Volume I Part 5 (2/2)
”It went off wonderfully well,” said Hetton to the Justice.
”Capital, capital,” a.s.sented the bridegroom's father. ”It's a great weight off my mind, you know, Hetton. Reginald's been an awful anxiety, but he's a lucky beggar, he manages somehow to always turn up trumps.”
”Yes,” remarked his lords.h.i.+p, ”that's been his princ.i.p.al occupation since I've known him.”
”Boys will be boys, my dear fellow; he'll sober down now, of course he will. I know I did when I married,” said the Justice.
”I'll tell you what it is, Justice. Warrender's daughter is a very plucky girl; if she had known half you and I know, Justice, she would have thought twice about it.”
”The reformed rake, cousin, makes proverbially the best husband. Why, 'pon my word,” continued the Justice, ”when I was a young fellow I was a regular devil.”
Lord Hetton blew out a big volume of smoke, and looked at his companion with some curiosity.
When an old gentleman, in the fulness of his heart, tells you that he's been a regular devil, you are bound to believe him, particularly if he's a Justice of the Peace.
”We were all devils in those days, my dear fellow, but a man outgrows it; he marries, and he lives it down; he takes to a hobby. I did. I can't tell how I drifted into pigs; much in the same way as you drifted into horses, I suppose. You may take my word for it that pigs are far more interesting and far more respectable, though they're expensive, mind you. Yes, they're uncommonly expensive; so are horses for the matter of that,” continued the Justice. ”Every man has his ideal, you see, Hetton. The perfect pig must ultimately be produced. You mustn't look upon me, you know, as a mere breeder of pigs. I am a benefactor of my species.” Here the pair reached the ”Dun Cow” and retired to their respective quarters.
So ended Georgie Warrender's wedding-day. As Lord Hetton had remarked, in engaging herself to Haggard she had done a very plucky thing.
Marriage is like Mayonnaise sauce, either a great success or an absolute and entire failure. The materials which are blended together to form a perfect whole are dissimilar and have nothing whatever in common, but once really thoroughly amalgamated the result is very happy. Perhaps the marriage celebrated in King's Warren church may turn out well after all.
It is to be feared that like the sauce of sauces in the hands of the inexperienced cook, the result is more than doubtful. Fortunatus, though a good fellow enough, is, like his patroness, notoriously fickle. All we have got to do, however, is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible in our stalls. The overture is over, the curtain is about to rise on the drama of Georgie's married life. We haven't a play bill, and don't know whether we are to listen to some pretty pastoral, to a long three-act farce, dignified by the t.i.tle of a comedy, or whether we are to be thrilled with horror by a gruesome drama of intrigue, limelight effect, and blood. We haven't even seen a review of the piece; the footlights go up with a jump, and now the curtain rises. Let us watch the players.
CHAPTER VII.
LORD MAYOR'S DAY.
It was Lord Mayor's Day. Haggard and his wife sat in the little drawing-room of their bijou house in May Fair. The room was prettily furnished, and Georgie had often accused herself of extravagance. The regulation chairs and tables of the furnished house had been banished from Mrs. Haggard's drawing-room. It had been a pleasure to choose the various tasteful specimens of the upholsterer's art. The nesting faculty is perhaps even more strongly developed in young married ladies than in birds; young Mrs. Haggard was no exception to this rule. Many had been the happy pilgrimages made by Georgie and her lover, for Haggard was her lover still, to the great firm in Pall Mall and to the world-famed house in Bond Street.
”Pick up what you like, my dear, and make our drawing-room, your drawing room, as pretty as you please; nothing can be good enough in the little kingdom in which my Georgie deigns to reign.”
But sugared compliments and furniture-buying cannot go on for ever. A pile of invitations attested the Haggards' popularity. Dance-giving mammas were anxious to secure the success of their entertainments by obtaining the presence of ”lovely Mrs. Haggard.”
A well-known professional beauty in the heyday of her charms was ”sitting-out” at a great ball, the observed of all observers, in a _dos-a-dos causeuse_ with a Royal Highness.
”And is your Royal Highness also a wors.h.i.+pper at the shrine of budding bucolic beauty? I mean pretty Mrs. Haggard,” said the spoilt darling of society, as with a little _moue_ she had indicated Georgie, who entered the room on her husband's arm. The good-natured prince glanced carelessly in the direction indicated; his lazy eyes sparkled as he quickly replied in a tone of reproof:
”Pretty is not the word, Mrs. Charmington; if that is the lady you allude to, she is lovely, absolutely lovely, and must count amongst her admirers every member of the human race who has had the happy privilege of beholding her.” His Royal Highness rose.
Mrs. Charmington hastened to spread the report that his Royal Highness was seriously smitten.
”Royals ripen early, I suppose; naturally they age as quickly; perhaps his Royal Highness is arriving at a second childhood, and his heart turns to people of the Dolly the Dairymaid type.”
But in her first rage Mrs. Charmington had been weak enough to let out that the prince had called young Mrs. Haggard ”lovely.” Mrs.
Charmington had received her own unsigned patent as a recognized beauty from the discriminating admiration of his Royal Highness. The _fiat_ had gone forth, and Julia Charmington had commenced her reign. The Charmington boot and the Charmington Bouquet were very freely advertised. A reproduction of Mrs. Charmington herself decorated the interior of the omnibuses.
”Why use dangerous cosmetics when Jones' soap retains youth and health for the complexion, and fosters the development of beauty?” Underneath the portrait was a facsimile of Mrs. Charmington's fas.h.i.+onable scrawl, ”I owe you so much, so very much. I have never used any other soap than yours. Very faithfully yours, Julia Charmington.”
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