Crosbie, taking a chair, sat himself between them,
and in a very good-humoured tone explained the little
affair of the bracelet. “Your ladyship’s
memory must have played you false,” said he,
with a smile.
“My memory is very good,” said the countess;
“very good indeed. If Twitch got it, and
didn’t tell me, that was not my fault.”
Twitch was her ladyship’s lady’s-maid.
Crosbie, seeing how the land lay, said nothing more
about the bracelet.
After a minute or two he put out his hand to take
that of Alexandrina. They were to be married
now in a week or two, and such a sign of love might
have been allowed to him, even in the presence of
the bride’s mother. He did succeed in getting
hold of her fingers, but found in them none of the
softness of a response. “Don’t,”
said Lady Alexandrina, withdrawing her hand; and the
tone of her voice as she spoke the word was not sweet
to his ears. He remembered at the moment a certain
scene which took place one evening at the little bridge
at Allington, and Lily’s voice, and Lily’s
words, and Lily’s passion, as he caressed her:
“Oh, my love, my love, my love!”
“My dear,” said the countess, “they
know how tired I am. I wonder whether they are
going to give us any tea.” Whereupon Crosbie
rang the bell, and, on resuming his chair, moved it
a little farther away from his lady-love.
Presently the tea was brought to them by the housekeeper’s
assistant, who did not appear to have made herself
very smart for the occasion, and Crosbie thought that
he was de trop. This, however, was a mistake
on his part. As he had been admitted into the
family, such little matters were no longer subject
of care. Two or three months since, the countess
would have fainted at the idea of such a domestic
appearing with a tea-tray before Mr Crosbie. Now,
however, she was utterly indifferent to any such consideration.
Crosbie was to be admitted into the family, thereby
becoming entitled to certain privileges,—and
thereby also becoming subject to certain domestic
drawbacks. In Mrs Dale’s little household
there had been no rising to grandeur; but then, also,
there had never been any bathos of dirt. Of this
also Crosbie thought as he sat with his tea in his
hand.
He soon, however, got himself away. When he rose
to go Alexandrina also rose, and he was permitted
to press his nose against her cheekbone by way of
a salute.
“Good-night, Adolphus,” said the countess,
putting out her hand to him. “But stop
a minute; I know there is something I want you to
do for me. But you will look in as you go to your
office to-morrow morning.”
Domestic Troubles
When Crosbie was making his ineffectual inquiry after
Lady de Courcy’s bracelet at Lambert’s,
John Eames was in the act of entering Mrs Roper’s
front door in Burton Crescent.
“Oh, John, where’s Mr Cradell?”
were the first words which greeted him, and they were
spoken by the divine Amelia. Now, in her usual
practice of life, Amelia did not interest herself much
as to the whereabouts of Mr Cradell.
