Part 17 (2/2)

'Oh, well,' said Lady Durwent complacently, 'it's probably all a storm in a teacup, anyway. Some Austrian diplomat has been jilted for a Servian, I suppose. Isn't that the way wars always happen?' and she sighed heavily, recalling to her mind the cla.s.sic features of H.

Stackton Dunckley.

'That's what I say,' said the bright youth of the morning splendour.

'Why make a horse cross a bridge if it won't drink? Here goes--heads, a European war; tails, another thousand years of peace.--Ah, tough luck, Fensome, old son; it's tails.'

'Then let's begin the thousand years with some tennis,' cried Elise, whose eyes were sparkling, 'immediately after breakfast.'

'Shall us? Let's,' cried the talkative Maynard. 'So lay on, comrades--the victuals are waiting--and ”d.a.m.ned be he that first cries, 'Hold, enough!”'

III.

With an animated burst of chatter the house-party had given itself over to a thorough enjoyment of the remainder of breakfast. Ultimatums and the alarums of war vanished into thin air, like mists dispelled by the sun. The serious face of the ex-officer and the unwonted air of distraction on Lord Durwent's countenance were the only indications that the morning was different from any other. Tongues and hearts were light, and airy bubbles of badinage were blown into s.p.a.ce for the delectation of all who cared to look.

It was during a fas.h.i.+onable monologue of the Court-Circular lady that Maynard, the man of moods, who was sitting next to Selwyn, leaned over and whispered, 'Get hold of the _Sketch_. It's on your right. Pretend you're looking at the pictures. I've got the _Mirror_.'

Wondering what asinine prank was in the young man's mind, but not wanting to disturb the monologuist by untimely controversy, Selwyn reached for the _Sketch_, and a.s.sumed a deep interest in the very latest picture of London's very latest stage favourite who could neither sing, dance, nor act, and was tremendously popular.

'Excuse me, Lady Durwent,' said the gilded youth when a lull permitted him to speak, 'but would you pa.s.s the _Daily Mail_, please?'

'My dear Horace,' said Elise, 'you haven't taken to reading the _Mail_?'

'No, dear one. Heaven forbid! I merely write for it.'

'What!' There was an _ensemble_ of astonishment.

'Ra-ther. I sent their contributed page a scholarly little thing from my pen ent.i.tled ”Should One Kiss in the Park?” If it's in I get three guineas, and I'm going to start for Fiji to escape old Fensome's war.'

'Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, pa.s.sing the journal along, 'you have a rival.'

With an air of considerable embarra.s.sment the fair-haired contributor to newspapers opened the pages of the _Daily Mail_, but protesting that he was too bashful to endure the gaze of the curious, he begged permission to retire to the library, there to search in privacy for his literary child.

'I say, Selwyn,' he said, 'you come along too if you're through pecking. Nothing like having the opinion of an expert, even if he is jealous.'

With a promise to return immediately and read the effort aloud, the two men left the table and adjourned to the adjoining room. With a frown of impatience Selwyn was about to demand the reason for his inclusion in the silly affair, when the other stopped him with a gesture and closed the door.

'Quick!' he said. 'Grab that knife--here's the _Sketch_. Look through it for anything about d.i.c.k Durwent.'

Seeing that the other was serious, Selwyn spread the paper before him and hurriedly searched its columns.

'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Here it'----

'Sh-s.h.!.+ Hurry up and cut it out. Right. I'll fix up the _Mirror_ in the same way. Now skim through the _Mail_. Got it? By Jove! d.a.m.n near a whole column. Here'--Maynard ran the knife down the side of the column. 'Now then, old Fensome has promised to get the thing out of the _Post_, and to tell Lord Durwent before he goes to town. But he mustn't hear of it this way, and those women are not to know a word about it while they're in the house.'

Selwyn nodded and looked at the ragged clippings in his hand:

'ATTEMPTED MURDER IN WEST END.'

'WELL-KNOWN n.o.bLEMAN ATTACKED BY PEER'S SON.'

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