Chapter VI

It was a short time after this, that Mr. Brag was called upon to perform a feat for the amusement of his aristocratic friends, which, however powerful the effect it actually did produce, terminated in a manner less agreeable to the actor than the audience.

Upon our hero’s arrival one day at the lodgings of Lord Tom Towzle, he found his lordship and two other worthies concocting an answer to a matrimonial advertisement which had appeared in the columns of that most fashionable of all journals, The Morning Post; and Jack’s appearance to take his seat in such a council was hailed with enthusiasm;--in fact, he was the very man to undertake the conduct of the whole affair.

The advertisement ran thus:--

“MATRIMONY.--A widow lady, in good circumstances and of high
respectability, being, from causes which she will be most happy
to explain, left much alone, is desirous of again entering the
married state, provided she could find a gentleman of honour and
character who might feel a similar wish. The advertiser is aware
that an address of this nature is unusual, and may therefore create
a prejudice against her in the minds of some; she is, however,
confident, that upon investigation her conduct will be shown to be
perfectly justifiable. Letters, post-paid, directed to A. Z., to be
left at the Twopenny Post-office the corner of Little Queen Street,
Holborn, will be attended to: but as it is not the intention of the
advertiser to gratify idle curiosity, no farther particulars will be
entered into, until after an interview between the parties.”

“This is capital!” said Lord Tom. “We have seen hundreds of men advertising for wives, but the lady being the applicant is something new. However, she is evidently no fool; she is determined to see her man before she explains herself. You, my dear Brag, must be the recipient of her wishes and sorrows. We have just concluded a reply, fixing a meeting upon Waterloo Bridge, a locality chosen in preference to any of the Parks, squares, or gardens, on account of its solitude,--a quality which has reduced it as a speculation to worse than _nil_, which, considering it is one of the most splendid ornaments of the metropolis, is most deeply to be regretted.”

Jack was delighted at being fixed upon to talk over the fair advertiser; his self-acknowledged invincibility was admitted. It was his particular _forte_--and it was speedily arranged that his three companions should remain at a convenient distance until the parley should have proceeded to a certain extent, when they were _manfully_ to avow themselves confederates in the scheme, and eventually drive the rash damsel “fainting from the ground.”

It must be confessed that the system of mate-hunting through the medium of the newspapers, is one which not unnaturally subjects its practitioners to the assaults of the mischievous and merciless. Whether any of the negociations, of which such notices are the precursors, terminate satisfactorily,--that is to say, in the union of the parties--it is impossible to say; but it does seem, for people who have eyes and ears and hands and tongues, the strangest possible course of proceeding.

Jack, who in all his antics kept his eye upon the main chance, was by no means the less inclined to the performance of this hoax upon the defenceless innocence of the yet unknown fair-one, by a notion which flashed into his mind, that it might turn out that she really was handsome and rich: a notion which, to be sure, was rather romantic, inasmuch as it would appear that a lady possessing those qualifications--or even one, provided it were the latter--need not have had recourse to a public proclamation of her wish for a husband. Something, however might come of it: it was the opening of a new field for the exertion of his talents, and the display would, he felt certain, place him a step or two higher in the estimation of his noble sporting friends.

The letter, addressed as desired, was despatched, the postage paid, the day and hour were fixed, and the party separated to meet a few minutes previous to the rencontre, and arrange their forces, as has already been described; three forming a corps of observation, while Brag was performing his light-infantry evolutions in advance.

It must be quite clear to the reader, that upon such an occasion Jack took the greatest possible pains to make himself what he called “the thing;” every fold of his coloured neck-handkerchief was laid with the most anxious nicety of form and tint, every curl was crisped into its own peculiar place, and the whole of his costume made to look like that of “a genteel comedy” playhouse beau, which, as he believed, must be irresistible in a widow’s eyes.

At length the wished-for day and hour arrived. Lord Tom Towzle and his two friends were joined by Brag at the corner of Pall Mall, and proceeded to the scene of action, where they took up their stations a few minutes before two--two being the appointed time for the meeting--and having separated according to the programme, Mr. John Brag commenced his amatory promenade on one side of the bridge, while his expectant companions occupied the other, but at a considerable distance from him.

