The Lunatic at Large | Page 6

the noblemen and gentlemen had made them highly proficient on the spot; he showed every promise, on his rare opportunities, of being an unusually entertaining small hour, whisky-and-soda raconteur; in fact, he was evidently a man whose previous career, whatever it might have been (and his own statements merely served to increase the mystery round this point), had led him through many humorous by-paths, and left him with few restrictive prejudices.
November became December, and to all appearances he had settled down in his new residence with complete resignation, when that unknowable factor that upsets so many calculations came upon the scene,--the factor, I mean, that wears a petticoat.
Mr Beveridge strolled into Escott's room one morning to find the doctor inspecting a mixed assortment of white kid gloves.
"Do these mean past or future conquests?" he asked with his smile.
"Both," laughed the doctor. "I'm trying to pick out a clean pair for the dance to-night."
"You go a-dancing, then?"
"Don't you know it's our own monthly ball here?"
"Of course," said Mr Beveridge, passing his hand quickly across his brow. "I must have heard, but things pass so quickly through my head nowadays."
He laughed a little conventional laugh, and gazed at the gloves.
"You are coming, of course?" said Escott.
"If you can lend me a pair of these. Can you spare one?"
"Help yourself," replied the doctor.
Mr Beveridge selected a pair with the care of a man who is particular in such matters, put them in his pocket, thanked the doctor, and went out.
"Hope he doesn't play the fool," thought Escott.
Invitations to the balls at Clankwood were naturally in great demand throughout the county, for nowhere were noblemen so numerous and divinities so tangible. Carriages and pairs rolled up one after another, the mansion glittered with lights, the strains of the band could be heard loud and stirring or low and faintly all through the house.
"Who is that man dancing opposite my daughter?" asked the Countess of Grillyer.
"A Mr Beveridge," replied Dr Congleton.
Mr Beveridge, in fact, the mark of all eyes, was dancing in a set of lancers. The couple opposite to him consisted of a stout elderly gentleman who, doubtless for the best reasons, styled himself the Emperor of the two Americas, and a charming little pink and flaxen partner--the Lady Alicia �� Fyre, as everybody who was anybody could have told you. The handsome stranger moved, as might be expected, with his accustomed grace and air of distinction, and, probably to convince his admirers that there was nothing meretricious in his performance, he carried his hands in his pockets the whole time. This certainly caused a little inconvenience to his partner, but to be characteristic in Clankwood one had to step very far out of the beaten track.
For two figures the Emperor snorted disapproval, but at the end of the third, when Mr Beveridge had been skipping round the outskirts of the set, his hands still thrust out of sight, somewhat to the derangement of the customary procedure, he could contain himself no longer.
"Hey, young man!" he asked in his most stentorian voice, as the music ceased, "are you afraid of having your pockets picked?"
"Alas!" replied Mr Beveridge, "it would take two men to do that."
"Huh!" snorted the Emperor, "you are so d--d strong, are you?"
"I mean," answered his vis-��-vis with his polite smile, "that it would take one man to put something in and another to take it out."
This remark not only turned the laugh entirely on Mr Beveridge's side, but it introduced the upsetting factor.
CHAPTER III.
The Lady Alicia �� Fyre, though of the outer everyday world herself, had, in common with most families of any pretensions to ancient dignity, a creditable sprinkling of uncles and cousins domiciled in Clankwood, and so she frequently attended these dances.
To-night her eye had been caught by a tall, graceful figure executing a pas seul in the middle of the room with its hands in its pockets. The face of this gentleman was so composed and handsome, and he seemed so oblivious to the presence of everybody else, that her interest was immediately excited. During the set of lancers in which he was her vis-��-vis she watched him furtively with a growing feeling of admiration. She had never heard him say a word, and it was with a sensation of the liveliest interest that she listened to his brief passage with her partner. At his final retort her tender heart was overcome with pity. He was poor, then, or at least he was allowed the use of no money. And all of him that was outside his pockets seemed so sane and so gentlemanly; it seemed a pity to let him lack a little sympathy.
The Lady Alicia might be described as a becoming frock stuffed with sentiment. Through a pair of large blue eyes she drank in romance,