Parson Kelly. Andrew Lang

my lady?'

      Wogan crossed his legs and laughed comfortably. Here was matter with which he could confidently deal.

      'Well, what of her?' he asked.

      'You heard what Fanny Oglethorpe said. She is a kinswoman of Mr. Walpole's. How shall we be sure of her at all? A woman, Nick, is a creature who walks in the byways of thought. How shall an obtuse man follow her?'

      Wogan took a pinch of snuff.

      'It is very well, George,' said he, 'that I took this journey with you. I'll make your conduct plain to you as the palm of my hand. In the first place, there was never a woman yet from Cleopatra downwards that cared the scrape of a fiddle for politics. 'Twas never more than a path that led to something else, and is held of just as small account as the road a girl dances down when she goes to meet her lover. Look at Fanny Oglethorpe, Olive Trant, and the rest of them in Paris! D'you think it's the Cause they ever give a thought to? If you do you're sadly out, my friend. No; what troubles their heads is simply that the Chevalier is a romantical figure of a man, and would look extraordinarily well with a gold crown on the top of his periwig. Now I'm wagering it will be just the same with my Lady Oxford. You have all the qualifications down to your legs, and let my lady once take a liking to your person she will gulp your politics without a grimace.'

      Mr. Kelly turned a startled face towards his instructor.

      'You would have me pay court to her?' says he.

      'Just that,' says Wogan, imperturbably. 'Keep your politics for my lord and have a soft word ready for my lady. Pen her a delicate ode in Latin. To be sure the addresses of an erudite man have something particularly flattering to the sex. Or drop out a pretty compliment on her ear.'

      'Oh, on her ear?' said Kelly, beginning to smile. 'Of what sort?'

      'Faith, George, but you exasperate me,' said Nick. 'Isn't there an infinity of images you could use? For instance—,' said he, and hummed a little.

      'Well, for instance!' said Kelly, urging him on.

      'For instance,' returned Wogan, 'you can speak of its functions—'

      'I understand. I am to tell her that it is a very proper thing for a woman to sit and listen to other people.'

      'Tell her that,' cries Wogan, lifting up his hands, 'and you will be drubbed down the staircase pretty quick! No. Tell her there is never a poet laureate in the world would print a single one of his poems if he could treasure his music within her ear.'

      'Ah,' says Kelly. 'That is a compliment of quite a different kind,' and he repeated it three times to commit it to memory. 'But one, Nick, will not suffice. I must have more sayings about her ear.'

      'And you shall,' says Wogan. 'You can speak of its appearance.'

      'Of its appearance?'

      'And fit a simile to it.'

      'Give me one,' said Kelly.

      'You can say her ear is like a rosy shell on the sea-banks.'

      Mr. Kelly began to laugh outright.

      'Sure,' said he, 'I might as well tell her at once her hair is sandy.'

      'Oh, she will not examine your words so nicely. She will just perceive that you intend a compliment.'

      'And take me for a very impertinent fellow.'

      'George' said Wogan, 'for a parson you are a man of a most unnatural modesty.' In which remark Wogan did his friend no more than the merest justice. For he had nothing in common with that usual foible of the young chaplains and tutors who frequent the houses of the great.

      To listen to them over a bottle you would think them conquerors of all hearts, from the still-room maid to my lady and her daughters. But Mr. Kelly was in a different case. The Bishop of Rochester himself gave him the character of being prudent and reserved beyond his years. And perhaps it was by reason of that very modesty that he slid insensibly into the thoughts of more women than he knew of. Of these, however, Lady Oxford was not one.

      It was about three in the afternoon of the next day when the chaise drove up to the door of the great house at Brampton Bryan. The Parson and Nicholas Wogan had barely stepped into the hall before an inner door opened and my lady came forward to greet them. She was for her sex uncommonly tall, and altogether of a conquering beauty, which a simple country dress did but the more plainly set forth. For, seeing her, one thought what a royal woman she would look if royally attired, and so came to a due appreciation of her consummate appearance. Whereas, had she been royally attired, her dress might have taken some of the credit of her beauty. She stood for a second between the two men, looking from one to the other as though in doubt.

      'And which is Mr. James Johnson? 'said she, with a sly emphasis upon the name.

      'I am,' said George, stepping forward, 'and your Ladyship's humble servant.'

      She gave him a smile and her hand. Mr. Kelly clicked his heels together, bent over the hand and kissed it reverentially.

      The lady sighed a quick little sigh (of pleasure) as she drew her hand away.

      'I have taken the liberty, your Ladyship,' said Kelly, 'to bring my secretary, Mr. Hilton, with me,' and he waved a hand towards Wogan.

      'Mr. Hilton,' she returned, 'is very welcome. For, indeed, we hear too few voices in the house.' She bowed very graciously, but she did not give her hand to Mr. Wogan. 'Gentlemen,' she continued, 'my lord bids me make you his apologies, but he lies abed. Else would he have welcomed you in person.'

      'Your Ladyship,' said Kelley, 'if we come at an inopportune time—'

      'By no means,' interrupted Lady Oxford. 'My lord is troubled with the gout, but the fit is passing. And if for a couple of days my poor hospitality will content you—'

      'Your Ladyship,' protested Kelly, but that was all he said. Now, to Mr. Wogan's thinking, here was as timely an occasion for a compliment as a man could wish. And since Mr. Kelly had not the tact to seize it, why, his friend must come to his help. Accordingly,

      'So might the holy angels apologise when they open the gates of Paradise,' said Wogan with his hand on his heart, and bowed. As he bowed he heard some stifled sounds, and he looked up quickly. My lady was crimson in the face with the effort to check her laughter.

      'Mr. Hilton is too polite,' said she instantly, with an elaborate courtesy, and turned again to Kelly with some inquiries about his journey. Wogan was shown up the stairs before the inquiries were answered. The staircase ran round the three sides of the hall up to a landing on the fourth, and as Wogan came to the first turn he saw Lady Oxford cross to the great wood fire which was burning on the hearth; when he came to the second he saw that the Parson had crossed too and stood over against her; when he reached the third turn, my lady was seated toasting a foot at the blaze; when he reached the landing, Mr. Kelly had drawn up a chair.

      Wogan leaned for a moment over the balustrade. It was a very small foot with an admirably arched instep; Mr. Wogan had seen the like in Spain. Well, very likely she only thrust it out to warm it. The firelight coloured her face to a pretty rose hue, sparkled in her dark eyes, and searched out the gold threads in her brown hair. Mr. Wogan was much tempted to whisper a reminder to his friend concerning her ear. But he resisted the temptation, for after all it seemed there would be little to do about my lady's politics.

      CHAPTER IV

      SHOWS THE EXTREME DANGER OF KNOWING LATIN

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      AN hour later the three sat down to dinner, though, for all the talking that one of them did, there might have been present only the two whom Wogan had left chatting in the hall. It was not that Lady Oxford omitted any proper courtesy towards Mr. Johnson's secretary, but the secretary himself, sensible that he was something too apt to say in all companies just what came into his head, was careful to keep his tongue in a strict leash, lest an