It was a pleasing thing to see our hero settling himself and pulling up his shirt collar, then drawing on his glove, then twirling a little switch-like stick which he carried, and then using it in whipping his own boots, shining with a lustre which Day and Martin might have envied. He had scarcely finished one turn when the London clocks began striking two, which at different periods they continued to do, for nearly five minutes, that of St. Paul’s booming through the air about midway between the subordinates.--Another turn had been taken, and no fair one was in sight:--a small girl in trousers, with her hair platted into two long tails with bows at their ends, and a bustle, approached--she was evidently no widow; she passed on; Jack tried the eloquence of his eyes upon _her_;--then came a tall, gaunt woman, with a poodle dog. Jack looked at _her_, but she made no sign. At last there appeared a fine portly-looking dame, dressed in a coquelicot bonnet, topped up with white and green feathers, a lavender-coloured pelisse, and buff-coloured boots. The friends in the distance were convinced that this was _the_ person. She looked behind her and before her, and first on one side, and then on the other, and proceeded at a steady pace. She drew a full-sized, white-faced watch from her bosom, and gazed upon its dial, and then tossed her well-plumed head with an air of impatience and surprise at the non-appearance of her summoner.

John Brag, Esq. beheld the vision, and if he had seen all the dæmons of the Hartz Forest pemmican’d into one plump lady, he could not have felt more horror and dismay. By what fatal accident, what evil coincidence, it should so have occurred, he could not imagine;--the extensive being before him, and now fast approaching, was neither more nor less than his respectable mother.

What the deuce could have brought her so far from home, and so wonderfully fine in her dress, Jack could not imagine; the question was, what was to be done? If he advanced, another minute would bring him in contact, and into conversation, with his parent; if he retreated, he must fall back upon his friends, and she would inevitably follow and accost _him_. The brightness of his genius came to his aid in this unexpected dilemma--he resolved instantly to join her, turn round with her, and fall into the dialogue which he saw must take place, and make his companions believe that his companion was the real object of their expedition, the advertising lady.

This scheme possessed many advantages, for the very circumstance of his relationship to his companion would afford him an opportunity of exhibiting the ease and familiarity of his manner while talking to the supposed advertiser, which would convince his companions that he was proceeding most successfully in his career; during which period he hoped to set his beloved mother on her way on the other side of the water before they could come up to enact _their_ part of laughing at the victim, which it was settled they were not to do, until Brag should give a signal that the moment for explosion had arrived.

The ingenious performer, however, had reckoned without his host. When he and his mother met, the expression of her countenance was anything but agreeable: she seemed, in fact, as much mortified and annoyed by _his_ appearance as he had been by _hers_: and with all his desire to keep good friends with her, and wheedle her away as soon as possible, he could not disguise the anxiety with which he watched the approach of the fair husband-hunter, upon whom, so long as his parent remained where she was, he could not of course play his tricks.

“Well, John,” said the lady, “who would have thought that we should have met here to-day? I’m sure I don’t know how long it is since I’ve set eyes upon you.”

“I have been a good deal out of town,” said Brag, acting (for effect with his friends) in the most civil and obsequious manner.

“What,” said Mrs. Brag, “at your little place in Surrey. I suppose you are coming from it now--eh, Johnny?”

“No, not exactly,” said Jack. “May I ask where you are going?”

“Nowhere particular,” replied the lady. “Don’t let me keep _you_. I am only out to make a call. I can go without _you_.”

“I will just see you to the gate,” said Jack, carefully abstaining from any gesture or movement which could in the slightest degree resemble the appointed signal for the co-operation of his friends.

“Don’t mind _me_, John,” said his mother; “it is so nice and airy up here, that I think I shall take a turn or two on the bridge before I go.”

“My dear mother,” said Brag, “you’ll catch your death of cold. Let me persuade you to get off as soon as you possibly can.”

“I like air,” said Mrs. Brag; “so you go your way. Who are those men standing out there? Do you know them?”

“Those men!” said Brag--“what, those three men there?--no--I know nothing about them.”

“Well then, good b’ye, John,” said the lady. “Now don’t let me keep you; it is more than a quarter after two, and I needn’t be at my friend’s till three; so now go--there’s a dear!”

This was a puzzler:--the fancy his mother had taken to walk upon Waterloo Bridge seemed to Jack not only the most extraordinary, but the most inconvenient imaginable. He could not leave her without accounting to his friends for not having made the signal, or for the conversation in which it was but too evident to them he was engaged; nor could he, in fact, go near them, without practically contradicting the declaration he had just made to his mother, that he knew nothing about them. He decided.

