Sketches in Lavender, Blue and Green. Jerome Klapka Jerome

of No. – Grosvenor Square with the other reception rooms. The countess, now all amiability, rose to meet her.

      “My son will be here in a moment,” she explained, “he has informed me of the purport of your letter. Believe me, my dear Miss Sewell, no one can regret his thoughtless conduct more than I do. But young men will be young men, and they do not stop to reflect that what may be a joke to them may be taken quite seriously by others.”

      “I don’t regard the matter as a joke, my lady,” replied Mary somewhat curtly.

      “Of course not, my dear,” added the countess, “that’s what I’m saying. It was very wrong of him altogether. But with your pretty face, you will not, I am sure, have long to wait for a husband; we must see what we can do for you.”

      The countess certainly lacked tact; it must have handicapped her exceedingly.

      “Thank you,” answered the girl, “but I prefer to choose my own.”

      Fortunately – or the interview might have ended in another quarrel – the cause of all the trouble at this moment entered the room, and the countess, whispering a few final words of instruction to him as she passed out, left them together.

      Mary took a chair in the centre of the room, at equal distance from both doors. Lord C-, finding any sort of a seat uncomfortable under the circumstances, preferred to stand with his back to the mantelpiece. Dead silence was maintained for a few seconds, and then Mary, drawing the daintiest of handkerchiefs from her pocket, began to cry. The countess must have been a poor diplomatist, or she might have thought of this; or she may have remembered her own appearance on the rare occasions when she herself, a big, raw-boned girl, had attempted the softening influence of tears, and have attached little importance to the possibility. But when these soft, dimpled women cry, and cry quietly, it is another matter. Their eyes grow brighter, and the tears, few and far between, lie like dewdrops on a rose leaf.

      Lord C- was as tender-hearted a lout as ever lived. In a moment he was on his knees with his arm round the girl’s waist, pouring out such halting words of love and devotion as came to his unready brain, cursing his fate, his earldom, and his mother, and assuring Mary that his only chance of happiness lay in his making her his countess. Had Mary liked to say the word at that moment, he would have caught her to his arms, and defied the whole world – for the time being. But Mary was a very practical young woman, and there are difficulties in the way of handling a lover, who, however ready he may be to do your bidding so long as your eyes are upon him, is liable to be turned from his purpose so soon as another influence is substituted for your own. His lordship suggested an immediate secret marriage. But you cannot run out into the street, knock up a clergyman, and get married on the spot, and Mary knew that the moment she was gone his lordship’s will would revert to his mother’s keeping. Then his lordship suggested flight, but flight requires money, and the countess knew enough to keep his lordship’s purse in her own hands. Despair seized upon his lordship.

      “It’s no use,” he cried, “it will end in my marrying her.”

      “Who’s she?” exclaimed Mary somewhat quickly.

      His lordship explained the position. The family estates were heavily encumbered. It was deemed advisable that his lordship should marry Money, and Money, in the person of the only daughter of rich and ambitious parvenus, had offered itself – or, to speak more correctly, had been offered.

      “What’s she like?” asked Mary.

      “Oh, she’s nice enough,” was the reply, “only I don’t care for her and she doesn’t care for me. It won’t be much fun for either of us,” and his lordship laughed dismally.

      “How do you know she doesn’t care for you?” asked Mary. A woman may be critical of her lover’s shortcomings, but at the very least he is good enough for every other woman.

      “Well, she happens to care for somebody else,” answered his lordship, “she told me so herself.”

      That would account for it.

      “And is she willing to marry you?” inquired Mary.

      His lordship shrugged his shoulders.

      “Oh, well, you know, her people want it,” he replied.

      In spite of her trouble, the girl could not help a laugh. These young swells seemed to have but small wills of their own. Her ladyship, on the other side of the door, grew nervous. It was the only sound she had been able to hear.

      “It’s deuced awkward,” explained his lordship, “when you’re – well, when you are anybody, you know. You can’t do as you like. Things are expected of you, and there’s such a lot to be considered.”

      Mary rose and clasped her pretty dimpled hands, from which she had drawn her gloves, behind his neck.

      “You do love me, Jack?” she said, looking up into his face.

      For answer the lad hugged her to him very tightly, and there were tears in his eyes.

      “Look here, Mary,” he cried, “if I could only get rid of my position, and settle down with you as a country gentleman, I’d do it to-morrow. Damn the title, it’s going to be the curse of my life.”

      Perhaps in that moment Mary also wished that the title were at the bottom of the sea, and that her lover were only the plain Mr. John Robinson she had thought him. These big, stupid men are often very loveable in spite of, or because of their weakness. They appeal to the mother side of a woman’s heart, and that is the biggest side in all good women.

      Suddenly however, the door opened. The countess appeared, and sentiment flew out. Lord C-, releasing Mary, sprang back, looking like a guilty school-boy.

      “I thought I heard Miss Sewell go out,” said her ladyship in the icy tones that had never lost their power of making her son’s heart freeze within him. “I want to see you when you are free.”

      “I shan’t be long,” stammered his lordship. “Mary – Miss Sewell is just going.”

      Mary waited without moving until the countess had left and closed the door behind her. Then she turned to her lover and spoke in quick, low tones.

      “Give me her address – the girl they want you to marry!”

      “What are you going to do?” asked his lordship.

      “I don’t know,” answered the girl, “but I’m going to see her.”

      She scribbled the name down, and then said, looking the boy squarely in the face:

      “Tell me frankly, Jack, do you want to marry me, or do you not?”

      “You know I do, Mary,” he answered, and his eyes spoke stronger than his words. “If I weren’t a silly ass, there would be none of this trouble. But I don’t know how it is; I say to myself I’ll do, a thing, but the mater talks and talks and – ”

      “I know,” interrupted Mary with a smile. “Don’t argue with her, fall in with all her views, and pretend to agree with her.”

      “If you could only think of some plan,” said his lordship, catching at the hope of her words, “you are so clever.”

      “I am going to try,” answered Mary, “and if I fail, you must run off with me, even if you have to do it right before your mother’s eyes.”

      What she meant was, “I shall have to run off with you,” but she thought it better to put it the other way about.

      Mary found her involuntary rival a meek, gentle little lady, as much under the influence of her blustering father as was Lord C- under that of his mother. What took place at the interview one can only surmise; but certain it is that the two girls, each for her own ends, undertook to aid and abet one another.

      Much to the surprised delight of their respective parents, there came about a change in the attitude hitherto assumed towards one another by Miss Clementina Hodskiss and Lord C-. All objections to his lordship’s unwilling attentions were suddenly withdrawn by the lady. Indeed, so swift to come and go are the whims of women, his calls were actually encouraged, especially when, as generally