Mark clapped on his hat, and rifled the pocket of
his paletot of his cigar-case and matches, and spluttered
a curse or two, according to old Nollekins’
receipt for easing the mind, and on the door-steps
lighted his cheroot, and became gradually more philosophical.
In due time the brougham came round with its lamps
lighted, and Mark, who was by this time placid, greeted
Price on the box familiarly, after his wont, and asked
him whom he was going to drive, as if he did not know,
cunning fellow; and actually went so far as to give
Price one of those cheap and nasty weeds, of which
he kept a supply apart in his case for such occasions
of good fellowship.
So Mark waited to put the lady into the carriage,
and he meditated walking a little way by the window
and making his peace, and there was perhaps some vague
vision of jumping in afterwards; I know not. Mark’s
ideas of ladies and of propriety were low, and he was
little better than a sailor ashore, and not a good
specimen of that class of monster.
He walked about the courtyard smoking, looking sometimes
on the solemn front of the old palatial mansion, and
sometimes breathing a white film up to the stars,
impatient, like the enamoured Aladdin, watching in
ambuscade for the emergence of the Princess Badroulbadour.
But honest Mark forgot that young ladies do not always
come out quite alone, and jump unassisted into their
vehicles. And in fact not only did Lord Chelford
assist the fair lady, cloaked and hooded, into the
carriage, but the vicar’s goodhumoured little
wife was handed in also, the good vicar looking on,
and as the gay good-night and leave-taking took place
by the door-steps, Mark drew back, like a guilty thing,
in silence, and showed no sign but the red top of
his cigar, glowing like the eye of a Cyclops in the
dark; and away rolled the brougham, with the two ladies,
and Chelford and the vicar went in, and Mark hurled
the stump of his cheroot at Fortune, and delivered
a fragmentary soliloquy through his teeth; and so,
in a sulk, without making his adieux, he marched off
to his crib at the Brandon Arms.
IN WHICH MY SLUMBER IS DISTURBED.
The ladies had accomplished their ascension to the
upper regions. The good vicar had marched off
with the major, who was by this time unbuckling in
his lodgings; and Chelford and I, tete-a-tete,
had a glass of sherry and water together in the drawing-room
before parting. And over this temperate beverage
I told him frankly the nature of the service which
Mark Wylder wished me to render him; and he as frankly
approved, and said he would ask Larkin, the family
lawyer, to come up in the morning to assist.