“Well then, mother,” said he, “if you really _do_ like to walk up and down a little, I don’t see why I should not walk up and down with you.”

“Well, I’m sure!” said Mrs. Brag, “wonders will never cease, I think! Walk up and down with _me_!--why you have not done such a thing these three years. Why, we have never been out together since the day you took me down to dinner at Blackwall, and kept me shut up in an attic at the ‘Artichoke,’ because, you said, I wasn’t fit to be seen by the company. No, no--go about _your_ business, and leave _me_ to mine.”

“I am waiting for somebody,” said Jack.

“Oh! that’s it,” cried Mrs. Brag. “I thought there must be something in the wind.”

“I know you don’t like spoiling sport, mother,” said Brag. “I’m here on a bit of fun:--I’ll let you into the joke. I expect every moment to see an uncommon smart body, who has been fool enough to advertise for a husband--eh!--don’t you see? We’ve tipped her a twopenny, fixing this, as the place of meeting: it’s past the time, and I dare say she won’t be much longer. Now, perhaps, if _you_ stop, she won’t come to the scratch.”

“Advertise for a husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Brag--“why, what _have_ you been at? Did _you_ answer the advertisement?”

“Clean as a whistle,” said Jack, flourishing his stick, and shaking his head with an air of uncommon self-satisfaction, “smack smooth, and no mistake--eh!”

“What! appointing her here”--said the lady.

“Here at two,” said Brag--“the adorable A. Z. at the oil-shop the corner of Little Queen Street, Holborn.”

“You did, did you?” ejaculated his mother.

“I did,” said Brag.

“Well then, all I say, John,” cried Mrs. Brag, “is, that you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If you was a lone widow woman, how would _you_ like to sit moping and mumping all alone, after having been used to sociability and comfort.”

“I see nothing to be ashamed of,” said Brag. “If people will make themselves such Tom-noddies as to put such trumpery stuff into the newspapers, they deserve all they get.”

“How you ferreted it out, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Brag.

“Ferret what out?” said Jack.

“--But _this_ I do know,” continued the lady “the letter was not in your hand-writing.”

“How the deuce do you know _that_?” interrupted Jack.

“Why, do you think I don’t know your little scribbling pot-hooks and hangers when I see them?” retorted the mother.

“I dare say you do,” said the son; “but how came you to see the letter we sent to A. Z. at the pickle-shop?”

“As if you didn’t know,” said Mrs. Brag. “Do you suppose I am so blind as not to see through _your_ antics? No, no: as I said before, how you ferreted it out I don’t yet understand; and when you had, I think you might have been better set to work than to hoax a parent.”

“I’m all at sea,” said Jack. “What have you or your affairs to do with our fun?”

“Do!” screamed the angry lady, “do--why what else should they have to do with? So now you are ashamed of your spy tricks, and want to sham that you did not know who A. Z. at the pickle-shop, as you call her, is.”

“I’ll be hanged if I do,” said Jack.

“Then hanged it is my belief you will be,” replied the mother, “_you_ know as well as _I_ do, that _I_ am that individual.”

“You!” cried Jack--“you A. Z. at the pickle-shop!”

At this moment Brag’s miseries were, as he thought, at their _acmé_--but he was mistaken. The instant he received the unexpected and most unwelcome intelligence, that the object of his diversion and ridicule, to enjoy which three of his first-rate friends had been brought to the scene of action, was really and truly his mother, his course was clear; apology and conciliation were the weapons with which he was to assail her, and having soothed her anger, he would walk her off the ground as speedily as possible; a course which he considered quite practicable, now that she must be convinced, however angry, that there was no use in her remaining on it.

“My dear mother,” said Brag, “I am truly and seriously sorry for this affair. If I had fancied it possible--but I--really--dear me!--this is all very uncomfortable.”

“If I thought you didn’t do it on purpose,” said Mrs. Brag, “I shouldn’t mind it half so much.”

“My dear mother,” said Brag, “I do most positively assure you”--

To which point of assurance his speech had arrived, when, tired of procrastination, and satisfied that Brag had admirably performed his part of the farce, his three friends bounced across the road, and joined the unhappy creature, forming, as it were, a semicircle in his rear.

“Come, Jack,” said Lord Tom Towzle, “you have had enough of this fun. Is he vastly agreeable, ma’am? Isn’t he a nice little man?”

