John now had risen from his chair, and coming up to her took her by the arm and spoke a word. “Compose yourself,” he said. He spoke in his most affectionate voice, and he stood very close to her.
“How easy it is to bid me do that,” said Madalina. “Tell the sea to compose itself when it rages!”
“Madalina!” said he.
“Well—what of Madalina? Madalina has lost her own respect—forever.”
“Do not say that.”
“Oh, John—why did you ever come here? Why? Why did we meet at that fatal woman’s house? Or, meeting so, why did we not part as strangers? Sir, why have you come here to my mother’s house day after day, evening after evening, if—. Oh, heavens, what am I saying? I wonder whether you will scorn me always?”
“I will never scorn you.”
“And you will pardon me?”
“Madalina, there is nothing to pardon.”
“And—you will love me?” Then, without waiting for any more encouraging reply—unable, probably, to wait a moment longer, she sunk upon his bosom. He caught her, of course—and at that moment the drawing-room door was opened, and Lady Demolines entered the chamber. John Eames detected at a glance the skirt of the old white dressing gown which he had seen whisking away on the occasion of his last visit at Porchester Terrace. But on the present occasion Lady Demolines wore over it a short red opera cloak, and the cap on her head was ornamented with coloured ribbons.
“What is this,” she said, “and why am I thus disturbed?” Madalina lay motionless in Johnny’s arms, while the old woman glowered at him from under the coloured ribbons. “Mr. Eames, what is it that I behold?” she said.
“Your daughter, madam, seems to be a little unwell,” said Johnny. Madalina kept her feet firm upon the ground, but did not for a moment lose her purchase against Johnny’s waistcoat. Her respirations came very strong, but they came a good deal stronger when he mentioned the fact that she was not so well as she might be.
“Unwell!” said Lady Demolines. And John was stricken at the moment with a conviction that her ladyship must have passed the early years of her life upon the stage. “You would trifle with me, sir. Beware that you do not trifle with her—with Madalina!”
“My mother,” said Madalina; but still she did not give up her purchase, and the voice seemed to come half from her and half from Johnny. “Come to me, my mother.” Then Lady Demolines hastened to her daughter, and Madalina between them was gradually laid at her length upon the sofa. The work of laying her out, however, was left almost entirely to the stronger arm of Mr. John Eames. “Thanks, mother,” said Madalina; but she had not as yet opened her eyes, even for an instant.
“Perhaps I had better go now,” said Johnny. The old woman looked at him with eyes which asked him whether “he didn’t wish he might get it” as plainly as though the words had been pronounced. “Of course I’ll wait if I can be of any service,” said Johnny.
“I must know more of this, sir, before you leave the house,” said Lady Demolines. He saw that between them both there might probably be a very bad quarter of an hour in store for him; but he swore to himself that no union of dragon and tigress should extract from him a word that could be taken as a promise of marriage.
The old woman was now kneeling by the head of the sofa, and Johnny was standing close by her side. Suddenly Madalina opened her eyes—opened them very wide and gazed around her. Then slowly she raised herself on the sofa, and turned her face first upon her mother and then upon Johnny. “You here, mamma!” she said.
“Dearest one, I am near you. Be not afraid,” said her ladyship.
“Afraid! Why should I be afraid? John! My own John! Mamma, he is my own.” And she put out her arms to him, as though calling to him to come to her. Things were now very bad with John Eames—so bad that he would have given a considerable lump out of Lord De Guest’s legacy to be able to escape at once into the street. The power of a woman, when she chooses to use it recklessly, is, for the moment, almost unbounded.
“I hope you find yourself a little better,” said John, struggling to speak, as though he were not utterly crushed by the occasion.
Lady Demolines slowly raised herself from her knees, helping herself with her hands against the shoulder of the sofa—for though still very clever, she was old and stiff—and then offered both her hands to Johnny. Johnny cautiously took one of them, finding himself unable to decline them both. “My son!” she exclaimed; and before he knew where he was the old woman had succeeded in kissing his nose and his whiskers. “My son!” she said again.
Now the time had come for facing the dragon and the tigress in their wrath. If they were to be faced at all, the time for facing them had certainly arrived. I fear that John’s heart sank low in his bosom at that moment. “I don’t quite understand,” he said, almost in a whisper. Madalina put out one arm towards him, and the fingers trembled. Her lips were opened, and the white row of interior ivory might be seen plainly; but at the present conjuncture of affairs she spoke not a word. She spoke not a word; but her arm remained stretched out towards him, and her fingers did not cease to tremble.
“You do not understand!” said Lady Demolines, drawing herself back, and looking, in her short open cloak, like a knight who has donned his cuirass, but has forgotten to put on his leg-gear. And she shook the bright ribbons of her cap, as a knight in his wrath
