Chapter I

Having given the reader a brief and succinct account of the prosperous progress of Mr. Brown, and deposited him in safety with his mother and sister, it now becomes necessary to give a glance at our hero Jack, and the measures he adopted under the peculiar and embarrassing circumstance of being accepted by two very charming women in the course of one afternoon.

For a few moments after the arrival of the second note--that from Blanche--the little man was greatly puzzled how to act. That the answers to his declarations were jokes he had not the slightest suspicion, and therefore his difficulty arose from the necessity of at once making up his mind. Unlike Gay’s hero, he felt that he _must_ say “a word” to both his captives: in fact, he was forced on the instant to decide, yea or nay--widow or maid. This was really a puzzler even for Jack, who scratched his hair half out of curl before he had got near a conclusion. At length he determined to postpone the _éclaircissement_ until the evening, and in the mean time to throw himself in the way of Sir Charles Lydiard, in order, if he could, to extract from him his opinion of the widow’s merits, and ascertain, if possible, the extent of his anger and vengeance if Jack should make _her_ his choice.

For this purpose Jack began what he called his tour of the Clubs--but, in truth, that of their doors--for Jack had not as yet achieved the _right_ of crossing the threshold of any one of them. Nevertheless, he was not an unfrequent occupant of their halls, into which, by asking after some man whom he knew to be out of town, or who did not belong to that particular society, he made his way; and having performed that evolution once or twice, without, or, as he considered, with, perfect success, he at length encountered Sir Charles, and immediately joined him in his walk towards Grosvenor Street.

In one of those amusing and instructive works upon natural history, in which we find recorded the traits of character peculiar to different animals, there is an account of a goose which had formed so strong an attachment to a Newfoundland dog belonging to the same master, that she never was easy out of his society. Neptune was conscious of this kindly feeling, and reciprocated it to a certain extent; and whenever they were together in the yard, _he_ feeding, and goosey looking affectionately on, or _vice versâ_, it was all very well; but when Neptune took the air in the street of the village or by the road-side, or went to refresh himself in a neighbouring pond, goosey _would_ accompany him. Then it was too, that, after enduring the waddle and quack of his admiring companion for a certain period of time, Neptune invariably, as soon as he saw any dogs of condition or puppies of quality coming, put himself into a long trot, and dart round a corner or over a gate, in order to exhibit his dislike of the connexion. Sir Charles Lydiard felt very much like dog Neptune, when goosey Brag joined him: however, as it was impossible, without rudeness perfectly inconsistent with Sir Charles’s character and disposition, to shake him off, he endured the commencement of a conversation, which in the end excited the best feelings of his nature, and awakened in his heart the tenderest sympathy for a much-injured friend.

As the reader will hereafter be referred to this important dialogue, he shall not be troubled with a repetition of it, here: that it _was_ important may easily be imagined from the fact, that when Sir Charles reached the door of his hotel he invited Brag to come in, and that they remained in conversation in his drawing-room for more than an hour.

The impression left upon Jack’s mind by what he had heard from his “friend” Sir Charles was, that the loss of the widow would neither cause the breaking of the baronet’s heart nor of his own head; and he was, as the reader may imagine, proportionably elated and elevated, and more particularly confirmed in his original intentions respecting his choice of that lady.

Jack felt as if he were treading on air as he paced down Bond Street to call on some other friend, in order to make a new confidence, no doubt; however, the Fates decided otherwise, for, in turning the corner of Hanover Square, whom should he stumble upon, but Rushton!--a meeting which, as he had magnanimously determined to leave him in the quiet possession of the elegant Blanche, rather pleased him than not. Rushton, whose “affection” for Jack was, if possible, stronger than that of Sir Charles Lydiard, made a desperate attempt to get away from him, not only because upon a general principle he wished to avoid him, but because the impression on his mind was, that ridiculous as the idea might at first appear, _he_ actually was the creature for whom Blanche had withdrawn her affections from him, and that if they had much conversation, his temper would get the better of the prudence he meant to adopt until his suspicions were confirmed, and that he might resort to the expedient of kicking Jack somewhat prematurely. The rencontre was, however, inevitable.

“On your way to the ladies, I presume,” said Rushton.

“No,” said Jack, “not till the evening; I suppose we shall meet.”

“Perhaps not,” said Rushton, to whom Jack’s air and manner appeared peculiarly pert and vulgar,--and he passed on. Jack turned and kept up with him.

“Strange creatures, the females!” said Jack, perking up his head and smirking.

“They _are_, indeed!” said Rushton, as the thought of Blanche’s affection for the burr which was sticking to him, flashed across his mind.

“’Gad, Rushton,” said Jack--(Rushton shuddered at the familiarity)--“wonders will never cease!--_you_ are a happy man, with such a creature as Blanche Englefield your own.”

“That’s a sore subject,” said Rushton, “and we had better not touch it. I know you are an admirable joker,--but jokes, especially practical ones, not unfrequently turn out ill.”

“I know what you are up to,” said Jack:--“down upon you in half no time, smack, smooth, and no mistake.”

“I dare say you may comprehend my meaning,” said Rushton; “but I repeat, that if you do, my present feelings are not to be trifled with; and if you do not, this is neither the time nor place to enlighten you.”

“Don’t put yourself in a passion,” said Jack; “you never were more mistaken in your life.”

“Upon what point?” said Rushton.

“About Blanche,” replied Brag.

