Chapter LXII: Love at Second Sight.—cupid’s Settling Day

A sudden change now came over the country.—The weather, which had
been mild and summer-like throughout, changed to frost, binding
all nature up in a few hours. The holes in the streets which were
shining with water in the gas-lights when Miss de Glancey retired
to bed, had a dull black-leaded sort of look in the morning,
while the windows of her room glistened with the silvery spray of
ferns and heaths and fancy flowers.—The air was sharp and bright,
with a clear blue sky overhead, all symptomatic of frost, with
every appearance of continuing.—That, however, is more a
gentleman’s question than a lady’s, so we will return within
doors.

Flys being scarce at Hinton, and Miss de Glancey wishing to avoid
the gape and stare of the country town, determined to return by
the 11.30 train; so arose after a restless night, and taking a
hurried breakfast, proceeded, with the aid of her maid, to make
one of those exquisite toilettes for which she had so long been
justly famous. Her sylph-like figure was set off in a
bright-green terry-velvet dress, with a green-feathered bonnet of
the same colour and material, trimmed with bright scarlet
ribbons, and a wreath of scarlet flowers inside.—A snow-white
ermine tippet, with ermine cuffs and muff, completed her costume.
Having surveyed herself in every mirror, she felt extremely
satisfied, and only wished Captain Languisher could see her. With
that exact punctuality which constant practice engenders, but
which sometimes keeps strangers sadly on the fret, the useful fly
was at length at the door, and the huge box containing the eight
hundred yards of tulle being hoisted on to the iron-railed roof,
the other articles were huddled away, and Miss de Glancey
ascending the steps, usurped the seat of honour, leaving Mrs.
Roseworth and her maid to sit opposite to her. A smile with a
half-bow to Mrs. Sarsnet, as she now stood at the door, with a
cut of the whip from the coachman, sent our party lilting and
tilting over the hard surface of the road to the rail.

The line ran true and smooth this day, and the snorting train
stopped at the pretty Swiss cottage station at Fairfield just as
Mrs. Roseworth saw the last of the parcels out of the fly, while
Miss de Glancey took a furtive peek at the passengers from an
angle of the bay window, at which she thought she herself could
not be seen.

Now, it so happened that the train was in charge of the
well-known Billy Bates, a smart young fellow, whose good looks
had sadly stood in the way of his preferment, for he never could
settle to anything; and after having been a footman, a
whipper-in, a watcher, a groom, and a grocer, he had now taken up
with the rail, where he was a great favourite with the fair, whom
he rather prided himself upon pairing with what he considered
appropriate partners. Seeing our lovely coquette peeping out, it
immediately occurred to him, that he had a suitable _vis-à-vis_
for her—a dashing looking gent., in a red flannel Emperor shirt,
a blue satin cravat, a buff vest, aud a new bright-green cut-away
with fancy buttons; altogether a sort of swell that isn’t to be
seen every day.

“This way, ladies!” now cried Billy, hurrying into the
first-class waiting-room, adjusting the patent leather pouch-belt
of his smart grcen-and-red uniform as he spoke. “This way,
ladies, please!” waving them on with his clean white
doeskin-gloved hand towards the door; whereupon Miss de Glancey,
drawing herself up, and primming her features, advanced on to the
platform, like the star of the evening coming on to the stage of
a theatre.

Billy then opened the frosty-windowed door of a carriage a few
paces up the line; whereupon a red railway wrapper-rug with brown
foxes’ heads being withdrawn, a pair of Bedford-corded legs
dropped from the opposite seat, and a dogskin gloved hand was
protruded to assist the ascent of the enterer. A pretty
taper-fingered primrose-kidded one was presently inside it; but
ere the second step was accomplished, a convulsive thrill was
felt, and, looking up, Miss de Glancey found herself in the grasp
of her old friend Imperial John!

“O Mr. Hybrid!” exclaimed she, shaking his still retained hand
with the greatest cordiality; “O Mr. Hybrid! I’m so _glad_ to see
you! I’m so _glad_ to meet somebody I know!” and gathering
herself together, she entered the carriage, and sat down opposite
him.