“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Brag, “you _do_ know these gentlemen! Why, you little story-teller, you said they were no acquaintances of yours.”

“If I did”--said John--

“--_If_ you did!” said Mrs. Brag--“why, you know you did:--and so these are the companions of your trick--the witnesses of your impudence!”

“Pray, ma’am,” said one of the dandies, “do not flurry yourself--we are not going to eat you!--we were only anxious to have the pleasure of seeing you, because, as we all want wives more or less, we thought, like yourself, we might as well take the opportunity of viewing, before purchase.”

“Oh, Johnny, Johnny!” said Mrs. Brag, holding up her pink and white-striped parasol in a posture of threat--“you would do much better if you would but stick to the shop, and do your duty by _me_: if that was the case, you would not drive your poor mother to do what you yourself are most active to turn into ridicule. I’ll find this out--I’ll sift it to the very bottom: my belief is, that you have been pumping Jim Salmon, or one of the shopboys, to make this precious discovery, in order to amuse your fine friends at the expense of your parent.”

“Parent!” exclaimed Lord Tom Towzle--“what! ma’am, is--?--eh!”

“How!” cried one of his friends.--“What!” said another.

“Why, you see,” said Brag, “I--I”--

“I’ll tell it you shorter,” said Mrs. Brag, around whom and her auditors a crowd of four or five of the diurnal two dozen foot-passengers were now congregated:--“he is _my_ son--and not content with letting an excellent business go to rack and ruin while he is cutting his capers, and leaving an anxious mother to a solentary life and melancholy prospects--here he is”--

“Pray, ma’am,” said Lord Tom Towzle, “in what line may you be?”

“Wax and tallow chandler,” said Mrs. Brag, “including sperm and other oils, flambeaux, tapers, bougies, and sealing-wax of all colours and qualities.”

“She’s mad, poor thing!” said Jack--“fancies herself my mother! Did you ever hear?--go home, ma’am--go--and don’t expose yourself again by writing such stuff in the newspapers.”

“What! Jack,” said Lord Tom Towzle, “is A. Z. at the pickle-shop, corner of Little Queen Street, Holborn, your mamma?”

“So she says,” said Brag.

“Says!” exclaimed the indignant matron,--“it isn’t that you are much to be proud of: but here, gentlemen, here’s the card of the shop--I never travel without half a pack in my pocket--here, see--judge who is right now. Oh! if his poor dear father could but get out of his grave in Cripplegate churchyard to see the use his darling son has put all his indulgence to”--

“He would probably go back again into it, ma’am, as fast as he possibly could,” said Lord Tom.

“For _my_ part,” said the widow, looking at the slice of nobility which had last addressed her, “I begin to think you are no better than he is; however”--

Here, an admonitory--“Come--move on, move on,” from two policemen on duty, put a check to the conversation, which promised to become more and more animated.

“Move on!” said Mrs. Brag, who at this period was in a burning rage, the flame of which glowed on her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes:--“yes, Mr. Policeman, I’ll move on, and move off too; but it would serve that little whipper-snapper cockney son of mine right to send him to the Station House for what he has done.”

“Go home, poor soul!” said Brag, trying what “dejected pity” might do:--“go home, and get cool: I’ll come and see you soon.” Then, turning to his companions, he added:--“I’ve heard that gentle remedies are best, eh!--the soothing system, as Dr. Dulcimer calls it, eh! Go home.”

“Don’t be a fool, Jack,” exclaimed Mrs. Brag, “you’ll repent of this some day. All these fine-weather friends who set you on to play tricks for them to laugh at, will leave you the minute your troubles begin, just as rats run out of a falling house; and perhaps they would not be so fond of you _now_, if they knew that your town mansion was nothing but a brass plate, and your little place in Surrey, a second floor over a carpenter’s shop. Get you gone--get you gone! If you have no feeling for yourself, Jacky, I cannot help feeling for you.”

Away flounced the indignant mother; and having squeezed herself with some difficulty through one of the anti-cheating turnstiles at the end of the bridge, bounced along Wellington Street towards the Strand, Lord Tom Towzle signalizing himself, and delighting the spectators, by imitating, at the top of his voice, the crowing of a cock, triumphantly victorious in the overthrow of an enemy--an exhibition which has been more than once received with unbounded applause in a theatre in Westminster, which yet remains beyond the reach of the Licenser.

