The Corinthian

“But, Mama!” said the stocky young man unhappily.

“Silence, Frederick!” pronounced the matron.

“But consider, Mama! If the—the young man the landlord speaks of is travelling with his uncle, he could not possibly be—be my cousin, could he?”

“I do not believe a word of what this man says!” declared Mrs Griffin. “I should not wonder if he had been bribed.”

The landlord regretfully said that no one had tried to bribe him.

“Pshaw!” said Mrs Griffin.

Sir Richard judged it to be time to call attention to his own presence. He walked forward in the direction of the staircase.

“Here is the gentleman!” said the landlord, with a good deal of relief. “He will tell for himself that what I’ve said is the truth, ma’am.”

Sir Richard paused, and glanced with raised eyebrows from Mrs Griffin to her son, and from Mr Frederick Griffin to the landlord. “I beg your pardon?” he drawled.

The attention of the Griffins instantly became focused upon him. The gentleman’s eyes were riveted to his cravat; the lady, taking in his air of elegance, was plainly shaken.

“If your honour pleases!” said the landlord. “The lady, sir, is come in search of a young gentleman, which has run away from school, the same being her ward. I’ve told her that I have but one young gentleman staying in the house, and him your honour’s nephew, and I’d be glad if you’d bear me out, sir.”

“Really,” said Sir Richard, bored, “I don’t know whom you have staying in the house besides myself and my nephew.”

“The question is, have you a nephew?” demanded Mrs Griffin.

Sir Richard raised his quizzing-glass, surveyed her through it, and bowed slightly. “I was certainly under the impression that I had a nephew, ma’am. May I ask in what way he interests you?”

“If he is your nephew, I have no interest in him whatsoever,” declared the matron handsomely.

“Mama!” whispered her son, anguished. “Recollect, I beg of you! A stranger! No proof! The greatest discretion!”

“I am quite distracted!” said Mrs Griffin, shedding tears.

This had the effect of driving the landlord from the room, and of flustering Mr Griffin. Between trying to pacify his parent, and excusing such odd behaviour to the elegant stranger, he became hotter than ever, and floundered in a morass of broken phrases. The look of astonishment on Sir Richard’s face, the pained lift of his brows, quite discomposed him, and he ended by saying: “The truth is my mother is sadly overwrought!”

“My confidence has been betrayed!” interpolated Mrs Griffin, raising her face from her damp handkerchief.

“Yes, Mama: precisely so! Her confidence has been betrayed, sir, by—by the shocking conduct of my cousin, who has—”

“I have nourished a viper in my bosom!” said Mrs Griffin.

“Just so, Mama. She has nourished—at least, not quite that, perhaps, but it is very bad, very upsetting to a lady of delicate sensibility!”

“All my life,” declaimed Mrs Griffin, “I have been surrounded by ingratitude!”

“Mama, you cannot be surrounded by—and in any case, you know it is not so! Do, pray, calm yourself! I shall claim your indulgence, sir. The circumstances are so peculiar, and my cousin’s behaviour has exerted so strong an effect upon my poor mother that—in short—”

“It is the impropriety of it which is worse than anything!” said Mrs Griffin.

“Exactly so, Mama. You see, it is the impropriety, sir—I mean, my mother is not quite herself.”

“I shall never,” announced the matron, “hold up my head again! It is my belief that this person is in league with her!”

“Mama, most earnestly I implore you—!”

“Her?” repeated Sir Richard, apparently bewildered.

“Him!” corrected Mr Griffin.

“You must forgive me if I do not perfectly understand you,” said Sir Richard. “I apprehend that you have—er —mislaid a youth, and have come—”

“Precisely so, sir! We mis—at least, no, no, we did not mislay him, of course!”

“Ran away!” uttered Mrs Griffin, emerging from the handkerchief for a brief instant.

“Ran away,” corroborated her son.

“But in what way,” enquired Sir Richard, “does this concern me, sir?”

“Not at all, sir, I assure you! No such suspicion is cherished by me, upon my word!”

“What suspicion?” asked Sir Richard, still more bewildered.

“None sir, none in the world! That is just what I was saying. I have no suspicion—”

“But I have!” said Mrs Griffin, in much more robust tones. “I accuse you of concealing the truth from me!”

“Mama, do but consider! You cannot—you know you cannot insult this gentleman by insinuating—”

“In the execution of my duty there is nothing I cannot do!” responded his mother nobly. “Besides, I do not know him. I mistrust him.”

Mr Griffin turned wretchedly to Sir Richard: “You see, sir, my mother—”

“Mistrusts me,” supplied Sir Richard.

“No, no, I assure you! My mother is sadly put out, and scarcely knows what she is saying.”

“I am in the fullest possession of my faculties, I thank you, Frederick!” said Mrs Griffin, gathering strength.

“Of course, of course, Mama! But the agitation—the natural agitation—”

“If he is speaking the truth,” interrupted Mrs Griffin, “let him summon his nephew to stand before me!”

“Ah, I begin to understand you!” said Sir Richard. “Is it possible, ma’am, that you suspect my nephew of being your errant ward?”

“No, no!” said Griffin feebly.

“Yes!” declared his mother.

“But Mama, only consider what such a thought must imply!” said Mr Griffin in a frenzied aside.

“I can believe anything of that unnatural creature!”

“I should doubt very much whether my nephew is upon the premises,” said Sir Richard coldly. “He was engaged to spend the day with friends, upon an expedition of pleasure. However, if he should not yet have left the house, I will engage to—er—allay all these heart burnings.”

“If he has run out to escape us, I shall await his return!” said Mrs Griffin. “And so I warn you!”

“I admire your resolution, ma’am, but I must point out to you that your movements are of no possible interest to me,” said Sir Richard, stepping over to the bell, and jerking it.

“Frederick!” said Mrs Griffin. “Will you stand by and hear your mother being insulted by one whom I strongly suspect of being a dandy?”

“But Mama, indeed, it is no concern of ours if he is!”

“Perhaps,” said Sir Richard, in arctic tones, “it may be of service if I make myself known to you, ma’am. My name is Wyndham.”

Mrs Griffin received this information with every appearance of disdain, but its effect upon her son was staggering. His eyes seemed to be in danger of bursting out of their sockets; he started forward, and ejaculated in tones of deepest reverence: “Sir! is this possible? Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Wyndham?”

Sir Richard bowed slightly.

“The celebrated Whip?” asked Mr Griffin.

Sir Richard bowed again.

“The creator of the Wyndham Fall?” pursued Mr Griffin, almost overcome.

Tired of bowing, Sir Richard said: “Yes.”

“Sir,” said Mr Griffin, “I am happy to make your acquaintance! My name is Griffin!”

“How do you do?” murmured Sir Richard, holding out his hand.