“Really, sir,” said Rushton, “you are treading upon very delicate ground. You have entrapped me into a conversation which it was my particular wish and desire to avoid in the present state of affairs; but you have now led me to a point at which I cannot stop. You have alluded to a young lady in the most familiar manner, who, in my opinion, has been exceedingly civil to you, and I really do consider, under the circumstances in which I am placed, I ought to know exactly the character of your intimacy with her.”

“I shouldn’t wonder!” said Jack: “it only shows how the longest heads may be puzzled. You’ll find out all how and about it, before to-morrow--eh!--are you awake?”

“Awake!--I am,” said Rushton, “yet I seem to be dreaming. Do you then admit that your acquaintance with Miss Englefield, whom you so unceremoniously call Blanche, is so near its favourable termination?”

“My dear Mr. Rushton,” said Brag, “you are safe--at least, as far as I am concerned: there are more horses in the stable than one--eh!--are you awake now? No? I’ll put you out of your pain then--I hate to be cruel;--never am, even to dumb animals, except when I want ’em to stir their stumps a bit. No, no: if anybody in the house has cause for jealousy, it isn’t _you_. Will that do for you--eh?”

“What!” said Rushton, “am I to understand that Mrs. Dallington----”

“Mum!” said Brag, bursting to proclaim his wonderful success--“dumb as a Dutchman:--the widow’s the winner, fifty to one.”

“You are joking!” said Rushton.

“Not I,” said Jack:--“thing settled, snug--smack smooth, and no mistake. I know you don’t half like Sir Charles. I’ll settle _his_ affair: I speak, of course, in confidence--but so it is:--the thing is what the French call a _finny affair_.”

“Surely, this never _can_ be!” said Rushton. “What! after all the declarations I have heard her make--all her regrets that his coldness of manner so much damped her natural affection for him: after----”

“Lord bless your heart!” said Brag, “there’s no accounting for females--weathercocks--eh!”

“I cannot comprehend it,” said Rushton: “even had--”

“Do you believe it?” said Brag.

“You say it, Mr. Brag,” said Rushton;--“it must be so.”

“I’ll do more,” said Jack: “we are both in the same boat, and shall be near connexions.”

“Yes,” said Rushton, in a tone not expressive of the feelings which the anticipation really excited, “so we shall;--well?”

“Well then,” said Jack, “you must keep the secret:--when a female is concerned, a man ought to be as still as a dead horse. I’ll show you her own note,--in course, not a word to anybody.”

Saying which, he took out his pocket-book, and selected with more than ordinary care the widow’s favourable billet. Rushton would have seized it, such was his anxiety to convince himself of the truth of his companion’s statement, but Jack would not part with it. Rushton saw it was her writing, and read enough to satisfy himself not only that it was a genuine document, but actually the identical letter which he had seen her despatch in the presence of Sir Charles Lydiard and himself--a fact which, however much it might relieve him from all apprehension of Brag’s further interference with his proceedings, was in an instant coupled in his mind with the circumstance of Blanche having upon the same occasion also sent off a hateful three-cornered note to somebody else. How subtle are the workings of a jealous mind!--one evil overcome, up starts another: one doubt is removed only to make room for its instant successor.

“You see what she says,” said Brag. “What d’ye think of Sir Charles now--eh?--_he_ hasn’t been awake! That, I think, is a finisher for _him_. I shouldn’t have shown you this, but I know--I am sure, you thought I was beating about after Blanche--and fancied that _she_--eh?”

“I fancy nothing now,” said Rushton--“Blanche is all faith and truth!”--(“Umph!” said Brag, dying, but not daring, to show _her_ up too.)--“But Mrs. Dallington,” continued he--“well! I have often told Lydiard that he was taking it too easy, and too calmly, and all the return I got was his reproach for being too hasty and too _exigeant_ in my demands upon the reason and consistency of women in general. I knew what would happen.”

“Was that since I became acquainted with her?” said Brag.

“Long before,” said Rushton: “and as for Blanche,” continued he, still ‘harping’ upon the letter, “mild and amiable as she is, I dare say even _she_ deceives me sometimes.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jack, looking excessively cunning.

“You are a comforter to a doubting man,” said Rushton.

“Well, good-bye!” said Jack. “In course, you’ll take no notice of what I have said. I think we had better have the double marriage the same day--eh! Mrs. Dallington Brag will sound well. I think I shall startle Lord Tom:--so, mum! as I say:--keep my counsel, and it will all come off smack smooth, right up, straight down, and no mistake!”

Saying which, Brag quitted his wondering companion at the top of Harley Street, to which this dialogue had extended their walk; and darted across the New road to a livery stable, where two or three of his horses, which did _not_ belong to him, were standing at livery.

Rushton’s feelings were considerably excited by the disclosure which his companion had made. His indignation was roused by the assurance and vanity of the coxcomb, ready to sacrifice the character of a woman who had owned her affection for him, to the gratification of boasting of her good opinion; while his sympathy was seriously awakened for Sir Charles Lydiard. That he had been, as he had long suspected, made the dupe of a heartless woman, was now a fact incontrovertibly established; and Rushton considered it his duty to Sir Charles, for whom, however uncongenial their characters and opposed their dispositions might be, he could not fail to entertain a high respect and esteem, to make him acquainted with what he had heard from Brag,--or rather, which was most convincing, that which he had seen in his possession, in order that he might spare himself the needless mortification of receiving a formal dismissal from the widow, as well as to rescue him from a further continuance of a system of hypocrisy and deception, for which, although it was impossible not to admit it, it was most difficult reasonably to account.

