of hiscigar-case and matches, and spluttered a curse or two, according to oldNollekins' receipt for easing the mind, and on the door-steps lighted hischeroot, and became gradually more philosophical.
In due time the brougham came round with its lamps lighted, and Mark, whowas by this time placid, greeted Price on the box familiarly, after hiswont, and asked him whom he was going to drive, as if he did not know,cunning fellow; and actually went so far as to give Price one of thosecheap and nasty weeds, of which he kept a supply apart in his case forsuch occasions of good fellowship.
So Mark waited to put the lady into the carriage, and he meditatedwalking a little way by the window and making his peace, and there wasperhaps some vague vision of jumping in afterwards; I know not. Mark'sideas of ladies and of propriety were low, and he was little better thana sailor ashore, and not a good specimen of that class of monster.
He walked about the courtyard smoking, looking sometimes on the solemnfront of the old palatial mansion, and sometimes breathing a white filmup to the stars, impatient, like the enamoured Aladdin, watching inambuscade for the emergence of the Princess Badroulbadour. But honestMark forgot that young ladies do not always come out quite alone, andjump unassisted into their vehicles. And in fact not only did LordChelford assist the fair lady, cloaked and hooded, into the carriage, butthe vicar's goodhumoured little wife was handed in also, the good vicarlooking on, and as the gay good-night and leave-taking took place by thedoor-steps, Mark drew back, like a guilty thing, in silence, and showedno sign but the red top of his cigar, glowing like the eye of a Cyclopsin the dark; and away rolled the brougham, with the two ladies, andChelford and the vicar went in, and Mark hurled the stump of his cherootat Fortune, and delivered a fragmentary soliloquy through his teeth; andso, in a sulk, without making his adieux, he marched off to his crib atthe Brandon Arms.
Wylder's Hand Page 5