“Well, now,” said one of Jack’s three friends, “who is this old catamaran? Why does she insist upon being your mother?--is it because her name is the same?--or”--

Here again was Jack puzzled most wonderfully. To renounce her as a parent, and denounce her as a cheat, was something too strong even for _his_ assurance.

“--Why,” said our hero, “I believe, if truth were to be told, she is my mother.”

“Truth to be told!” said Lord Tom, “why, Jack, although there may, in these wicked days, be something like reason in the proverb that says, ‘it is a wise child who knows his own father,’--the adage cannot hold good as regards the female parent;--there can be no great doubt about _that_.”

“Why,” said Jack again, who generally began his speeches with why,--why, he knew not,--“why, you see, my mother”--And then again nature interposed:--it was not feeling, it was not tenderness, nor even affection, which held him back, or checked the tongue on which some flippant falsehood was gathering--it was instinct,--not better in its character perhaps (if so good) than that of a chimpanzee, but it was enough to paralyze his efforts to shuffle off the relationship between himself and the maltreated A. Z. at the pickle-shop at the corner of Little Queen Street, Holborn--“Why,” again said Jack, “I am sorry we made so bad a shot,--because I believe it is a good deal my own fault--I have driven her to it, eh! Can’t keep at work and”--

Brag had now fallen into his own trap; his impudence for once failed him, and he stood confessed the son of the determined husband-hunting widow of the deceased tallow chandler.

“But, Jack,” said Lord Tom, “what did your amiable parent mean by the brass plate, and the carpenter’s shop--the mansion and the villa?”

“Oh, that,” said Jack, “was all passion. When a woman’s back’s up, she’ll say anything, no matter what. I am sorry it has happened, because it has exposed her, and certainly has not come off the bat, clean, smack smooth, and no mistake.”

“No, that you cannot say,” said Lord Tom; “however, never mind it; the old lady will forgive you. You must go and see her, and make it up. Suppose we all go in a body and apologise, and I’ll explain to her the circumstances of the affair, and convince her that you really were totally ignorant that _she_ was the advertiser, eh! Shall we do _that_?”

This proposition produced a violent accession to Jack’s already raging fever. The thought of Lord Tom Towzle and the two “nobs,” as he called them, proceeding _en masse_ through the shop to the back-parlour beforementioned, under the row of wooden candles fluttering in the breeze, was perfect misery to him.

“No, no,” said Brag, “by no means! I have always noticed that a woman cools soonest when left alone.--My mother,” said Brag, assuming a new tone, and which he thought to be the wisest, “is a woman of what you call strong feeling--mighty high--old family--and proud as Lucifer. She’s in a passion; and when she is out of it I’ll go to her--mollify her, eh!--smooth her down, and make all snug and comfortable.”

“--‘And no mistake,’ Jack,” said Lord Tom. “Well, all I hope is, your nerves won’t be shaken for the race to-morrow. ‘Slap-bang’ is the favourite; and riding a winning horse is no very hard task”--

“Nervous!” said Jack, who began as usual to rally--“what is to shake my nerves?--an angry woman? No, no: I know the female sex too well to mind a few passing clouds; and as for the _exposé_, as the French call it, it’s nothing to me. My mother, as I have just said, is a woman of excellent family; how can I help her having been so silly as to marry a tallow chandler.”

This mode of putting the case set Jack’s friends laughing with him rather than at him. Like a cat, Jack generally contrived to fall upon his legs, however “high” the tumble; and they all agreed that he was perfectly right, and that he had behaved in the most moderate and judicious manner: and when they parted, renewed the appointment for the morrow with the usual cordiality.

As for Johnny, far different indeed were his feelings: the scene on the bridge was one which never could be effaced from his memory. The coquelicot bonnet; the striped parasol; the white and green feathers; the buff boots; the object of the visit; the conversation; the disclosure; the mystery of the plate, and the history of the villa; and, above all, the exhibition of the shop-card, and the conviction that he was the son of A. Z. at the pickle-shop--it was all vastly well for his tiger friends to laugh it off--but what would form the subject of their conversation after dinner that very day at Crockford’s, where the conclave would be secured from his intrusion? What would be the nickname which was ever after destined to distinguish him in the contemporaneous history of society?