Naturally enough, these considerations upon Sir Charles Lydiard’s affair led to some reflections upon his own. Blanche, the gentle and the mild, was the sister of the woman who had conducted herself with such heartless levity and indelicate duplicity--not only her sister, but her constant associate--her confidante, no doubt. The last pert toss of Brag’s empty head had its weight in these calculations: it was most unquestionably to be inferred that there was no great difference between the conduct or character of the two sisters. But what was a hint or innuendo from such a person? Nothing!--unless backed up and corroborated by testimony so convincing as that which he had afforded of the widow’s levity and fickleness.

Rushton’s thoughts, however, still rested on Sir Charles Lydiard. A little more reflection upon the matter strengthened him in his first intention, of imparting all he knew to the worthy baronet--an intention which he more particularly determined to put in practice, inasmuch as a communication between them might elicit something beneficial to both.

Accordingly Rushton proceeded to the hotel at which Sir Charles was living, and found him at home and alone. When he entered the room where he was sitting, he was sensibly struck by an unusual embarrassment in his manner, and a kind of affectionate air in his reception of him. Rushton felt assured that he knew the worst. They sat down; but the difficulty which Rushton naturally experienced in opening the subject uppermost in his mind, was increased by the evident agitation of the baronet. A few commonplace observations, and questions about riding, or walking, or dining, were soon exhausted. At length Rushton asked his friend if he should be at Mrs. Dallington’s during the day or evening.

“I think I shall go there in the evening,” said Sir Charles, and his voice faltered:--a pause ensued.

“Have you heard from either of the ladies this morning?” asked Rushton.

“No,” replied Lydiard, looking earnestly at his friend--“have _you_?”

“Not I,” said Rushton--and then came another pause. “What extraordinary creatures women are!”

“They are indeed, Rushton,” said Sir Charles. “Pray, have you happened to meet that most odious of persons, Mr. Brag, in the course of your walk or ride to-day?”

“I have,” said Rushton, in a tone much more serious than the subject seemed to require, at the same time fixing his eyes steadily upon the unhappy victim before him.

“He is extremely popular with the women,” said Sir Charles, “which strikes me as one of the strongest proofs of the impossibility of comprehending the nature of their minds and tastes.”

“It does seem curious,” said Rushton, “that anything so vain and so vulgar should have the power to induce women of sense, education, rank, and character, to forfeit all claims to respect and esteem by favouring his pretensions.”

“Pray, Rushton, did the fellow make any communication to you?” asked Sir Charles.

“Upon what subject?” said Rushton.

“A very tender and important one,” replied the baronet: “indeed, if you had not called, I should have endeavoured to find you before dinner, to have spoken to you upon it.”

“Why, he certainly did say something,” said Rushton,--“and that something was very important.”

“Did he show you a letter?” said Sir Charles.

“He did,” replied Rushton.

“Well, then, we can speak without further disguise,” said Sir Charles;--“were you not thunder-stricken?”

“It merely confirmed me in my often repeated opinion,--that we know nothing of women,” said Rushton.

“You have often told me you thought there was something of the sort going on between them,” said Sir Charles; “but I take matters so much more coolly than you do, that, I confess, it appeared to me little else than the common _badinage_ in which a pretty woman dearly loves to engage.”

“Ah! Sir Charles,” said Rushton, “it is that very coolness of which you boast that has done all the mischief.”

“I don’t exactly see that,” said Sir Charles. “You will find that I shall bring my young widow into perfect subjection, more especially after this adventure of the chattering Brag.”

“After!” said Rushton--“why, my dear Sir Charles, what on earth do you mean? That after the exposure of falsehood and flightiness, delusion and deception, which this fellow has had the good fortune to excite, and has now the vanity to exhibit in the public streets, you would marry Mrs. Dallington, if you could?”

“My dear friend, why not?” said the baronet. “I may, and do, feel deeply for all the results which you enumerate, and agree with you in your surprise that such results should have occurred: it seems perfectly miraculous!--but, however much I may sympathize with you, there can be no reason why I should give up Mrs. Dallington.”

“Did you read the letter Brag received?” said Rushton.

“I did,” replied Sir Charles, “twice over--and, I assure you, was exceedingly shocked and amazed.”

“My dear Sir Charles,” exclaimed Rushton, “are you made of ice?--‘exceedingly shocked!’ is _that_ a phrase consistent with the discovery of such a proof of infidelity as _this_?”

“What can I say more, Rushton!” said Sir Charles. “You must feel the blow most severely, especially with your vivid imagination and excessive sensibility; but for _me_, I have only to thank my stars that my fair widow is still my own.”

“Your own!” cried Rushton:--“what! after she has accepted Brag!”

“_She_ accept Brag!” said the baronet, opening his eyes rather wider than usual--“no, no--that would be rather too much of a joke!”

“Why, she _has_ accepted him!” said Rushton, dashing his hand on the table.

“In your circumstances, Frank,” said Sir Charles, “one would not venture to suspect a joke:--but, whatever may have been the indiscretions of the meek and modest Miss Englefield, Mrs. Dallington has, I flatter myself, too much good sense to be betrayed into any such absurdity.”

“Why, you told me you had seen the letter,” said Rushton.

“So I have,” replied Sir Charles, “but most assuredly no letter of her’s.”

“Whose then?” exclaimed Frank.

“Why,” said Sir Charles, “Blanche’s letter.”

“Letter to whom?” cried Rushton, starting from his chair.

“To her accepted lover, Brag,” replied the baronet.

