Since Colonel Denstroude proved a profane and dissolute and helpful person, Lady Allonby was shortly re-established in her villa at Tunbridge Wells, on the Sussex side, where she had resolved to find a breathing-space prior to the full season in London. And thereupon she put all thoughts of Usk quite out of her mind: it had been an unhappy business, but it was over. In the meanwhile her wardrobe needed replenishing now that spring was coming in; the company at the Wells was gay enough; and Lady Allonby had always sedulously avoided anything that was disagreeable.
Mr. Erwyn Lady Allonby was far from cataloguing under that head. Mr. George Erwyn had been for years a major-general, at the very least, in Fashion's army, and was concededly a connoisseur of all the elegancies.
Mr. Erwyn sighed as he ended his recital--half for pity of the misguided folk who had afforded Tunbridge its latest scandal, half for relief that, in spite of many difficulties, the story had been set forth in discreet language which veiled, without at all causing you to miss, the more unsavory details.
"And so," said he, "poor Harry is run through the lungs, and Mrs. Anstruther has recovered her shape and is to be allowed a separate maintenance."
"'Tis shocking!" said Lady Allonby.
"'Tis incredible," said Mr. Erwyn, "to my mind, at least, that the bonds of matrimony should be slipped thus lightly. But the age is somewhat lax and the world now views with complaisance the mad antics of half-grown lads and wenches who trip toward the altar as carelessly as if the partnership were for a country-dance."
Lady Allonby stirred her tea and said nothing. Notoriously her marriage had been unhappy; and her two years of widowhood (dating from the unlamented seizure, brought on by an inherited tendency to apoplexy and French brandy, which carried off Lord Stephen Allonby of Prestonwoode) had to all appearance never tempered her distrust of the matrimonial state. Certain it was that she had refused many advantageous offers during this period, for her jointure was considerable, and, though in candid moments she confessed to thirty-three, her dearest friends could not question Lady Allonby's good looks. She was used to say that she would never re-marry, because she desired to devote herself to her step-daughter, but, as gossip had it at Tunbridge, she was soon to be deprived of this subterfuge; for Miss Allonby had reached her twentieth year, and was nowadays rarely seen in public save in the company of Mr. Erwyn, who, it was generally conceded, stood high in the girl's favor and was desirous of rounding off his career as a leader of fashion with the approved comoedic dénouement of marriage with a young heiress.
For these reasons Lady Allonby heard with interest his feeling allusion to the laxity of the age, and through a moment pondered thereon, for it seemed now tolerably apparent that Mr. Erwyn had lingered, after the departure of her other guests, in order to make a disclosure which Tunbridge had for many months expected.
"I had not thought," said she, at length, "that you, of all men, would ever cast a serious eye toward marriage. Indeed, Mr. Erwyn, you have loved women so long that I must dispute your ability to love a woman--and your amours have been a byword these twenty years."
"Dear lady," said Mr. Erwyn, "surely you would not confound amour with love? Believe me, the translation is inadequate. Amour is but the summer wave that lifts and glitters and laughs in the sunlight, and within the instant disappears; but love is the unfathomed eternal sea itself. Or--to shift the metaphor--Amour is a general under whom youth must serve: Curiosity and Lustiness are his recruiting officers, and it is well to fight under his colors, for it is against Ennui that he marshals his forces. 'Tis a resplendent conflict, and young blood cannot but stir and exult as paradoxes, marching and countermarching at the command of their gay generalissimo, make way for one another in iridescent squadrons, while through the steady musketry of epigram one hears the clash of contending repartees, or the cry of a wailing sonnet. But this lord of laughter may be served by the young alone; and by and by each veteran--scarred, it may be, but not maimed, dear lady--is well content to relinquish the glory and adventure of such colorful campaigns for some quiet inglenook, where, with love to make a third, he prattles of past days and deeds with one that goes hand in hand with him toward the tomb."
Lady Allonby accorded this conceit the tribute of a sigh; then glanced, in the direction of four impassive footmen to make sure they were out of earshot.
"And so--?" said she.
"Split me!" said Mr. Erwyn, "I thought you had noted it long ago."
"Indeed," she observed, reflectively, "I suppose it is quite time."
"I am not," said Mr. Erwyn, "in the heyday of my youth, I grant you; but I am not for that reason necessarily unmoved by the attractions of an advantageous person, a fine sensibility and all the graces."
