Mr. Erwyn, left alone, smiled at his own reflection in the mirror; rearranged his ruffles with a deft and shapely hand; consulted his watch; made sure that the padding which enhanced the calves of his most notable legs was all as it should be; seated himself and hummed a merry air, in meditative wise; and was in such posture when the crimson hangings that shielded the hall-door quivered and broke into tumultuous waves and yielded up Miss Dorothy Allonby.
Being an heiress, Miss Allonby was by an ancient custom brevetted a great beauty; and it is equitable to add that the sourest misogynist could hardly have refused, pointblank, to countersign the commission. They said of Dorothy Allonby that her eyes were as large as her bank account, and nearly as formidable as her tongue; and it is undeniable that on provocation there was in her speech a tang of acidity, such (let us say) as renders a salad none the less palatable. In a word, Miss Allonby pitied the limitations of masculine humanity more readily than its amorous pangs, and cuddled her women friends as she did kittens, with a wary and candid apprehension of their power to scratch; and decision was her key-note; continually she knew to the quarter-width of a cobweb what she wanted, and invariably she got it.
Such was the person who, with a habitual emphasis which dowagers found hoydenish and all young men adorable, demanded without prelude:
"Heavens! What can it be, Mr. Erwyn, that has cast Mother into this unprecedented state of excitement?"
"What, indeed?" said he, and bowed above her proffered hand.
"For like a hurricane, she burst into my room and cried, 'Mr. Erwyn has something of importance to declare to you--why did you put on that gown?--bless you, my child--' all in one eager breath; then kissed me, and powdered my nose, and despatched me to you without any explanation. And why?" said Miss Allonby.
"Why, indeed?" said Mr. Erwyn.
"It is very annoying," said she, decisively.
"Sending you to me?" said Mr. Erwyn, a magnitude of reproach in his voice.
"That," said Miss Allonby, "I can pardon--and easily. But I dislike all mysteries, and being termed a child, and being--"
"Yes?" said Mr. Erwyn.
"--and being powdered on the nose," said Miss Allonby, with firmness. She went to the mirror, and, standing on the tips of her toes, peered anxiously into its depths. She rubbed her nose, as if in disapproval, and frowned, perhaps involuntarily pursing up her lips,--which Mr. Erwyn intently regarded, and then wandered to the extreme end of the apartment, where he evinced a sudden interest in bric-à-brac.
"Is there any powder on my nose?" said Miss Allonby.
"I fail to perceive any," said Mr. Erwyn.
"Come closer," said she.
"I dare not," said he.
Miss Allonby wheeled about. "Fie!" she cried; "one who has served against the French, and afraid of powder!"
"It is not the powder that I fear."
"What, then?" said she, in sinking to the divan beside the disordered tea-table.
"There are two of them," said Mr. Erwyn, "and they are so red--"
"Nonsense!" cried Miss Allonby, with heightened color.
"'Tis best to avoid temptation," said Mr. Erwyn, virtuously.
"Undoubtedly," she assented, "it is best to avoid having your ears boxed."
Mr. Erwyn sighed as if in the relinquishment of an empire. Miss Allonby moved to the farther end of the divan.
"What was it," she demanded, "that you had to tell me?"
"'Tis a matter of some importance--" said Mr. Erwyn.
"Heavens!" said Miss Allonby, and absent-mindedly drew aside her skirts; "one would think you about to make a declaration."
Mr. Erwyn sat down beside her, "I have been known," said he, "to do such things."
The divan was strewn with cushions in the Oriental fashion. Miss Allonby, with some adroitness, slipped one of them between her person and the locality of her neighbor. "Oh!" said Miss Allonby.
"Yes," said he, smiling over the dragon-embroidered barrier; "I admit that I am even now shuddering upon the verge of matrimony."
"Indeed!" she marvelled, secure in her fortress. "Have you selected an accomplice?"
"Split me, yes!" said Mr. Erwyn.
"And have I the honor of her acquaintance?" said Miss Allonby.
"Provoking!" said Mr. Erwyn; "no woman knows her better."
Miss Allonby smiled. "Dear Mr. Erwyn," she stated, "this is a disclosure I have looked for these six months."
"Split me!" said Mr. Erwyn.