“_Her_ lover!” cried, or rather screamed, the infuriate Rushton. “My dear friend, what do you mean?--what does it all mean?”

“I mean merely,” replied Sir Charles, “that Mr. Brag was good enough to show me the letter in question, which was written to him by Miss Blanche Englefield, accepting the offer of his hand,--and that I read it twice over.”

“Why, then, the world’s at an end, Lydiard!” cried Rushton. “Blanche false!--Blanche!--Oh! why was I deceived?--why was I duped?”

“I really don’t know,” said Sir Charles, in a tone which, by the contrast it afforded to the convulsive exclamations of his agitated friend, seemed to imply that he did not very much care.

“But how do _you_ bear it, Sir Charles?” said Rushton. “These women are worse than women usually are. He showed me a letter from the widow,--your widow! Sir Charles,--couched in exactly the same terms.”

“What!--accepting him?” said Sir Charles.

“Upon my honour and life! yes,” said Rushton. “What on earth does it mean? That dear, calm, mild--I shall go mad--raving mad!--Wretch that I am!”

“Stop, Rushton,” said Sir Charles; “follow my advice; sit down, and take rest and comfort.”

“Comfort!”

“Yes, comfort,” said the baronet. “I see through all this in a moment. While there was but one letter, and one traitress, it was all possible, though not probable; the two settle the affair:--it’s a trick.”

“A trick! my dear Sir Charles,” said Rushton--“no, no! To think that that fair creature should so far forget herself--no, no:--I am sure she never could have written--”

“My dear friend, I saw and read the letter,” said Sir Charles, “and I repeat it is all a trick. How could two women, living on the terms upon which Blanche and her sister live, accept the same man in one day? No doubt, this wretched little creature has been persecuting them with his attentions, and they have undertaken this scheme as the precursor of his unceremonious rejection.”

“But why write?” said Rushton--“why--”

“For the better carrying on of the plot,” continued the baronet:--“_you_ trust their letters--_I_, their hearts. That very empty coxcombs may, and do, succeed sometimes, is too notorious to be denied; but here the case is totally different, in my opinion. The fat knight, in the hands of the Windsor wives, was in a more enviable position than our little steeple-hunter is at this moment in those of one maid and widow.”

“Do you really think so?” said Rushton, his rage moderating a little.

“Think!” replied Sir Charles--“consult your own common sense; a moment’s reflection proves it.”

“Upon my life! I begin to think so too,” said Rushton. “But there is one thing which seems to me absolutely necessary, not only to assure us of their good intentions, but to vindicate our own characters and worry them in their turn,--I mean, that whether these notes are or are not intended to entrap and expose Mr. Brag, _we_ should consider them serious, and act upon the information we have received from their adorable imp.”

“I shall go to Mrs. Dallington’s,” said Sir Charles, “this evening, as usual, see how things look, and proceed accordingly.”

“Yes, but don’t let us believe everything we hear too readily,” said Frank.

“What! still jealous--still doubting?” said the baronet.

“No, not that,”--said Rushton, “I will be there too; and while you touch upon the subject, I will watch their eyes.”

“The telegraphs again,” said Sir Charles.

“Yes, there one may read the language of the heart,” said Rushton.

“Leave the management of the affair to me,” said Sir Charles: “I can conduct myself more calmly and moderately than some people. Rely upon it, my widow shall not get out of this little manœuvre without some trouble.”

“You will not distress her?” said Rushton.

“A woman in tears looks remarkably interesting,” said the baronet.

“I love to see her dear countenance drest in smiles,” said Rushton, “and I do hope you--”

“We will go this evening together,” said the baronet. “See how I conduct myself towards Mrs. Dallington, and if you do not choose to follow my example, at least profit by experience.”

“I confess,” said Rushton, “I am by no means satisfied; yet all you say--”

“Is all that is to be said on the subject,” said Sir Charles. “So now I am at your service for a walk or ride till dressing-time, and, if you have nothing better to do afterwards, for a _tête-à-tête_ cutlet at Crocky’s; we can there talk over our future proceedings for the evening, and suggest some method of utterly exterminating John Brag, Esq.”

“Kicking him first, and shooting him afterwards,” said Rushton, “is what I should respectfully recommend.”

“Oh! dear no,” said Sir Charles, “most assuredly neither the one nor the other; he shall live to amuse us upon some other occasion: without a few tigers and lions, society would be ‘flat, stale, and unprofitable.’ So, come away, and, I flatter myself, you will see me this evening at Mrs. Dallington’s in something very like a new character.”

It was under this engagement the friends proceeded on their stroll, Rushton feeling infinitely less at ease than the baronet, who viewed the affair in its true light, and was fully resolved upon having his _revanche_ after his own plan.

What the state of Brag’s feelings might have been during the few hours which preceded the deciding visit to the same scene, it is scarcely possible to imagine. Mr. Ducrow can ride two, or even three, horses at once; and some other equally astounding artist is able to dance upon two tight ropes at the same time; but to manage two ladies under the circumstances in which Brag had placed himself, seems to be a task Herculean by comparison with either of the others. A man less conceited and self-assured would either have seen through the trick which they had so justly played upon him, or if he could have imagined the result possible, would have excused himself from accepting the invitation of either lady, when both were for the same night; but Jack took it for granted that he had, as he called it, “knocked them both over,” and that, as the “females” were “cunning creturs,” each one would so contrive to play her own game, as not to awaken the suspicions of the other.

