it was the honourable algy barford who opened the door, and came in with his usual light and airy swing, stopping the minute he saw a lady present, to remove his hat and to give an easy bow. he recognised annie at once, and, as she and he were great allies, he went up to her and shook hands.
"charmed to see you, miss maurice. this is delightful--give you my word! come to see this dear old boy here--how are you, caterham, my dear fellow?--and find you in his den, lighting it up like--like--like--i'm regularly basketed, by jove! you know what you light it up like, miss maurice."
annie laughed as she said, "o, of course i know, mr. barford; but i'm sorry to say the illumination is about immediately to be extinguished, as i must run away. so goodbye; goodbye, arthur. i shall see you to-morrow." and she waved her hand, and tripped lightly away.
"gad, what a good-natured charming girl that is!" said algy barford, looking after her. "i always fancy that if ever i could have settled down--but i never could--impossible! i'm without exception the most horrible scoundrel that--what's the matter, caterham, dear old boy? you seem very down this morning, floundered, by jove, so far as flatness is concerned. what is it?"
"i--oh, i don't know, algy; a little bored, perhaps, this morning--hipped, you know."
"know! i should think i did. i'm up to my watch-guard myself--think i'll take a sherry peg, just to keep myself up. this is a dull world, sir; a very wearying orb. gad, sometimes i think my cousin, poor jack hamilton, was right, after all."
"what did he say?" asked caterham, not caring a bit, but for the sake of keeping up the conversation.
"say! well, not much; he wasn't a talker, poor jack; but what he did say was to the purpose. he was a very lazy kind of bird, and frightfully easily bored; so one day he got up, and then he wrote a letter saying that he'd lived for thirty years, and that the trouble of dressing himself every morning and undressing himself every night was so infernal that le couldn't stand it any longer; and then he blew his brains out."
"ah," said lord caterham; "he got tired of himself, you see; and when you once do that, there's nobody you get so tired of."
"i daresay, dear old boy, though it's a terrific notion. can't say i'm tired of myself quite yet, though there are times when i have a very low opinion of myself, and think seriously of cutting myself the next time we meet. what's the news with you, my dear caterham?"
"news! what should be the news with me, algy? shut up in this place, like a rat in a cage, scarcely seeing any one but the doctor."
"couldn't see a better fellow for news, my dear old boy. doctors were always the fellows for news,--and barbers!--figaro hé and figaro la, and all that infernal rubbish that people laugh at when ronconi sings it, always makes me deuced melancholy, by jove. well, since you've no news for me, let me think what i heard at the club. deuced nice club we've got now; best we've ever had since that dear old velvet cushion was done up."
"what's it called?"
"the pelham; nothing to do with the newcastle people or any thing of that sort; called after some fellow who wrote a book about swells; or was the hero of a book about swells, or something. deuced nice place, snug and cosy; a little overdone with aldershot, perhaps, and, to a critical mind, there might be a thought too much plunger; but i can stand the animal tolerably well."
"i know it; at least ive heard of it," said caterham. "they play very high, don't they?"
"o, of course you've heard it, i forgot; dear old lionel belonged to it. play! n-no, i don't think so. you can if you like, you know, of course. for instance, lampeter--lamb lampeter they call him; he's such a mild-looking party--won two thousand of westonhanger the night before last at _écarté_--two thousand pounds, sir, in crisp bank-notes all fair and above board too. they had a corner table at first; but when westonhanger was dropping his money and began doubling the stakes, lampeter said, 'all right, my lord; i'm with you as far as you like to go; but when so much money's in question, it perhaps might be advisable to take one of the tables in the middle of the room, where any one can stand round and see the play.' they did, and westonhanger's estate is worse by two thou'."
"as you say, that does not look at all as if they played there."
"what i meant was that i didn't think dear old lionel ever dropped much there. i don't know, though; i rather think gamson had him one night. wonderful little fellow, gamson!--tremendously good-looking boy!--temporary extra-clerk at two guineas a-week in the check and countercheck office; hasn't got another regular rap in the world besides his pay, and plays any stakes you like to name. seems to keep luck in a tube, like you do scent, and squeezes it out whenever he wants it. i am not a playing man myself; but i don't fancy it's very hard to win at the pelham. these plungers and fellows up from the camp, they always will play; and as theyve had a very heavy dinner and a big drink afterwards, it stands to reason that any fellow with a clear head and a knowledge of the game can pick them up at once, without any sharp practice."
"yes," said lord caterham, "it seems a very charming place. i suppose wheelchairs are not admitted? how sorry i am! i should have so enjoyed mixing with the delightful society which you describe, algy. and what news had mr. gamson and the other gentlemen?"
"tell you what it is, caterham, old boy, you've got a regular wire-drawing fit on to-day. let's see; what news had i to tell you?--not from gamson, of course, or any of those hairy yahoos from aldershot, who are always tumbling about the place. o, i know! dick french has just come up from denne,--the next place, you know, to eversfield, your old uncle ampthill's house; and he says the old boy's frightfully ill--clear case of hooks, you know; and i thought it might be advisable that your people should know, in case any thing might be done towards working the testamentary oracle. the old gentleman used to be very spoony on lionel, years ago, i think ive heard him say."
"well, what then?"
"gad, you catch a fellow up like the snapping-turtle, caterham. i don't know what then; but i thought if the thing were properly put to him--if there was any body to go down to eversfield and square it with old ampthill, he might leave his money--and there's no end of it, i hear--or some of it at least, to poor old lionel."
"and suppose he did. do you think, algy barford, after what has happened, that lionel brakespere could show his face in town? do you think that a man of lionel's spirit could face-out the cutting which he'd receive from every one?--and rightly too; i'm not denying that. i only ask you if you think he could do it?"
"my dear old caterham, you are a perfect child!--coral and bells and blue sash, and all that sort of thing, by jove! if lionel came back at this instant, there are very few men who'd remember his escapade, unless he stood in their way; then, i grant you, they would bring it up as unpleasantly as they could. but if he were to appear in society as old ampthill's heir, there's not a man in his old set that wouldn't welcome him; no, by george, not a woman of his acquaintance that wouldn't try and hook him for self or daughter, as the case might be."
"i'm sorry to hear it," was all caterham said in reply.
what did lord caterham think of when his friend was gone? what effect had the communication about mr. ampthill's probable legacy had on him? but one thing crossed his mind. if lionel returned free, prosperous, and happy, would he not fall in love with annie maurice? his experience in such matters had been but limited; but judging by his own feelings, lord caterham could imagine nothing more likely.