Mrs. Roseworth then following, afforded astonished John a moment
to collect his scattered faculties, yet not sufficient time to
compare the dread. “_Si-r-r-r!_ do you _mean to insult me!_” of
their former meeting, with the cordial greeting of this. Indeed,
our fair friend felt that she had a great arrear of politeness to
make up, and as railway time is short, she immediately began to
ply her arts by inquiring most kindly after His Highness’s sister
Mrs. Poppeyfield and her baby, who she heard was _such_ a sweet
boy; and went on so affably, that before Billy Bates arrived with
the tickets, which Mrs. Roseworth had forgotten to take, Imperial
John began to think that there must have been some mistake
before, and Miss de Glancey couldn’t have understood him. Then,
when the train was again in motion, she applied the artillery of
her eyes so well—for she was as great an adept in her art as the
Northumberland horse-tamer is in his—that ere they stopped at the
Lanecroft station, she had again subjugated Imperial John;—taken
his Imperial reason prisoner! Nay more, though he was going to
Bowerbank to look at a bull, she actually persuaded him to alight
and accompany her to Mrs. Roseworth’s where we need scarcely say
he was presently secured, and in less than a week she had him so
tame that she could lead him about, anywhere.

The day after the ball was always a busy one in
Hit-im-and-Hold-em-shire. It was a sort of settling day, only the
parties scattered about the country instead of congregating at
the “corner.” Those who had made up their minds overnight, came
to “Ask Mamma” in the morning, and those who had not mustered
sufficient courage, tried what a visit to inquire how the young
lady was after the fatigue of the ball would do to assist them.
Those who had got so far on the road as to have asked both the
young lady and “Mamma,” then got handed over to the more
business-like inquiries of Papa—when Cupid oft “spreads his light
wings and in a moment flies.” Then it is that the terrible money
exaggerations come out—the great expectations dwindling away, and
the thousands a-year becoming hundreds. We never knew a reputed
Richest Commoner’s fortune that didn’t collapse most grievously
under the “what have you got, and what will you do?” operation.
But if it passes Papa, the still more dread ordeal of the lawyer
has to be encountered when one being summoned on either side, a
hard money-driving bargain ensues, one trying how much he can
get, the other how little he can give—until the whole nature and
character of the thing is changed. Money! money! money! is the
cry, as if there was nothing in the world worth living for but
those eternal bits of yellow coin. But we are getting in advance
of our subject, our suitor not having passed the lower, or
“Ask-Mamma” house.

Among the many visited on this auspicious day were our fair
friends at Yammerton Grange, our Richest Commoner having infused
a considerable degree of activity into the matrimonial market.
There is nothing like a little competition for putting young
gentlemen on the alert. First to arrive was our friend Sir Moses
Mainchance, who dashed up to the door in his gig with the air of
a man on safe ground, saluting Mamma whom he found alone in the
drawing-room, and then the young ladies as they severally entered
in succession. Having thus sealed and delivered himself into the
family, as it were, he enlarged on the delights of the ball—the
charming scene, the delightful music, the excellent dancing, the
sudden disappearance of de Glancey and other the incidents of the
evening. These topics being duly discussed, and cake and wine
produced, “Mamma” presently withdrew, her example being followed
at intervals by Flora and Harriet.

Scarcely had she got clear of the door ere the vehement bark of
the terrier called her attention to the front of the house, where
she saw our fat friend the Woolpack tit-tup-ing up on the
identical horse Jack Rogers so unceremoniously appropriated on
the Crooked Billet day. There was young Treadcroft with his
green-liveried cockaded groom behind him, trying to look as
unconcerned as possible, though in reality he was in as great a
fright as it was well possible for a boy to be. Having dismounted
and nearly pulled the bell out of its socket with nervousness, he
gave his horse to the groom, with orders to wait, and then
followed the footman into the dining-room, whither Mrs. Yammerton
had desired him to be shown.

Now, the Woolpack and the young Owl (Rowley Abingdon), had been
very attentive both to Flora and Harriet at the ball, the
Woolpack having twice had an offer on the tip of his tongue for
Flora, without being able to get it off.