As the time approached, Johnny made the most careful preparations for dressing. Never was anything so smart and spruce as the dapper cockney in what he called his “genteel comedy” dress; and by nine o’clock he was all ready for the conflict. Circumstances, however, as we shall see, conspired to delay his appearance at the widow’s, and Sir Charles and Rushton arrived before him. It was judged, however, better, for the furtherance of their scheme, that Rushton should not make his appearance in the drawing-room at the same time with his friend; he therefore made an excuse to the servant, that he wished to write a letter before he went up stairs, and bade him put lights in the library in order that he might do so. Sir Charles proceeded to the drawing-room at once, and found the ladies alone, evidently waiting the arrival of Brag, whose exhibition was not intended by them to have been witnessed by anybody but themselves. Their surprise at the appearance of Sir Charles was, however, speedily changed into a feeling of a very different nature, by finding him colder, more gloomy, and more reserved than even _he_ was usually.

(“Rely upon it,” said Mrs. Dallington to her sister, “Mr. Brag has been blabbing.”)--“My dear Sir Charles, you seem vastly out of spirits.”

“There are circumstances in the world which affect us to such a degree, madam,” said Lydiard, “as to render a concealment of the feelings they excite impossible.”

“To what do you allude, Sir Charles?” said Mrs. Dallington, really concerned at perceiving what she could not doubt to be the successful result of her manœuvre.

“I mean, madam,” said Lydiard, “that a woman who permits the unequivocal attentions of a lover--encourages those attentions--nay, goes the length of admitting her affection for him, and then betrays him and accepts a rival, strikes a blow to his heart, the anguish of which cannot be disguised.”

“Rely upon it,” said Mrs. Dallington, “_you_ have no cause for the grief you describe.”

“I! madam,” said the baronet,--“I am not speaking of myself: no, no--_my_ sorrow and anxiety are excited by a sympathy for my poor friend, Rushton. Oh! Miss Englefield, what must your feelings be when you know the state of mind to which he is reduced? He has discovered all. He is aware of the transfer of your affections, and is, as I verily believe--mad!”

“Mad!” said Blanche.

“Yes,” said Sir Charles; “his feelings, as you well know, are strong--his passions violent. His conduct this afternoon I consider very little short of insanity.”

“Under similar circumstances, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Dallington, “_you_ perhaps would not be so violently affected.”

“Certainly not, madam,” replied Sir Charles; “but I can feel deeply for a friend who is. To _my_ advice only will he be indebted for a speedy restoration, as I hope, from his alarming state. I have found the means, and I rejoice to know that he has adopted them.”

“What may they be, Sir Charles?” said Blanche, her eyes filling with tears.

“Very simple, and, in my opinion, not particularly disagreeable,” said Sir Charles. “There is a certain Miss Harrington, a most amiable, beautiful girl, who is avowedly in love with him,--Julia Harrington, I think, she is called.”

“Y-e-s,” stammered Blanche, “I--know--I have seen her--”

“Well,” said the baronet, “after what he had communicated to me of your conduct, it appeared to me, that as you had thought proper to reject him in a way so decided as by accepting another gentleman, which--forgive me, if I am wrong--he told me you had done, it was the most judicious thing in the world for him to transfer his affections to the young lady of whose compassion he was perfectly secure, and for whom, I happen to know, he entertains a very high regard, to call it by no other or tenderer name.”

“And,” said Blanche, “did he take your advice, and fly to her at your suggestion?”

“Not exactly,” said Sir Charles; “I had to drive him to her father’s house in my cab; and although he certainly resisted at first, I eventually succeeded in settling him into an invitation to a family dinner with them, where, I conclude, he is now sipping his claret, and making himself acceptable to the fair daughter of the house.”

“What on earth shall I do!” said Blanche to herself:--but her ejaculation was not so completely “mental” as to escape the attentive ears of the worthy baronet, who felt his own character change, and his disposition alter, as he witnessed the gradual success of his stratagem.

“I think, Sir Charles,” said Mrs. Dallington, who was now convinced that _her_ proceedings with Brag were yet unknown to him, “that you might have spent the last few hours of your life more profitably than in separating two fond hearts.”

“Fond hearts!” said Sir Charles--“the acceptance of a rival is no particularly strong proof of fondness. No--let him marry where he is loved; and as for myself, Mrs. Dallington, I shall content myself with waiting a little longer for the happiness which, I trust, my friend will shortly enjoy. I hope, madam, some day to find, like Rushton, a woman who will condescend to love me truly and faithfully. My pretensions, I own, are inconsiderable; but I have at least the merit of sincerity and honesty. I admit that these are not such striking qualifications as those of Mr. Brag, a preference for whom I am aware you have exhibited, and upon which I have the honour to congratulate both you and myself. I wish you a very good evening, ladies.”

Saying which, Sir Charles walked out of the room, leaving Mrs. Dallington and Miss Englefield in a state of stupor and amazement. That Brag should be laughed at by them, and made the subject of a scene which should in the end prove to their lovers the utter contempt they had for the pretender of whom those lovers were both jealous, was, as the reader knows, the main object of their scheme; but the mean opinion even _they_ entertained of the man--if man he may be called--did not induce them to suspect the possibility of his exhibiting their two letters to his rivals.

Their own agitation, and the manner Sir Charles assumed during the conversation, gave them no opportunity of explaining away the affair, and they sat looking at each other for two or three minutes without speaking, convinced that the anger of Sir Charles was genuine, and the story he had told true; for although it was part of their object, or at least of Mrs. Dallington’s, to agitate the feelings of their devoted swains, it was most assuredly not their intention either to drive Sir Charles into old bachelorism, or hurry Rushton into a marriage with Miss Harrington.