It was clear that his end, as far as that sort of “life” was concerned, was drawing to a close. Two practicable measures now presented themselves to his imagination, both of which are said to go by destiny--hanging or marriage--the halter or the altar, and, according to Jack’s counterchanged aspiration of the _h_, it was difficult to discover his preference by his own pronunciation of the word. His mind was soon made up; and being assured that his secrets--as he considered the shop, the door-plate, and the villa--would, in the hands in which they had now been authoritatively deposited, be secrets not many hours longer, he resolved within himself that he had no time to lose in bringing the widow to action; and, as the reader already is aware, that let what might have happened, he never intended to ride “Slap-bang” over the forbidden lands of Wrigglesworth--that evening and the next day were to be devoted to the grand experiment of his life.

In putting this affair into execution, the natural infirmity of his disposition was remarkably exemplified. Convinced that Frank Rushton was satisfied of the prepossession of both Mrs. Dallington and Miss Englefield in his favour, and equally assured of the wisdom of Lord Tom’s advice as to the course to be pursued, he determined in the outset to act upon the principle of the one, and adopt the practice recommended by the other:--that is to say, to play off both the ladies one against the other, but not to commit himself to either, by writing; it being evident to the meanest capacity (except that of Johnny’s) that neither of two sisters, nor of two women, indeed, who were _not_ sisters, living in the same house, and in circumstances such as those in which Mrs. Dallington and Blanche were placed, could possibly receive anything like a proposal, or even a probable approach to it, without communicating the circumstance to the other. The mingled vanity and stupidity of Johnny, in the midst of his gaiety and amiability, prevented this single circumstance striking him; and, secure in his own influence over both the fair creatures, and his intimate knowledge of “females,” he resolved upon Lord Tom’s assumed doctrine, that both ladies being actually engaged to other men, neither would commit herself to the other by the acknowledgment of a passion for him: this decided him to fire both his barrels in rapid succession, giving the unmarried lady the preference by a few hours.

Having, however, revolved the affair in his mind, he again changed his original intention as to the mode of attack, and resolved to address the widow personally--and the sister by letter;--for, in spite of Lord Tom’s _friendly_ caution about writing, Jack did not feel himself quite a match for the tender delicacy of Blanche in the way of dialogue; having moreover, with all his avowed notions of practical advances, a most sensitive apprehension of a scream or a fainting-fit, which he feared might alarm the family, arouse the widow to a sense of his libertine insincerity, and explode the whole of his great undertaking.

Accordingly, in the course of the afternoon of the day upon which the unlucky affair of A. Z.--the alpha and omega of his destruction--occurred, he proceeded to one of his favourite haunts, and in pursuance of the scheme which he had now arranged, addressed a letter to Miss Englefield, avowing, not, it must be owned, in the most direct and explicit terms, but in a tone and language which it was impossible for any lady to mistake or misapprehend,--a devotion the most perfect and entire to her mind and person; alluding, in as good English as he could contrive to write, to the encouragement he felt he had received, trusting to her kindness and consideration, if he were mistaken, to forgive him; and hinting that Mr. Rushton himself was not altogether unconscious of the preference of which he felt so proud.

This he despatched before he slept, which he did at his “little place in Surrey;” and when he woke from a sort of fitful slumber in which he had passed the night, he began bitterly to repent of a step which he had taken while under the influence of a kind of desperation. However, as it _was_ done, he determined to “go the whole hog,” and follow up this feint at the unmarried lady, which might after all be turned into a real attack in case of a failure with the widow.

Accordingly, at the earliest decent period for calling upon anybody, Brag proceeded to make his visit to Mrs. Dallington; but here again his courage failed him. His mind was made up to the deciding step of trying his fortune, and as he went along, he rehearsed--or, as they say of birds, recorded all the sweet notes in which he should address her, if he found her alone. As he proceeded, his spirits mounted, until he had worked himself into a serviceable state of amativeness: he reached the door,--knocked--the noise seemed like thunder:

“He trembled at the sound himself had made”--

his courage began, like that of Acres in the play, to “ooze out at his fingers’ ends;” and the terror he experienced when the servant told him his mistress _was_ at home, can scarcely be imagined.

The crisis had arrived; and as it _was_ to come, perhaps it was better it should have occurred before any of his mother’s intemperate disclosures on the bridge had reached what Jack was in the habit of calling “the West end.” He mounted the stairs with his throat a little parched, and his hands a little cold; but when the door of the boudoir was opened, and he found his charming hostess alone, the sight was fatal.

