Part 60 (1/2)

Sir Charles laughed. ”Most likely. Gossip is not dead at Huntercombe, I dare say.”

Nurse's black eyes flashed. ”All the village will be out. I hope _he_ will see us ride in, the black-hearted villain!”

Sir Charles was too proud to let her draw him into that topic; he went about his business.

Lady Ba.s.sett's carriage, duly packed, came round, and Lady Ba.s.sett was ready soon afterward; so was Mrs. Millar; so was baby, imbedded now in a nest of lawn and lace and white fur. They had to wait for nurse. Lady Ba.s.sett explained _sotto voce_ to her husband, ”Just at the last moment she was seized with a desire to wear a silk gown I gave her. I argued with her, but she only pouted. I was afraid for baby. It is very hard upon _you,_ dear.”

Her face and voice were so piteous that Sir Charles burst out laughing.

”We must take the bitter along with the sweet. Don't you think the sweet rather predominates at present?”

Lady Ba.s.sett explored his face with all her eyes. ”My darling is happy now; trifles cannot put him out.”

”I doubt if anything could shake me while I have you and our child. As for that jade keeping us all waiting while she dons silk attire, it is simply delicious. I wish Rolfe was here, that is all. Ha! ha! ha!”

Mrs. Gosport appeared at last in a purple silk gown, and marched to the carriage without the slightest sign of the discomfort she really felt; but that was no wonder, belonging, as she did, to a s.e.x which can walk not only smiling but jauntily, though dead lame on stilts, as you may see any day in Regent Street.

Sir Charles, with mock gravity, ushered King Baby and his attendants in first, then Lady Ba.s.sett, and got in last himself.

Before they had gone a mile Nurse No. 1 handed the child over to Nurse No. 2 with a lofty condescension, as who should say, ”You suffice for porterage; I, the superior artist, reserve myself for emergencies.” No.

2 received the invaluable bundle with meek complacency.

By-and-by Nurse 1 got fidgety, and kept changing her position.

”What is the matter, Mary?” said Lady Ba.s.sett, kindly. ”Is the dress too tight?”

”No, no, my lady,” said Mary, sharply; ”the gownd's all right.” And then she was quiet a little.

But she began again; and then Lady Ba.s.sett whispered Sir Charles, ”I think she wants to sit forward: _may_ I?”

”Certainly not. I'll change with her. Here, Mary, try this side. We shall have more room in the landau; it is double, with wide seats.”

Mary was gratified, and amused herself looking out of the window.

Indeed, she was quiet for nearly half an hour. At the expiration of that period the fit took her again. She beckoned haughtily for baby, ”which did come at her command,” as the song says. She got tired of baby, or something, and handed him back again.

Presently she was discovered to be crying.

General consternation! Universal but vague consolation!

Lady Ba.s.sett looked an inquiry at Mrs. Millar. Mrs. Millar looked back a.s.sent. Lady Ba.s.sett a.s.sumed the command, and took off Mary's shawl.

_”Yes,”_ said she to Mrs. Millar. ”Now, Mary, be good; it _is_ too tight.”

Thus urged, the idiot contracted herself by a mighty effort, while Lady Ba.s.sett attacked the fastenings, and, with infinite difficulty, they unhooked three bottom hooks. The fierce burst open that followed, and the awful chasm, showed what gigantic strength vanity can command, and how savagely abuse it to maltreat nature.

Lady Ba.s.sett loosened the stays too, and a deep sigh of relief told the truth, which the lying tongue had denied, as it always does whenever the same question is put.

The shawl was replaced, and comfort gained till they entered the town of Staveleigh.