“Well,” said Mrs. Dallington, “this has somehow taken a wrong turn. I admit that Sir Charles’s agitation pleases me; it is what I hoped for;--although certainly I did not think that Mr. Brag was quite so great a monster:--but for _you_, Blanche--”

“I am lost,” said Blanche, “for ever! Oh, sister, sister!--why did I lend myself to this scheme? If Rushton marries that Miss Harrington, what on earth will become of me!”

“There it is, Blanche,” said Mrs. Dallington; “while you had him all to yourself, you never were at rest,--always quarreling, always reproaching, always accusing and defending.”

“True,” said Miss Englefield, “but what are such quarrels? I know his heart--I know his good qualities--I can see his imperfections;--but that I love him sincerely is now my greatest misfortune.”

Little did Miss Blanche Englefield think that this most unequivocal declaration of the state of her heart and feelings was clearly and distinctly heard by Mr. Francis Rushton himself, who having, instead of dining at General Harrington’s, as Sir Charles had stated, entered the boudoir, in which there was no light, from the staircase, at the moment that his friend was giving his account of the proceedings of the morning, and not venturing to interrupt the thread of a narrative which was to form so important a feature of _their_ scheme, had dropped himself quietly into a well-stuffed chair in a corner of the room, where he lay _perdu_, not daring then to make his appearance, which would, of course, overthrow the authenticity of Sir Charles’s story; and afterwards being ashamed of admitting, by presenting himself to the ladies, when the worthy baronet was gone, that he had, under such circumstances, overheard the declaration which had given him such unqualified delight.

“Well,” said Mrs. Dallington, “of one thing it assures us, at all events, that however the warmth of the one and the coldness of the other may at times have excited our suspicions of fidelity in one instance, or affection in the other, it is now clearly established that they are both sincerely attached to us.”

“And what consolation is that to _me_?” said Blanche--“or how can I ever atone to myself for having, at your suggestion, answered the impertinent note of that odious, foolish creature, Brag? What must Frank think of me?--to prefer such an animal to _him_!”

“Well, but surely, Blanche,” said Mrs. Dallington, “Rushton’s devotion to _you_ cannot have been so entirely exclusive. I have heard him vowing that he would die if you rejected him; instead of which, he immediately sets about making another match the moment he thinks you have cast him off. If he had chosen to kill himself, you could not help it, you know.”

“Oh! sister, sister,” said Blanche, “do not for the world talk of such a thing:--Rushton kill himself for _me_!”

“Yes: it was his course of proceeding,” said Mrs. Dallington, “to agitate, excite, and alarm you into loving him. Sir Charles’s line with me has been totally different. It is our duty to ourselves to conceal our feelings now, however strong they may be; our honour demands the sacrifice.”

“Honour! my dear sister,” said Blanche,--“honour consists in deceiving no one. As for Rushton, you would at this moment be delighted to find Sir Charles as jealous of _you_ as you have often seen _him_ jealous of _me_. Miss Harrington has long been attached to him, and now by this silly scheme, as I must call it, I have driven him to return that affection. If he could know the anguish I feel at this moment, he would best know how to appreciate my regard and esteem.”

The tears that followed these words were more than Rushton could bear. His apparent meanness in listening--the certain overthrow of Sir Charles’s scheme--every consideration but one was forgotten; and starting from his corner, he rushed into the drawing-room, and in an instant was on his knees before his beloved Blanche.

“I am here!” said Rushton,--“is this enough?”

“Mercy on me!--Mr. Rushton!” cried Blanche.

“What!” said Frank, “did you--could you for a moment believe that I should act as Lydiard has told you I had done? No, no, Blanche! I am at your feet--your slave eternal: my heart--my hand--my fate, are all at your disposal.”

“So,” said Mrs. Dallington, “Sir Charles Lydiard is the wise manager of this scheme.”

“Yes,” said Rushton, “he saw through the trick you were playing, which I was mad enough to believe a matter-of-fact.”

“And how might _you_ have become acquainted with the story?” asked Mrs. Dallington.

“Your double victim,” said Rushton, “was so elated by his success, that, in order to relieve Lydiard’s weak mind, he showed _him_ Blanche’s tender billet; and in order to prove what a dupe Lydiard was, he exhibited yours to _me_.”

“Was there ever such a detestable wretch upon earth!” said Mrs. Dallington.

“You know he is coming here this evening,” said Rushton.

“He shall not be let in,” said Mrs. Dallington.

“Oh! yes, by all means let him in,” said Rushton. “All care is now banished from our hearts; let us celebrate the happy termination of all our uncertainties by a sacrifice.”

“As you like,” said the fair widow. “And where is Sir Charles?--is he gone?”

“Not he,” said Rushton: “he is in the library, I take it. His scheme is not yet half complete, but he may now spare himself the trouble of working it out.”

“I may indeed,” said the worthy baronet, entering the drawing-room through the boudoir, where he hoped to have found Rushton still ensconced, and the mystification still in progress.

“They know all,” said Rushton.

“As I did before,” said Sir Charles. “I was perfectly aware of the character of their proceedings towards our formidable rival, but I am equally satisfied with yourself that we deserved such a return for our doubts of those we so dearly prize. I admit that I have been jealous, from an excess of esteem; Frank has been jealous from an excess of love. It is time to terminate these little bickerings; and if my dear Mrs. Dallington will be content with such a heart as I have to offer, it is hers, entire and undivided.”

