The Small House at Allington. Anthony Trollope

displaying, it may, perhaps, be understood that Mr Cradell did not understand much about form.

      “It seems to me that her nose isn’t quite straight,” said Johnny Eames. Now, it undoubtedly was the fact that the nose on Mrs Lupex’s face was a little awry. It was a long, thin nose, which, as it progressed forward into the air, certainly had a preponderating bias towards the left side.

      “I care more for figure than face,” said Cradell. “But Mrs Lupex has fine eyes—very fine eyes.”

      “And knows how to use them, too,” said Johnny.

      “Why shouldn’t she? And then she has lovely hair.”

      “Only she never brushes it in the morning.”

      “Do you know, I like that kind of deshabille,” said Cradell. “Too much care always betrays itself.”

      “But a woman should be tidy.”

      “What a word to apply to such a creature as Mrs Lupex! I call her a splendid woman. And how well she was got up last night. Do you know, I’ve an idea that Lupex treats her very badly. She said a word or two to me yesterday that—,” and then he paused. There are some confidences which a man does not share even with his dearest friend.

      “I rather fancy it’s quite the other way,” said Eames.

      “How the other way?”

      “That Lupex has quite as much as he likes of Mrs L. The sound of her voice sometimes makes me shake in my shoes, I know.”

      “I like a woman with spirit,” said Cradell.

      “Oh, so do I. But one may have too much of a good thing. Amelia did tell me;—only you won’t mention it.”

      “Of course, I won’t.”

      “She told me that Lupex sometimes was obliged to run away from her. He goes down to the theatre, and remains there two or three days at a time. Then she goes to fetch him, and there is no end of a row in the house.”

      “The fact is, he drinks,” said Cradell. “By George, I pity a woman whose husband drinks—and such a woman as that, too!”

      “Take care, old fellow, or you’ll find yourself in a scrape.”

      “I know what I’m at. Lord bless you, I’m not going to lose my head because I see a fine woman.”

      “Or your heart either?”

      “Oh, heart! There’s nothing of that kind of thing about me. I regard a woman as a picture or a statue. I dare say I shall marry some day, because men do; but I’ve no idea of losing myself about a woman.”

      “I’d lose myself ten times over for—”

      “L. D.,” said Cradell.

      “That I would. And yet I know I shall never have her. I’m a jolly, laughing sort of fellow; and yet, do you know, Caudle, when that girl marries, it will be all up with me. It will, indeed.”

      “Do you mean that you’ll cut your throat?”

      “No; I shan’t do that. I shan’t do anything of that sort; and yet it will be all up with me.”

      “You are going down there in October;—why don’t you ask her to have you?”

      “With ninety pounds a year!” His grateful country had twice increased his salary at the rate of five pounds each year. “With ninety pounds a year, and twenty allowed me by my mother!”

      “She could wait, I suppose. I should ask her, and no mistake. If one is to love a girl, it’s no good one going on in that way!”

      “It isn’t much good, certainly,” said Johnny Eames. And then they reached the door of the Income-tax Office, and each went away to his own desk.

      From this little dialogue, it may be imagined that though Mrs Roper was as good as her word, she was not exactly the woman whom Mrs Eames would have wished to select as a protecting angel for her son. But the truth I take to be this, that protecting angels for widows’ sons, at forty-eight pounds a year, paid quarterly, are not to be found very readily in London. Mrs Roper was not worse than others of her class. She would much have preferred lodgers who were respectable to those who were not so,—if she could only have found respectable lodgers as she wanted them. Mr and Mrs Lupex hardly came under that denomination; and when she gave them up her big front bedroom at a hundred a year, she knew she was doing wrong. And she was troubled, too, about her own daughter Amelia, who was already over thirty years of age. Amelia was a very clever young woman, who had been, if the truth must be told, first young lady at a millinery establishment in Manchester. Mrs Roper knew that Mrs Eames and Mrs Cradell would not wish their sons to associate with her daughter. But what could she do? She could not refuse the shelter of her own house to her own child, and yet her heart misgave her when she saw Amelia flirting with young Eames.

      “I wish, Amelia, you wouldn’t have so much to say to that young man.”

      “Laws, mother.”

      “So I do. If you go on like that, you’ll put me out of both my lodgers.”

      “Go on like what, mother? If a gentleman speaks to me, I suppose I’m to answer him? I know how to behave myself, I believe.” And then she gave her head a toss. Whereupon her mother was silent; for her mother was afraid of her.

Chapter V.

       About L. D.

       Table of Contents

      Apollo Crosbie left London for Allington on the 31st of August, intending to stay there four weeks, with the declared intention of recruiting his strength by an absence of two months from official cares, and with no fixed purpose as to his destiny for the last of those two months. Offers of hospitality had been made to him by the dozen. Lady Hartletop’s doors, in Shropshire, were open to him, if he chose to enter them. He had been invited by the Countess de Courcy to join her suite at Courcy Castle. His special friend, Montgomerie Dobbs, had a place in Scotland, and then there was a yachting party by which he was much wanted. But Mr Crosbie had as yet knocked himself down to none of these biddings, having before him when he left London no other fixed engagement than that which took him to Allington. On the first of October we shall also find ourselves at Allington in company with Johnny Eames; and Apollo Crosbie will still be there,—by no means to the comfort of our friend from the Income-tax Office.

      Johnny Eames cannot be called unlucky in that matter of his annual holiday, seeing that he was allowed to leave London in October, a month during which few chose to own that they remain in town. For myself, I always regard May as the best month for holiday-making; but then no Londoner cares to be absent in May. Young Eames, though he lived in Burton Crescent and had as yet no connection with the West End, had already learned his lesson in this respect. “Those fellows in the big room want me to take May,” he had said to his friend Cradell. “They must think I’m uncommon green.”

      “It’s too bad,” said Cradell. “A man shouldn’t be asked to take his leave in May. I never did, and what’s more, I never will. I’d go to the Board first.”

      Eames had escaped this evil without going to the Board, and had succeeded in obtaining for himself for his own holiday that month of October, which, of all months, is perhaps the most highly esteemed for holiday purposes. “I shall go down by the mail-train tomorrow night,” he said to Amelia Roper, on the evening before his departure. At that moment he was sitting alone with Amelia in Mrs Roper’s back drawing-room. In the front room Cradell was talking to Mrs Lupex; but as Miss Spruce was with them, it may be presumed that Mr Lupex need have had no cause for jealousy.

      “Yes,” said Amelia, “I know how great is your haste to get down to that fascinating spot. I could not expect that you would lose one single hour in hurrying away from Burton Crescent.”