Adela Cathcart, vol 1 | Page 5

underlying
the genuine hospitality of his countenance, as if he could not get rid of
a sense of duty even when doing what he liked best. The door of the
dining-room was partly open, and from it came the red glow of a
splendid fire, the chink of encountering glass and metal, and, best of all,
the pop of a cork.
"Would you like to go up-stairs, Smith, or will you have a glass of wine
first?--How do you do, Percy?"
"Thank you; I'll go to my room at once," I said.

"You'll find a fire there, I know. Having no regiment now, I look after
my servants. Mind you make use of them. I can't find enough of work
for them."
He left me, and again addressed the youth, who had by this time got out
of his great-coat, and, cold as it was, stood looking at his hands by the
hall-lamp. As I moved away, I heard him say, in a careless tone,
"And how's Adela, uncle?"
The reply did not reach me, but I knew now who the young fellow was.
Hearing a kind of human grunt behind me, I turned and saw that I was
followed by the butler; and, by a kind of intuition, I knew that this
grunt was a remark, an inarticulate one, true, but not the less to the
point on that account. I knew that he had been in the dining-room by
the pop I had heard; and I knew by the grunt that he had heard his
master's observation about his servants.
"Come, Beeves," I said, "I don't want your help. You've got plenty to
do, you know, at dinner-time; and your master is rather hard upon
you--isn't he?"
I knew the man, of course.
"Well, Mr. Smith, master is the best master in the country, he is. But he
don't know what work is, he don't."
"Well, go to your work, and never mind me. I know every turn in the
house as well as yourself, Beeves."
"No, Mr. Smith; I'll attend to you, if you please. Mr. Percy will take
care of his-self. There's no fear of him. But you're my business. You are
sure to give a man a kind word who does his best to please you."
"Why, Beeves, I think that is the least a man can do."
"It's the most too, sir; and some people think it's too much."

I saw that the man was hurt, and sought to soothe him.
"You and I are old friends, at least, Beeves."
"Yes, Mr. Smith. Money won't do't, sir. My master gives good wages,
and I'm quite independing of visitors. But when a gentleman says to me,
'Beeves, I'm obliged to you,' why then, Mr. Smith, you feels at one and
the same time, that he's a gentleman, and that you aint a boot-jack or a
coal-scuttle. It's the sentiman, Mr. Smith. If he despises us, why, we
despises him. And we don't like waiting on a gentleman as aint a
gentleman. Ring the bell, Mr. Smith, when you want anythink, and I'll
attend to you."
He had been twenty years in the colonel's service. He was not an old
soldier, yet had a thorough esprit de corps, looking, upon service as an
honourable profession. In this he was not only right, but had a vast
advantage over everybody whose profession is not sufficiently
honourable for his ambition. All such must feel degraded. Beeves was
fifty; and, happily for his opinion of his profession, had never been to
London.
And the colonel was the best of masters; for because he ruled well,
every word of kindness told. It is with servants as with children and
with horses--it is of no use caressing them unless they know that you
mean them to go.
When the dinner-bell rang, I proceeded to the drawing-room. The
colonel was there, and I thought for a moment that he was alone. But I
soon saw that a couch by the fire was occupied by his daughter, the
Adela after whose health I had heard young Percy Cathcart inquiring.
She was our hostess, for Mrs. Cathcart had been dead for many years,
and Adela had been her only child. I approached to pay my respects,
but as soon as I got near enough to see her face, I turned involuntarily
to her father, and said,
"Cathcart, you never told me of this!"
He made me no reply; but I saw the long stern upper lip twitching

convulsively. I turned again to Adela, who tried to smile--with
precisely the effect of a momentary gleam of sunshine upon a cold,
leafless, and wet landscape.
"Adela, my dear, what is the matter?"
"I don't know, uncle."
She had called me uncle, since ever she had begun to speak, which