Somehow his tongue clave to his lips—he felt as if his mouth was
full of claggum. He now came to see if he could have any better
luck at the Grange.

Mrs. Yammerton had read his feelings at the ball, and not
receiving the expected announcement from Flora, saw that he
wanted a little of her assistance, so now proceeded to give it.
After a most cordial greeting and interchanges of the usual
nothings of society, she took a glance at the ball, and then
claimed his congratulations on Clara’s engagement, which of
course led up to the subject, opening the locked jaw at once; and
Mamma having assured the fat youth of her perfect approval and
high opinion of his character, very soon arranged matters between
them, and produced Flora to confirm her. So she gained two
sons-in-law in one night. Miss Harriet thus left alone, took her
situation rather to heart, and fine Billy, forgetful of his
Mamma’s repeated injunctions and urgent entreaties to him to
return now that the ball was over, and the hunting was stopped by
the frost, telling him she wanted him on most urgent and
particular business, was tender-hearted enough on finding Harriet
in tears the next day to offer to console her with his hand,
which we need not say she joyfully accepted, no lady liking to
emulate “the last rose of summer and be left blooming alone.” So
all the pretty sisters were suited, Harriet perhaps the best off,
as far as looks at least went.

But, when in due course the old “what have you got and what will
you do?” inquiries came to be instituted, we are sorry to say our
fine friend could not answer them nearly so satisfactorily as the
Woolpack, who had his balance-sheets nearly off by heart. Billy
replying in the vacant _negligè_ sort of way young gentlemen do,
that he supposed he would have four or five thousand a-year,
though when asked why he thought he’d have four or five thousand
a-year, he really could not tell the reason why. Then when
further probed by our persevering Major, he admitted that it was
all at the mercy of uncle Jerry, and that his Mamma had said
their lawyer had told her he did not think pious Jerry would
account except under pressure of the Court of Chancery, whereupon
the Major’s chin dropped, as many a man’s chin has dropped, at
the dread announcement. It sounds like an antidote to matrimony.
Even Mrs. Yammerton thought under the circumstances that the
young Owl might be a safer speculation than fine Billy, though
she rather leant to fine Billy, as people do lean to strangers in
preference to those they knew all about. Still Chancery was a
choker. Equity is to the legal world what Newmarket is to the
racing world, the unadulterated essence of the thing. As at
Newmarket there is none of the fun and gaiety of the great
race-meetings, so in Chancery there is none of the pomp and
glitter and varied incident that rivets so many audiences to the
law courts.

All is dull, solemn, and dry—paper, paper, paper—a redundancy of
paper, as if it were possible to transfer the blush of perjury to
paper. Fifty people will make affidavits for one that will go
into a witness-box and have the truth twisted out of them by
cross-examination. The few strangers who pop into court pop out
again as quickly as they can, a striking contrast to those who go
in in search of their rights—though wrestling for one’s rights
under a pressure of paper, is very like swimming for one’s life
enveloped in a salmon-net. It is juries that give vitality to the
administration of justice. A drowsy hum pervades the bar, well
calculated for setting restless children to sleep, save when some
such brawling buffoon as the Indian juggler gets up to pervert
facts, and address arguments to an educated judge that would be
an insult to the mind of a petty juryman. One wonders at men
calling themselves gentlemen demeaning themselves by such
practices. Well did the noble-hearted Sir William Erie declare
that the licence of the bar was such that he often wished the
offenders could be prosecuted for a misdemeanour. We know an
author who made an affidavit in a chancery suit equal in length
to a three-volume novel, and what with weighing every word in
expectation of undergoing some of the polished razors keen of
that drowsy bar, he could not write fiction again for a
twelvemonth. As it was, he underwent that elegant extract Mr.
Verde, whose sponsors have done him such justice in the vulgar
tongue, and because he made an immaterial mistake he was held up
to the Court as utterly unworthy of belief! We wonder whether Mr.
Verde’s character or the deponent’s suffered most by the
performance. But enough of such worthies. Let all the bullies of
the bar bear in mind if they have tongues other people have pens,
and that consideration for the feelings of others is one of the
distinguishing characteristics of gentlemen.