"Heavens, yes!" said she. "You have been a rather dilatory lover--"
"I am inexpressibly grieved, that I should have kept you waiting--"
"--and in fact, I had frequently thought of reproaching you for your tardiness--"
"Nay, in that case," said Mr. Erwyn, "the matter could, no doubt, have been more expeditiously arranged."
"--since your intentions have been quite apparent."
Mr. Erwyn removed the cushion. "You do not, then, disapprove," said he, "of my intentions?"
"Indeed, no," said Miss Allonby; "I think you will make an excellent step-father."
The cushion fell to the floor. Mr. Erwyn replaced it and smiled.
"And so," Miss Allonby continued, "Mother, believing me in ignorance, has deputed you to inform me of this most transparent secret? How strange is the blindness of lovers! But I suppose," sighed Miss Allonby, "we are all much alike."
"We?" said Mr. Erwyn, softly.
"I meant--" said Miss Allonby, flushing somewhat.
"Yes?" said Mr. Erwyn. His voice sank to a pleading cadence. "Dear child, am I not worthy of trust?"
There was a microscopic pause.
"I am going to the Pantiles this afternoon," declared Miss Allonby, at length, "to feed the swans."
"Ah," said Mr. Erwyn, and with comprehension; "surely, he, too, is rather tardy."
"Oh," said she, "then you know?"
"I know," he announced, "that there is a tasteful and secluded summer-house near the Fountain of Neptune."
"I was never allowed," said Miss Allonby, unconvincingly, "to go into secluded summer-houses with any one; and, besides, the gardeners keep their beer jugs there--under the biggest bench."
Mr. Erwyn beamed upon her paternally. "I was not, till this, aware," said he, "that Captain Audaine was so much interested in ornithology. Yet what if, even when he is seated upon that biggest bench, your Captain does not utterly lose the head he is contributing to the tête-à-tête?"
"Oh, but he will," said Miss Allonby, with confidence; then she reflectively added: "I shall have again to be painfully surprised by his declaration, for, after all, it will only be his seventh."
"Doubtless," Mr. Erwyn considered, "your astonishment will be extreme when you rebuke him, there above hortensial beer jugs--"
"And I shall be deeply grieved that he has so utterly misunderstood my friendly interest in his welfare; and I shall be highly indignant after he has--in effect, after he has--"
"But not until afterward?" said Mr. Erwyn, holding up a forefinger. "Well, I have told you their redness is fatal to good resolutions."
"--after he has astounded me by his seventh avowal. And I shall behave in precisely the same manner the eighth time he recurs to the repugnant subject."
"But the ninth time?" said Mr. Erwyn.
"He has remarkably expressive eyes," Miss Allonby stated, "and really, Mr. Erwyn, it is the most lovable creature when it raves about my flint-heartedness and cutting its poor throat and murdering every man I ever nodded to!"
"Ah, youth, youth!" sighed Mr. Erwyn. "Dear child, I pray you, do not trifle with the happiness that is within your grasp! _Si jeunesse savait_--the proverb is somewhat musty. But we who have attained the St. Martin's summer of our lives and have grown capable of but a calm and tempered affection at the utmost--we cannot but look wistfully upon the raptures and ignorance of youth, and we would warn you, were it possible, of the many dangers whereby you are encompassed. For Love is a deity that must not be trifled with; his voice may chaunt the requiem of all which is bravest in our mingled natures, or sound a stave of such nobility as heartens us through life. He is kindly, but implacable; beneficent, a bestower of all gifts upon the faithful, a bestower of very terrible gifts upon those that flout him; and I who speak to you have seen my own contentment blighted, by just such flippant jesting with Love's omnipotence, before the edge of my first razor had been dulled. 'Tis true, I have lived since in indifferent comfort; yet it is but a dreary banquet where there is no platter laid for Love, and within the chambers of my heart--dust-gathering now, my dear!--he has gone unfed these fifteen years or more."
"Ah, goodness!" sighed Miss Allonby, touched by the ardor of his speech. "And so, you have loved Mother all of fifteen years?"
"Nay, split me--!" said Mr. Erwyn.
"Your servant, sir," said the voice of Lady Allonby; "I trust you young people have adjusted matters to your satisfaction?"