“This is a very extraordinary proceeding,” said Mrs. Dallington. “I am taken entirely by surprise; however, Sir Charles, I know of no great advantage in concealing a generous feeling of attachment which I admit to exist--and so--we will consider of it to-morrow.”

“My dear sister,” said Blanche, “I began to be very angry with you at one time.”

“When you thought you should lose Rushton,” said Mrs. Dallington. “But I never was much agitated, because I did not give that implicit credit to Sir Charles’s history of Julia Harrington, which you, who were so much more interested, and therefore so much less able to form a just opinion upon it, did; and I was at all events satisfied, that if your devoted had, in the course of two hours, made up his mind to a new _affaire du cœur_, his _cœur_ was not much worth caring for.”

“Well,” said Sir Charles, “I confess myself happier than I have been for these two years.”

At that moment, it being about half-past ten o’clock, the drawing-room door was thrown open, and--“Mr. Brag!” announced. The effect produced was infinitely greater than the hero of the night himself imagined. The cause of his being so late was this;--he had anticipated that the “females,” each manœuvring in her own behalf, would not only have contrived to find opportunities for separate _têtes-à-têtes_, but that his widow, who, of course, had the control, would so have arranged that there should be no visiters to interrupt them. When he first reached the house, he found Sir Charles Lydiard’s carriage at the door. This annoyed him considerably, and he retired for more than an hour, thinking that the “bore” of a baronet might have dined with his intended, and that he would go early. Upon his return at the latest possible period at which he felt he could with propriety seek admission into so regular a family as Mrs. Dallington’s, there he still found the eternal carriage of Sir Charles Lydiard. In order to show the earnestness of his feelings, and his anxiety to keep his double appointment, he resolved to pay his visit, however inconvenient the presence of other company might be. He grasped the knocker: the thunder resounded through the hall. The door was opened; and after the purgatorial process of mounting the stairs,--there he stood, in the middle of the circle,--“as large,” or perhaps we had better say as small, “as life!”

It is difficult to describe the various sensations created by his appearance--the indignation of the women, or the sovereign contempt of the men, increased tenfold by his vain, dirty, and unprincipled exhibition of the letters. However, although there had been no time for preconcerting any course of behaviour towards him, it seemed simultaneously to strike the two happy couples, to treat him in that sort of easy, commonplace manner, which might leave him without the slightest suspicion that the whole of the affair was known or understood, and so give him scope for a little of that admirable management with which he used to boast he “carried on the war,” and to which, it was evident, he must resort, to maintain his position relatively to his two captives.

“You are late, Mr. Brag,” said Rushton.

“Yes,” said Brag, “I have been dining with some monsters who sit and drink wine. Upon my life! we had to swallow four or five bottles after dinner, before coffee was ordered:--that I call a bore, and no mistake.”

The time to which this description referred had been expended by this exemplary man in walking up and down and round about the neighbouring streets, until he should see the departure of the baronet’s carriage. Little did he imagine what had occurred in that very drawing-room during the period of his peregrinations.

“I ought to apologize to _you_,” said Brag, addressing himself to the widow, with a look which the other three perfectly understood;--“but Lord Tom had two or three young fellows to dine with him--wanted me to do the honours and be _crowpee_; so I couldn’t say no,--for Tommy is a right good fellow, and no mistake, although _some people_ don’t patronize him.”

“I _thought_ Lord Tom, as you call him,” said Sir Charles, “was at Dover.”

“Came to town this afternoon, and goes back to-morrow,” said Jack, not in the slightest degree abashed or confounded.

Sir Charles whispered something to Mrs. Dallington, which seemed very much to impugn the truth of Jack’s statement; during which little _entretien_, Jack drew his chair close to Blanche’s, and with a look which nearly destroyed the serenity of the rest of the party, said, in a low tone, “I was determined to be here this evening, let what might happen.”

“I appreciate your kindness and consideration,” said Miss Englefield.

“I was thinking,” said Brag, in that sort of confidential whisper in which all the branches of the Brag family speak nothingnesses to handsome women, in hopes that they may be mistaken for somethings, “that you are too hard upon Rushton. What you say in your note is too severe: give him a trial. There’s no accounting for temper. I had a cover hack once,--as pretty an animal as ever stepped,--but his temper was unaccountable bad. Instead of flogging or pulling him, I bore with him, and humoured him,--tried him with a snaffle instead of a curb,--and at last he went as quiet as a lamb.”

“What!” said Blanche, assuming the same tone,--“you recommend patience, and advise forbearance!--I scarcely expected this.”

“Upon my honour!” said Jack, “you know I _can_ mean nothing but what’s right up, straight down, and no mistake. I like Rushton very much, and, I must say, I do think you don’t give him a fair chance. I mean, if that’s the cause of your separating--”

“What,” said Rushton, “are you talking about me?”

“Nothing you need mind hearing,” said Brag. “You,” continued he, rising from his seat, and leaning over Rushton’s chair,--“you are not like our poor friend the baronet in the next room--he, he, he!--eh?”

“No,” said Rushton; “he seems entirely devoted.”

“Strange blindness!” said Jack. “But, I say, Rushton,--now that Blanche is gone to join them,--upon my life, I cannot help congratulating you upon that. She _is_ charming; so mild--so gentle--eh! Do _that_ off-hand--take my advice--hit the nail on the head--strike while the iron’s hot: settle--sign--seal--eh!--black and white, and no mistake.”

