Part 22 (1/2)

”I didn't mean it!” she sobbed. ”I didn't mean it! Jin, dear Jin, I was angry, and didn't know what I was saying! I am a wretch and a heathen and a beast! Think no more of it, dear, I implore you! And promise me that you won't dream of packing up your things and leaving me. What should I do without you, Jin? Indeed--indeed--I should be perfectly miserable, dear, if you were to go away!”

So the ladies embraced, and cried, and laughed, and cried again, as is the manner of their s.e.x in the ratification of all treaties, permanent or otherwise, arriving at the conclusion that their friends.h.i.+p was imperishable, that they were all in all to each other, and that henceforth nothing should part them but the grave. None the less, however, did Miss Ross determine that she would subject herself no more to such scenes of reproach and recrimination; that she would take a certain step, only, after all, a little sooner than expected, which she had already vaguely contemplated as a possibility, a probability, nay, a positive necessity, for her happiness; and, if he would only open them to receive her, throw herself, without delay, into the arms of Frank Vanguard.

CHAPTER XX.

A RECONNAISSANCE.

Violent tempests like that described in the last chapter do not pa.s.s away without leaving a ”ground swell” as it were, on the domestic surface. Neither Mrs. Lascelles nor Miss Ross felt disposed to take their usual drive in the open carriage for the purpose of shopping and ”leaving cards;” two functions that const.i.tute the whole duty of women, from three to six P.M. of every week-day, during the London season. The principle of acquisitiveness inherent in the female breast, together with an insatiable desire to see and to be seen, may account for the shopping; but why society enjoins the penance of leaving cards surpa.s.ses my comprehension altogether. Unmeaning, endless, and exceedingly troublesome, this custom seems to produce no definite result, but to fill the waste-paper basket with a mult.i.tude of other cards left in return. To-day, however, the ladies at No. 40 resolved they would devote their afternoon to refreshment and repose: a good luncheon, a comfortable arm-chair, the newest novel, and a casual dropping in of visitors to tea.

The luncheon was heavy, the arm-chair provocative of slumbers; so was the novel; and Mrs. Lascelles, I am bound to admit, went fast asleep over its pages; while Miss Ross stole softly up-stairs to read one important little note, write another, and otherwise bring her schemes to maturity.

In the mean time, a considerable bustle was going on in Messrs.

Tattersalls' celebrated emporium for the sale of horses--good, bad, and indifferent. To use correct language, ”The entire stud of a n.o.bleman, well known in Leicesters.h.i.+re,” was being brought to the hammer; and a very motley crowd of sportsmen, dandies, horse-dealers, lords, louts, yeomen, yokels, and nondescripts were gathered round the auctioneer's box in consequence. A well-bred chestnut horse, with magnificent shoulders, and a white fore-leg, was the object of compet.i.tion at the moment Sir Henry Hallaton entered the yard; and, although he neither wanted a hunter, nor could have afforded to buy this one even at its reserved price, it was not in his power to refrain from elbowing his way through the crowd, and stationing himself in perilous vicinity to the hind-legs of the animal.

”Handsome--fast--up to great weight--with an European reputation! And only two hundred bid for him!” said the voice of Fate from under an exceedingly well-brushed and rather curly-brimmed hat; while the object of these encomiums, whose restless eye and ear denoted excitement, if not alarm, gave a stamp of his foot and a whisk of his tail that caused considerable swaying, surging, and treading on toes in the encircling crowd.

”Ten! Twenty!” continued the voice of Fate. ”Thirty! Thank you, my lord.

Fifty! Two hundred and fifty bid for him. Run him down once more. Take care!” And Sir Henry found himself jostled against his new friend Picard, who, having made the last bid with an a.s.sumption of great carelessness, seemed in danger of becoming the actual proprietor of this desirable purchase.

”Make me a wheeler, I think,” said he, as the horse was led back to the stable, and another brought out to elicit a fresh burst of compet.i.tion, all the more lively, perhaps, that the Leicesters.h.i.+re n.o.bleman had put such a reserve price on his stud as precluded the sale of anything but a hack he didn't like.

”Rather light for harness,” observed Sir Henry, with a certain covert approval of his friend's extravagance. ”I suppose they _are_ to be sold?” he added, on further reflection.

”I conclude so, of course,” replied the other, though he well knew they were _not_, and had been bidding pompously for some half-dozen with the comfortable conviction that there was nothing to pay for his whistle.

”It's a long price,” resumed the baronet, as he took Picard's arm to saunter leisurely in the direction of Belgravia. ”At least, it makes them very dear when you come to match them. That's the worst of having too good a team.”

”Oh! I don't know,” said Picard loftily. ”I always find it cheapest, in the long run, to drive the best horses, though I do have to give thundering prices now and then, I admit. Still, things must begin to look up for us soon. We Southern proprietors can't be always on the shady side of the hedge; and we've had a rough time of it enough, in all conscience.”

They were already at the gate, and it appeared this ”Southern proprietor” had no intention of buying any more horses to-day.

Sir Henry hazarded a pertinent, or, as he himself considered it, an _im_pertinent, inquiry.

”Have you much property,” said he, ”in the South? And do you get anything from it?”

”Not, perhaps, what _you_ would call much, in actual value,” answered his companion; ”but for extent, of course, unlimited.” He waved his arm as Robinson Crusoe might, while describing his circle:

”From the centre all round to the sea.”

”But American property,” he added, ”is so difficult to define. Halloo!

here's our friend Vanguard.”

That gentleman was indeed strolling leisurely into the yard, apparently with no particular object, for he strolled out again willingly enough at the invitation of his two friends.

”It's rather early for the park,” observed Picard, as the three crossed to the shady side of the street, ”and too late for St. James's Street.

What shall we do with ourselves for the next half-hour?”