Volume I Part 6 (1/2)
Ill-natured people said that Mrs. Charmington owed a great deal to Messrs. Jones. That the cheque that paid for her well-known turn-out had been signed by the firm; that they had twice paid her dress-maker's bill, when that terrible person had become importunate; that they had settled the account of Monsieur Alphonse, the great _coiffeur_; that they had paid her husband's debts. Some of them, more imaginative, declared that Mrs. Charmington was even a sleeping partner in the saponaceous firm. But the ill-natured people were quite wrong; it was not Messrs. Jones who paid Mrs. Charmington's bills. Little Jack Charmington, her husband, had a snug four hundred a year of his own, which quite sufficed for his modest needs. Mrs. Charmington's graceful letter had been written by her in a moment of good nature, and, it may be said in confidence, at the instigation, some eight years ago, of Big Reginald Haggard, who had looked on the whole matter as a joke, and who had, at that stormy period of his career, been very much in Mrs.
Charmington's confidence. The real fact was that Mrs. Charmington kept Messrs. Jones before the public, and those astute advertisers did the same kind office for the lady.
Thus it was that Georgie became ”lovely Mrs. Haggard.” This is what the writers of serious books pompously call ”the _secret history_ of the whole matter.”
Georgie now, to her astonishment, found her movements invariably chronicled in the society journals. It rather annoyed her than otherwise, but her husband was pleased, and that was enough for Georgie.
The lazy giant was sprawling on the most comfortable of the sofas; the pair were alone in the dainty little drawing-room. Young Mrs. Haggard's eyes were full of tears. ”Won't you take me with you,” she sobbed appealingly, ”it's only for six months, Reginald?”
”I can't, my darling; it's a beast of a climate, and the mosquitos would eat you up. I shall only be away for six months; you know I have made up my mind to get rid of the whole bag of tricks. It's quite true the land can't run away, but there are always rows and revolutions and smashes going on; you can't trust anybody. Of course, Georgie, I should like you to go; but think of the risk. It won't wash at all. We'll stay over Christmas here in England. I suppose I must take you down to see the old man, and then we'll go straight off to Rome, and finish the winter there. I'm getting rather bored, you know, Georgie, with the fuss people make in town. It's deuced fine fun for you of course.”
The fact was that this excellent husband hated playing second fiddle, and he found, to his astonishment, that young Mrs. Haggard's social success had far eclipsed that of Georgie Warrender. As a good-looking young bachelor, though a detrimental, he had been very popular. As a wealthy _parti_ and a sort of lion he had been the fas.h.i.+on himself the previous season, and to his own knowledge his curly hair and big moustache had caused a quicker beating of the heart in many a female breast. But as Beauty's husband he felt out of his element. ”You lucky beggar!” had been repeated to him so often that he hated the phrase. Of course, he still admired his wife as the handsomest woman he had ever clapped eyes upon; he wasn't even jealous of the great attention that Georgie habitually received. First, because he knew he could trust her implicitly; but secondly, and this was far the more powerful reason, because he was too much a man of the world ever to render himself ridiculous.
”You know we can have rather a jolly time of it in Rome, Georgie,” he said. ”You must by this time be as heartily sick of the eternal _tete-a-tete_ as I am. I don't mean that,” he said, springing to his feet as he noticed that his young wife shuddered and turned pale; ”but the fact is, Georgie, I don't want to be pointed at like poor old Jack Charmington, and I confess, dear,” he added with a smile, ”that I should like a little more of 'lovely Mrs. Haggard's' society.”
A very little crust thrown to the very hungry is always accepted with grat.i.tude. Georgie Haggard brightened up at once. ”I suppose I must make the best of it, dear,” she said with a pleased smile; ”at all events, I shall have you all to myself in Rome.”
”Yes; it will be quite a second honey-moon; but I half promised your cousin Lucy that she should join us. It'll be beastly dull for her at The Warren, you see, poor girl; and she doesn't seem to jump at Spunyarn, though he does hang on. Is there any one else in the wind, do you think, Georgie?” he said with some interest.
”No; Lucy seems perfectly heartwhole,” replied his wife.
”I often wonder you two hit it off so well,” mused Haggard as he gazed into the blue flames that flickered over the little wood fire, for his wife affected a wood fire as more cheerful. ”Why, Lucy has been your only serious compet.i.tor this season; I wonder you aren't jealous of each other.”
”How can you talk such nonsense, Reginald?” the wife replied with a sunny laugh.
”Then you don't mind her coming with us on the Roman trip?”
It showed that Mrs. Haggard had considerable confidence in her own attractions, as she innocently replied, ”If you don't mind, why should I, dear?”
”Well, then it's all settled, old girl; we'll put in the dull time in Italy. Old Pit Town knows lots of good people, and would give us letters, I suppose. In the spring I'll just rush across and polish off the Mexican affair.”
His gaze again returned to the fire which smouldered on the hearth.
There was a silence.
Gradually Haggard raised his eyes; they rested on his wife, they took her in from head to foot, and seemed to appraise each of her numerous points. The husband's countenance was lighted up by a pleased expression.
”By Jove! Georgie,” he said, ”people are quite right; you are an uncommonly fine woman.”
He kissed her.
It was the kiss of proprietors.h.i.+p, similar to the appreciative pat he would have given to a prize dog or a valuable horse that was his own property.
Yes, Georgie loved the man, and looked up at him with wistful, trusting eyes. She was his, body and soul.
But the door opens, and a peal of merry laughter caused Haggard and his wife to subside into seats on either side of the fireplace.
”Oh, Georgie! I'm so sorry you missed it, it's been such fun, and Mr.
Sleek has been so attentive. I really think the two girls thought I was setting my cap at their father. What with the procession outside, and the farce indoors, we've had a delightful morning,” cried Lucy Warrender, as she entered the room.
”I fear it was rather a tragedy to poor little Sleek,” said Lord Spunyarn, who followed her; ”a tiger when a-las.h.i.+ng of his tail was nothing to Sleek. I shall never forget the look he gave me after lunch.”