He sipped his tea with an air of resentment; and Lady Allonby, in view of the disparity of age which existed between Mr. Erwyn and her step-daughter, had cause to feel that she had blundered into gaucherie; and to await with contrition the proposal for her step-daughter's hand that the man was (at last) about to broach to her, as the head of the family.
"Who is she?" said Lady Allonby, all friendly interest.
"An angel," said Mr. Erwyn, fencing.
"Beware," Lady Allonby exhorted, "lest she prove a recording angel; a wife who takes too deep an interest in your movements will scarcely suit you."
"Oh, I am assured," said Mr. Erwyn, smiling, "that on Saturdays she will allow me the customary half-holiday."
Lady Allonby, rebuffed, sought consolation among the conserves.
"Yet, as postscript," said Mr. Erwyn, "I do not desire a wife who will take her morning chocolate with me and sup with Heaven knows whom. I have seen, too much of mariage à la mode, and I come to her, if not with the transports of an Amadis, at least with an entire affection and respect."
"Then," said Lady Allonby, "you love this woman?"
"Very tenderly," said Mr. Erwyn; "and, indeed, I would, for her sake, that the errors of my past life were not so numerous, nor the frailty of my aspiring resolutions rendered apparent--ah, so many times!--to a gaping and censorious world. For, as you are aware, I cannot offer her an untried heart; 'tis somewhat worn by many barterings. But I know that this heart beats with accentuation in her presence; and when I come to her some day and clasp her in my arms, as I aspire to do, I trust that her lips may not turn away from mine and that she may be more glad because I am so near and that her stainless heart may sound an echoing chime. For, with a great and troubled adoration, I love her as I have loved no other woman; and this much, I submit, you cannot doubt."
"I?" said Lady Allonby, with extreme innocence. "La, how should I know?"
"Unless you are blind," Mr. Erwyn observed--"and I apprehend those spacious shining eyes to be more keen than the tongue of a dowager,--you must have seen of late that I have presumed to hope--to think--that she whom I love so tenderly might deign to be the affectionate, the condescending friend who would assist me to retrieve the indiscretions of my youth--"
The confusion of his utterance, his approach to positive agitation as he waved his teaspoon, moved Lady Allonby. "It is true," she said, "that I have not been wholly blind--"
"Anastasia," said Mr. Erwyn, with yet more feeling, "is not our friendship of an age to justify sincerity?"
"Oh, bless me, you toad! but let us not talk of things that happened under the Tudors. Well, I have not been unreasonably blind,--and I do not object,--and I do not believe that Dorothy will prove obdurate."
"You render me the happiest of men," Mr. Erwyn stated, rapturously. "You have, then, already discussed this matter with Miss Allonby?"
"Not precisely," said she, laughing; "since I had thought it apparent to the most timid lover that the first announcement came with best grace from him."
"O' my conscience, then, I shall be a veritable Demosthenes," said Mr. Erwyn, laughing likewise; "and in common decency she will consent."
"Your conceit." said Lady Allonby, "is appalling."
"'Tis beyond conception," Mr. Erwyn admitted; "and I propose to try marriage as a remedy. I have heard that nothing so takes down a man."
"Impertinent!" cried Lady Allonby; "now of whatever can the creature be talking!"
"I mean that, as your widowship well knows, marrying puts a man in his proper place. And that the outcome is salutary for proud, puffed-up fellows I would be the last to dispute. Indeed, I incline to dispute nothing, for I find that perfect felicity is more potent than wine. I am now all pastoral raptures, and were it not for the footmen there, I do not know to what lengths I might go."
"In that event," Lady Allonby decided, "I shall fetch Dorothy, that the crown may be set upon your well-being. And previously I will dismiss the footmen." She did so with a sign toward those lordly beings.
"Believe me," said Mr. Erwyn, "'tis what I have long wished for. And when Miss Allonby honors me with her attention I shall, since my life's happiness depends upon the issue, plead with all the eloquence of a starveling barrister, big with the import of his first case. May I, indeed, rest assured that any triumph over her possible objections may be viewed with not unfavorable eyes?"
"O sir," said Lady Allonby, "believe me, there is nothing I more earnestly desire than that you may obtain all which is necessary for your welfare. I will fetch Dorothy."
The largest footman but one removed Mr. Erwyn's cup.
