Part 41 (1/2)
Mr. Bundercombe regarded him with a certain wistfulness which I did not at that moment understand. Just then Lord Porthoning made his way toward us.
As I watched him approach I realized more than ever the justice of Mr.
Bundercombe's description. He was undersized, bent nearly double, and on his wizened face and s.h.i.+ning out of his narrow black eyes was an indescribable expression of malevolence. Even the smile with which he greeted me had something unpleasant in it.
”Well, Paul!” he exclaimed. ”Well, my boy, so you're hooked at last, are you?”
Considering that I was enjoying a few minutes' respite in my task of helping Eve receive our wedding guests, the statement, though crude, was obvious enough.
”Glad to see you, Lord Porthoning!” I said, lying miserably. ”Do you know my father-in-law, Mr. Bundercombe?”
Mr. Bundercombe extended his ready hand, which my connection, however, appeared not to see.
”Yes, yes!” he admitted. ”Some one pointed him out to me. I asked who on earth it could be. No offense, mind,” Lord Porthoning continued; ”but I hate all Americans and our connections with them. I have been looking at your presents, Paul. A poorish lot--a poorish lot! Now I was at d.i.c.k Stanley's wedding last week--married Colonel Morrison's daughter, you know. Never saw such jewelry in my life! Four necklaces; and a tiara from the d.u.c.h.ess of Wests.h.i.+re that must have been worth a cool ten thousand pounds.”
”I am sorry my wedding presents do not meet with your approval,” I remarked. ”Personally I think it is very kind of my friends to send me anything at all.”
”Rubbish, Paul! Rubbis.h.!.+” my amiable connection interjected irritably.
”Don't talk like an idiot! You know they send you things because they've got to. You've been through it yourself. Must have cost you a pretty penny in your time sending out wedding presents! Now you reap the harvest.”
”I suppose,” I observed dryly, ”that yours is the reasonable point of view.”
”Absolutely, my dear fellow--absolutely!” Lord Porthoning declared. ”Of course you couldn't expect quite the same enthusiasm on the part of your friends when you marry a young lady who is a stranger to all of them and who comes from the backwoods of America. Can't think how it is you young Englishmen can marry nothing, nowadays, unless it shows its legs upon the stage or has a transatlantic drawl. I am going in to see if the champagne they're opening now is any better. The first gla.s.s I had was horrid!”
My father-in-law watched him disappear through the crowd, and stood patiently by my side while I exchanged greetings with a few newly arrived friends.
”Say!” he observed presently, as soon as an opportunity rose for private conversation. ”He's a pleasant old gentleman, that connection of yours!”
”Glad you think so,” I answered. ”I don't call myself a bad-natured fellow, and to-day I feel inclined to be friends with every one; but I tell you frankly I can't bear the sight of Lord Porthoning. He has to be asked, but he's like a wet blanket wherever he goes.”
Mr. Bundercombe glanced round a moment. Then he leaned toward me. His manner was earnest--almost pleading.
”Paul,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, ”don't you think it's up to us to give a disagreeable little worm like that a bit of a lesson, eh?
His lords.h.i.+p has his own way too much. Now if you'll leave it to me I'll give him just a kind of a scare--a shake-up, you know--no real harm; just teach him, perhaps, not to open his mouth so much. What do you say, Paul?”
I turned and looked at my father-in-law. His expression was that of a schoolboy begging for a holiday. His head was a little on one side, his lips were parted in an insinuating smile. It was a weak moment with me. So far as such a term can be applied to such an event, the wedding ceremony, which was just over, had been a great success. Eve had looked simply as beautiful as a beautiful girl can look on the one morning of her life.
My father-in-law had been dignified and correct in his behavior, and a merciful misadventure of Mrs. Bundercombe with a policeman three days previously, which had led to her being arrested with a hammer in her satchel, had finally resulted in her being forced to partake of the hospitality of Holloway for the period of fourteen days; in fact, everything just then with me was _couleur de rose_.
The presents my crabbed connection spoke of so lightly had been supplemented only an hour before by surely the most magnificent wedding offering from my father-in-law that any man could have--the house in which we were and the whole of the furniture. It was hard to refuse Mr.
Bundercombe anything. Before I knew exactly what had happened, my smile had answered his.
”Well,” I said, ”I rely upon your discretion, Mr. Bundercombe. A little lesson would certainly do Porthoning no harm.”
Whereupon Mr. Bundercombe, fearing apparently that I might change my mind, vanished among the crowd; and the matter, to tell the truth, disappeared from my mind for a short time. I was surrounded by friends, and the occasion, joyful though it was, possessed a certain unique sentimentality that I found sufficiently absorbing. Eve brought me the latest telegram from Mrs. Bundercombe, which we read together:
Insist upon ceremony being postponed! Am commencing hunger strike. Shall be with you in three days.
”Your stepmother's intentions,” I remarked to Eve, ”may be excellent, but I don't think they'll bring her so far as the Austrian Tyrol.”
Eve's eyes were lit with laughter. A moment later, however, she sighed.