“Why, my dear Mr. Brag,” said Mrs. Dallington, holding out her hand towards him, “where _have_ you been--hiding yourself in the country? I believe you have some attraction at your place in Surrey, of which we here in town are not aware.”

The allusion was not pleasant. Brag--the undaunted, unabashed lady-killer--sat himself down in a chair opposite the sofa on which he found the widow seated writing at a table before it, and felt assured that, by some telegraphic or other communication, the fair object of his hopes and ambition had received the intelligence of the affair on the bridge:--so ’tis that

“Conscience doth make cowards of us all.”

“No,” said Brag, endeavouring to collect himself, “I have been staying in Hertfordshire for the last few days.”

“I assure you we have missed you very much,” said the lady, who, fortunately or unfortunately, as the case may be, for Brag--was, for reasons of her own, in the best possible humour for encouraging his civilities,--“you can’t think how dull we have been without you. My belief is, that your friend Lord Tom is the cause of your abdication from town: he is so fond of his shooting matches and his steeple chases, and you, we hear, are his prime minister: in short, he cannot exist without you.”

“Oh!” said Brag, looking very much obliged, and very silly, “you flatter me. I assure you I just do these sort of things by way of a start now and then; but--I--it isn’t my taste--it obliges Tom--and that sort of thing; but--I--I--feel”--

“What!” said the widow, “do you mean to disown your affection for a sporting life, who are, as Sir Charles Lydiard says, the very life of sporting?”

“Sir Charles is very civil,” said Brag, who began to feel conscious of an approach to his subject: “I don’t think _he_ is very fond of sport--of any sort,” was added in a whisper scarcely audible.

“He is a strange creature, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Dallington. “A most excellent man--kind, and all _that_--but _so_ cold in his manner--I am sure he makes enemies by it.”

“Why,” said Brag, looking down, and rubbing his hat, “I don’t know what he may be to females--he _is_ certainly--rather--eh!--rather”--

“Oh!” said Mrs. Dallington, “don’t be afraid, I shall not repeat a word you say about him. I quite agree with you. Women, Mr. Brag,” and the widow suited her looks to the word--“are fond of spirit and vivacity. The days of sad, sickly, sighing swains, are gone by: society is enlightened, and diffidence seems to be considered in these times merely a mark of stupidity. I suppose everything is destined to travel at an increased pace, and I, for one, admit a partiality for fast travelling, as far as _that_ goes.”

This was pretty strong encouragement to an aspirant who was in a hurry, and engaged to ride “Slap-bang” across a county the next day--but Brag was Brag, every inch of him.

“Yes,” said Brag, “it’s uncommon pleasant: I don’t think, however, I shall ever be caught giving up horses for steam.”

This sudden digression from the figurative to the matter-of-fact, evidently disappointed the widow, who, truth to be told, had never appeared, either alone or in society, so cordial in her manner to our hero as upon this special occasion, upon which, of all others, it was most important to his views that she should be so. The first opening she had given him for a little self-recommendation in accordance with her avowed taste, he had botched,--missed his tip,--and become prosy.

“I have got a good many shares in the rail-roads,” said Jack.

This settled him, and, it must be confessed, fully justified his own preference for literary correspondence over verbal communication, upon tender subjects.

Mrs. Dallington gave a look; Brag, luckily, did not see it. A pause ensued, but, as our volatile widow was playing a game, it did not last long.

“I wonder,” said the widow, looking at Brag with an expression of interest--“I wonder _you_ have never married, Mr. Brag.”

This bit of wonderment nearly took away his breath: his tongue seemed too big for his mouth;--he began to twiddle his fingers, felt his ears get red, and his nose cold.

“Ha, ha!” said he, and rubbed his hat again.

“So gay, so gallant, and so devoted to the fair,” continued Mrs. Dallington, “I should think you had only to ask and command. I do not at all understand why you haven’t yet thrown your handkerchief.”

Brag, who did not in the least understand why he should perform any such operation, merely inclined his body.

“I have been married myself,” said Mrs. Dallington, “and although I soon became a widow, I am quite sure that where there are reciprocity of affection, congeniality of taste, and sympathy of feeling, no state of society can be so truly satisfactory and so entirely good,--I have no word so short or so emphatic for it as that--as marriage.”

