Albert now wished that the earth would open up and swallow him. He also felt quite furious with Jane; and as soon as they were left alone together he fell upon her, tooth and nail.
‘You little idiot! We can never be married now, and it’s all your fault. I can’t face your father again. I must go away this instant.’
‘Albert darling, what d’you mean? Was he awful to you?’
‘No, he was charming; but why did you say he hated artists?’
‘Because I’m sure he does. It’s the sort of thing he always hates.’
Albert told her what had happened.
‘You see,’ he cried miserably, ‘it’s impossible for me to stay here after that!’
Jane burst into fits of laughter. She laughed and laughed. Then, she kissed Albert on the tip of his nose and ran out of the room. Presently she returned with both her parents, who were laughing so much that the tears ran down their cheeks.
The Dacres were frankly delighted at Jane’s engagement. It would hardly be fair to say that they were anxious to get her off their hands, but, fond as they were of her, there was no doubt that she had lately caused them an unending amount of worry. Her constant and violent flirtations with the most curiously unsuitable people, her doubtful friends, wild behaviour and increasingly bad reputation, all these things were driving them demented, and they both felt that the only hope of steadying her lay in a happy marriage.
‘I think we are very lucky,’ said Sir Hubert, talking it over with his wife that night in bed. ‘When you think what some of Jane’s friends are like! Suppose, for instance, it had been Ralph Callendar, not very probable, I admit, but one never knows. Now this boy is of good family, has nice manners, was at Eton and all that, and at the same time he is intelligent. Jane could never have been happy with a fool. If he is a trifle affected – well, I don’t know that that’s such a terrible fault in a young man. Tiresome, of course, but pardonable. Altogether it seems to me quite satisfactory, far more so than I should ever have expected.’
The engagement was announced in the papers a few days later and as at that particular moment there happened to be a scarcity of news, Albert and Jane for one day vied with the Sudbury Murder Trial in holding the attention of the public.
ROMANCE OF YOUNG ARTIST AND BARONET’S DAUGHTER.
SEQUEL TO FIRE AT DALLOCH CASTLE
blared forth on the front page of the Daily Runner in type only a shade smaller and less black than that used for:
Tragic Widow’s Eight-Hour Ordeal in Dock.
The gossip-writers, who have little or no use for tragic widows unless they are titled as well, gave the couple their undivided attention.
Jane was described as tall and beautiful with artistic tastes, and was credited with having designed her own bedroom at her father’s house in Wilton Crescent. (In point of fact, the bedroom had not been redecorated since they bought the house.)
Much capital was made out of the fact that they had both been staying at Dalloch Castle, the beautiful and historic seat of the Earl of Craigdalloch, when it was so tragically and mysteriously burnt to the ground.
‘I hear, by the way,’ said one paragraph, ‘that Lord and Lady Craigdalloch (she, of course, was a daughter of the late Sir Robert Barns) are shortly returning to Scotland to superintend the rebuilding of the castle. As Lady Craigdalloch is renowned for her exquisite taste, the new castle will probably be an immense improvement on the old, which was built in 1860, a bad year – as some wit is said to have remarked – for wine, women and houses.’
Albert shuddered when he read this.
‘My dear Jane, I can absolutely see the house that she will build. It is too horrible to think of that heavenly place gone for ever, but even more horrible to imagine, rising out of its ashes, a building in the best cenotaph style. I really believe that Lady Craigdalloch would pull down the Albert Memorial if she had the chance.’
Jane received, among others, the following letters of congratulations:
Dear Jane,
Many congratulations on your engagement. I admit that it was a great surprise to me when I read it in The Times this morning.
My husband has been far from well since the fire. He sends good wishes.
Yrs. sincerely,
Florence Prague.
‘She doesn’t seem wildly enthusiastic,’ said Albert, who read this over Jane’s shoulder, ‘but I rather think she was in love with me herself,’ he added complacently.
Marlborough Club.
Dear Miss Dacre,
Congratulations.
I caught a nasty chill after the fire so please excuse this short note.
Yrs.,
Mowbray Murgatroyd.
Bachelors’ Club.
Dear Miss Dacre,
Hearty congratulations. After all we went through together I shall always remember you with great affection.
What a gallant deed of yr. fiancé, saving those Winterhalters. I did not know of it until afterwards.
Yrs. sincerely,
Stanislas Wenceslaus.
Castle Fea.
Darling Jane,
I’m so glad everything has passed off all right. I was certain your parents would like Albert myself, but I know that it was an anxiety to you, feeling that they might not approve. The McFeas have been angelic to us. We leave here tomorrow as everything seems to be fixed up now. What d’you think we found yesterday among the ruins of Dalloch? The admiral’s spare eye. It was hollow inside and veiny, and I can’t tell you what a really nasty look it gave us! Walter insists on wearing it hanging from his watch-chain, which is so disgusting of him.
It’s too awful all our things being burnt; as Walter says, it would have been cheaper in the end to go to the Lido. Still, if we had you’d never have met Albert, so it’s all to the good, really.
Morris-Minerva is making my life sheer hell at the