“I think I shall,” said Rushton.

“Blanche, dear,” said Mrs. Dallington, “if you have any voice, sing us one of those little things of Rossini’s.”

“Voice!” said Blanche,--“I have neither voice nor inclination to sing.”

“Do!” said Brag, taking her hand affectionately--“delight me! To-morrow I will explain all I said just now.”

Blanche turned from him with a shudder, which he mistook for a mark of sensitive affection, and proceeded to the piano-forte, to which, much to her delight, Brag saw Rushton accompany her. It was evident to the conspirators that Brag attributed Mrs. Dallington’s proposition for singing to a desire for a few minutes’ conversation with _him_, because he knew enough of society to know that a young lady’s song is the signal for the general untying of tongues; and that people who have been all the evening sitting as silent as the grave, immediately begin to talk and flirt the moment the music begins. To favour Brag’s too palpable design, Sir Charles left Mrs. Dallington’s side to make way for the pretender, and joined the happy couple at the piano-forte.

The bait was swallowed--the baronet’s vacated place was instantly occupied, and Brag as close as he could be to Mrs. Dallington in a moment. The symphony was luckily long and loud.

“How shall I thank you enough,” said Brag, “for your note? It settles my fate:--all done, snug and comfortable. I _could_ tell you such a story!--but mum for the present. How you _can_ go on with that most worthy Sir Charles! upon my life you are too bad;--he believes that you are desperately in love with him at this minute--that I know;--and I know more,--that he is desperately in love with _you_: however, he may stay or go, now, just as he pleases. My dear Mrs. Dallington, you have bound me in eternal gratitude:--all will go well--and, by Heavens! I swear--”

“Sir Charles, Sir Charles!” said Mrs. Dallington, “do leave those players and singers alone. Mr. Brag is getting so dreadfully tender, that I don’t know what upon earth to do with him. I must have you, if you please, to break the particularity of a _tête-à-tête_, and to play propriety in that corner.”

“The devil!” said Brag, in more than a whisper--“what the deuce are you about?”

“What! is our friend getting particularly animated?” said the baronet.

“Not particularly, Sir Charles,” said Brag; “I was merely saying _that_, which, under the circumstances, is mere matter of business, as I conceive. I may be wrong--but I like candour and openness nevertheless, and no mistake.”

This sentiment, expressed in the loudest tone of voice, reached the fair syren and her swain; the lady ceased playing, and the pair burst out into a violent fit of laughing.

“Well,” said Brag, who began to get uncommonly angry, “that’s civil, considering how things stand at present.”

This remark threw Mrs. Dallington and Sir Charles into an equally powerful convulsion of mirth with that of the other couple.

“I can’t help laughing at _you_, Lydiard,” said Rushton.

“Nor I at _you_, Rushton,” said the baronet.

“Well, it is all very good fun, I dare say,” said Brag, “but, for _my_ part, I see no joke in your laughing at each other: there’s not much to laugh about in any of it, if you come to that.”

Here the four members of the party all laughed ten times louder than before.

“I am not aware,” said Brag, “what you are all so very merry about.”

“Why, Mr. Brag,” said Blanche, with one of her sweetest looks, “we are all laughing at you!”

“At ME!” said Brag.

“Yes, Mr. Brag,” said the widow;--“when gentlemen choose to write duplicate love-letters to two sisters, and then show their answers to the two gentlemen to whom these ladies are engaged, don’t you think the affair, when discovered, becomes rather ridiculous?”

The laugh which followed this question was so loud, that the voice of the servant, who announced supper,--a light and social meal to which the agreeable widow was strongly addicted, and to which her favourite guests were always specially invited,--could scarcely be heard.

“What!” said Brag, “have you been hoaxing me? Why, this is too bad!”

“Not at all, Mr. Brag,” said the lady of the house. “Had the conduct of either my sister or myself been such as to encourage your pretensions, we might have excused your addressing either of us; but when you undertake to make two proposals at once, the pity we might have been inclined to feel for your blindness is turned into a sentiment which, as supper is waiting, I will not stop to describe. Come, Sir Charles, give me your arm; Mr. Rushton, take care of Blanche. We are going to supper, Mr. Brag. Good evening!”

“Good evening, Mr. Brag!” said Blanche, making a low curtsey to the astounded little man.

“Good night, Mr. Brag!” said Sir Charles, bowing formally.

“Brag, good night!” said Rushton, nodding to him familiarly; and the happy quartett went laughing down stairs to their symposium, leaving Mr. John Brag as cold as ice and as white as a sheet, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire-place, transfixed, as it were, to the spot. The world was at an end! His eyes rested upon the marquetrie and the buhl, and the ebony and the ivory, and the Sevres and the Dresden, and the large looking-glasses, and the Louis-Quatorze tables,--all of which he had, half an hour before, considered his own goods and chattels; and there he would have stood till “morning’s dawn,” had not one of the footmen, more considerate than the rest, gone up to him and asked him if he should call a cab for him, for that it had set in a very wet night.

It was all too true!--this appeal awakened him from his dream. He declined the offer, took his hat, and descended the staircase to the hall; passed the door of the library where the supper had been served; heard the clatter of plates, and the peals of mirth which were doubtless ringing at his cost, and stepped from the door of his lost paradise into a thick mizzling rain with a sharp wind, which drifted right into his blanched face, saturated his thin shoes, and made him as bodily miserable as he was mentally unhappy.