Part 53 (1/2)

”Oh, what a malicious remark!” says Molly, much disgusted.

Here the scene is further enlivened by the reappearance of Mr. Amherst and the lawyer, which effectually ends the conversation and turns their thoughts toward the dining-room.

CHAPTER XX.

”Trifles light as air.”

--_Oth.e.l.lo._

When luncheon is over, Sir Penthony Stafford retires to write a letter or two, and half an hour afterward, returning to the drawing-room, finds himself in the presence of Mr. Buscarlet, unsupported.

The little lawyer smiles benignly; Sir Penthony responds, and, throwing himself into a lounging-chair, makes up his mind to be agreeable.

”Well, Mr. Buscarlet, and what did you think of the sermon?” he says, briskly, being rather at a loss for a congenial topic. ”Tedious, eh? I saw you talking to Lady Elizabeth after service was over. She is a fine woman, all things considered.”

”She is indeed,--remarkably so: a very fine presence for her time of life.”

”Well, there certainly is not much to choose between her and the hills in point of age,” allows Sir Penthony, absently--he is inwardly wondering where Cecil can have gone to,--”still she is a nice old lady.”

”Quite so,--quite so; very elegant in manner, and in appearance decidedly high-bred.”

”Hybrid!” exclaims Sir Penthony, purposely misunderstanding the word.

”Oh, by Jove, I didn't think you so severe. You allude, of course, to her ladys.h.i.+p's mother, who, if report speaks truly, was a good cook spoiled by matrimony. 'Hybrid!' Give you my word, Buscarlet, I didn't believe you capable of anything half so clever. I must remember to tell it at dinner to the others. It is just the sort of thing to delight Mr.

Amherst.”

Now, this lawyer has a pa.s.sion for the aristocracy. To be noticed by a lord,--to press ”her ladys.h.i.+p's” hand,--to hold sweet converse with the smallest scion of a n.o.ble house,--is as honey to his lips; therefore to be thought guilty of an impertinence to one of this sacred community, to have uttered a word that, if repeated, would effectually close to him the doors of Lady Elizabeth's house, fills him with horror.

”My dear Sir Penthony, pardon me,” he says, hastily, divided between the fear of offending the baronet and a desire to set himself straight in his own eyes, ”you quite mistake me. 'Hybrid!'--such a word, such a thought, never occurred to me in connection with Lady Elizabeth Eyre, whom I hold in much reverence. Highly bred I meant. I a.s.sure you you altogether misunderstand. I--I never made a joke in my life.”

”Then let me congratulate you on your maiden effort; you have every reason to be proud of it,” laughs Sir Penthony, who is highly delighted at the success of his own manoeuvre. ”Don't be modest. You have made a decided hit: it is as good a thing as ever I heard. But how about Lady Elizabeth, eh? should _she_ hear it? Really, you will have to suppress your wit, or it will lead you into trouble.”

”But--but--if you will only allow me to explain--I protest I----”

”Ah! here come Lady Stafford and Miss Ma.s.sereene. Positively you must allow me to tell them----” And, refusing to listen to Mr. Buscarlet's vehement protestations, he relates to the new-comers his version of the lawyer's harmless remark, accompanying the story with an expressive glance--that closely resembles a wink--at Lady Stafford. ”I must go,”

he says, when he has finished, moving toward the door, ”though I hardly think I do wisely, leaving, you alone with so dangerous a companion.”

”I a.s.sure you, my dear Lady Stafford,” declares Mr. Buscarlet, with tears in his eyes and dew on his brow, ”it is all a horrible, an unaccountable mistake, a mere connection of ideas by your husband,--no more, no more, I give you my most sacred honor.”

”Oh, sly Mr. Buscarlet!” cries her ladys.h.i.+p, lightly, ”cruel Mr.

Buscarlet! Who would have thought it of you? And we all imagined you such an ally of poor dear Lady Elizabeth. To make a joke about her parentage, and such a good one too! And Sir Penthony found you out?

Clever Sir Penthony.”

”I swear, my dear lady, I----”

”Ah, ha! wait till she hears of it. How she _will_ enjoy it! With all her faults, she is good-tempered. It will amuse her. Molly, my dear, is not Mr. Buscarlet terribly severe?”

”Naughty Mr. Buscarlet!” says Molly, shaking a reproachful dainty-white finger at him. ”And I believed you so harmless.”