“It must be uncommon agreeable, I should think,” said Brag, looking “uncommon” foolish.

“Now there’s Frank Rushton,” said Mrs. Dallington, “a most delightful companion--a most accomplished scholar,--and, as I believe, extremely attached to my poor dear sister--and yet, you see, they don’t get married. I believe that all you agreeable, gay men of the world, try everything in your power to turn the heads of poor girls, without any serious intention of eventually making them happy.”

This voluntary confession of facts and opinions, delivered in Mrs. Dallington’s most agreeable, off-hand manner, although it corroborated in Brag’s mind all his former belief of the interest he had created in the family, so astounded him, that with the opportunity at hand, for which he had so earnestly sought, he remained a mere listener at the mercy of his idol.

“As for Blanche,” said the widow, “as I have great faith in the philosophy which inculcates the belief of a love of opposites, I am sure she, tender, shy, and retiring as she is, ought to be over head and ears in love with Frank; but I don’t believe she cares the least bit in the world about him. To be sure she has a right to please herself. She has a large fortune, and nobody to control her, and, _I_ think, would make a most admirable wife for any man who knew how to appreciate her. However, I know nothing about her views or proceedings; we have no confidences; we each go our own way. I never trouble _her_ with my advice, and, of course, _she_ never presumes to give me any.”

“I am sure,” said Brag, “you would make anybody in love with wedlock--I’m--sure--You wonder that Miss Englefield does not marry Mr. Rushton;--I--often--think--I do indeed--that--you--I beg your pardon--I mean Sir Charles--eh!--and no mistake”--

“Oh!” said the widow, “I quite understand you. Sir Charles is a good creature--but as for love, I don’t believe he ever thinks of such a thing. Certainly he is not of _our_ opinion as to gaiety and vivacity.”

“I was thinking,” said Brag, looking as white as a sheet, and crumpling his remarkably nice hat in a paroxysm of something between hope and fear, “--that--you--really ought not to permit--eh!--this--he is such an odd man--eh!”

“My dear Mr. Brag,” said Mrs. Dallington, “there are secrets in all families.”

Brag perfectly agreed in the proposition, and directly did there flit before his eyes coquelicot bonnets, striped parasols, buff boots, brass plates, green and white feathers, and a tribe of visions more horrible than Fuseli’s fiercest efforts after a supper of half-boiled pork.

“There _are_ people with whom we become habitually familiarized,” said Mrs. Dallington, “but who never touch the heart.”

“Is Mr. Rushton,” stammered Jack, “one of those?”

“Why really,” replied Mrs. Dallington,--“Blanche not being here to answer for herself--for although you never inquired after her, I ought perhaps to have told you she has been out of town for two days, and does not return till to-morrow,--_I_ was not so particularly referring to _her_ case.”

This must have opened the eyes of a mole. Brag, in a moment, became aware that Mrs. Dallington could know nothing of his rash note to Blanche, and felt more convinced than ever that the widow was his own.

“The case,” stammered John--“you don’t--that is--really”--

“You are a most amiable creature!” said Mrs. Dallington. “I see how diffident you are of your own merits--how unconscious you are of your own power!”

“Yes,” faltered Brag, quite overcome--“yes--am I--that is--may I--do I make myself understood?--is--that is--don’t I--eh!--if--but”--

--“Sir Charles Lydiard,” said a servant, throwing open the door, and announcing the worthy baronet, who entered the room with his usual mild placidity of manner, and after shaking hands with the lady, turned round, and beheld--his aversion. The look he gave Mrs. Dallington expressed all his feelings upon _that_ point: nor was it lost upon Brag himself, who collected his hat, gloves, and switch-stick, and having gathered them up, made his bow, and left his adorable widow _tête-à-tête_ with the baronet, perfectly assured of his triumphant success with her, and bitterly repenting having exposed so much of his heart to her less well-provided-for sister.

Never, to be sure, was there a more perfect illustration of the character of the swaggering pretender to _bonnes fortunes_ than the melancholy proceedings of our wretched little hero. The ball was at his foot--the game was in his hands--and yet he, the slayer of hearts, and the assassin of reputations, cowered before the fostering kindness of his liberal hostess, and sneaked out of the presence of the man whom he believed to be his defeated rival, in ridiculing whom he had first joined with his mistress to take a step of which we shall hear more hereafter.