The Convenient Marriage

For a moment the Earl did not say anything at all. Then he reached out his hand for the decanter of claret, and refilled his glass. “I see,” he said. “So he too was in Knightsbridge? What a singular coincidence!”

“Yes, w-wasn’t it?” agreed Horatia, glad to find that her announcement had not provoked any signs of violent disapproval.

“Quite—er—providential,” said his lordship. “And did he put all these armed men to flight single- handed?”

“Yes, quite. He c-came g-galloping up, and the highwaymen ran away.”

The Earl inclined his head with an expression of courteous interest. “And then?” he said gently.

“Oh, th-then I asked him if he would d-drive home with me, and I must tell you, Rule, he was not at all inclined to at f-first, but I insisted, so he d-did.” She drew a breath. “And p-perhaps I ought to tell you, also, that he and I have d-deci-ded to be friends.”

Across the table the Earl’s calm eyes met hers. “I am of course honoured by this confidence, my dear. Am I expected to make any remark?”

Horatia blurted out: “W-well, Lord Lethbridge t-told me you would not l-like it.”

“Ah, did he indeed?” murmured his lordship. “And did he give any reason for my supposed dislike?”

“N-no, but he told m-me that he was not a p-proper person for me to know, and that m-made me excessively sorry for him, and I said I did not c-care what the world said, and I would know him.”

The Earl touched his lips with his napkin. “I see. And if—let us suppose—I were to take exception to this friendship—?”

Horatia prepared for battle. “W-why should you, sir?”

“I imagine that his lordship’s rare foresight prompted him to tell you my reasons,” replied Rule a little dryly.

“They seem to m-me very stupid and—yes, unkind!” declared Horatia.

“I was afraid they might,” said Rule.

“And,” said Horatia with spirit, “it is no g-good telling me I m-mustn’t know Lord L-Lethbridge, because I shall!”

“Would it be any good, I wonder, if I were to request you—quite mildly, you understand—not to make a friend of Lethbridge?”

“No,” said Horatia. “I l-like him, and I won’t be ruled by odious p-prejudice.”

“Then if you have finished your dinner, my love, let us start for the opera,” said Rule tranquilly.

Horatia got up from the table feeling that the wind had been taken out of her sails.

The work being performed at the Italian Opera House, of which his lordship was one of the patrons, was Iphiginie en Aulide, a composition that had enjoyed a considerable success in Paris, where it was first produced. The Earl and Countess of Rule arrived midway through the first act, and took their seats in one of the green boxes. The house was a blaze of light, and crowded with persons of fashion who, while having no particular taste for music, all flocked to the King’s Theatre, some with the mere intention of being in the mode, others for the purpose of displaying expensive toilets, and a few, like the Earl of March, who sat with his glass levelled at the stage, in the hope of discovering some new dancer of surpassing attractions. Amongst this frippery throng were also to be seen the virtuosi, of whom Mr Walpole, comfortably ensconced in Lady Hervey’s box, was of the most notable. In the pit a number of young gentlemen congregated, who spent the greater part of their time in ogling the ladies in the boxes. The Macaronis were represented by Mr Fox, looking heavy-eyed, as well he might, having sat till three in the afternoon playing hazard at Almack’s; by my Lord Carlisle, whose round youthful countenance was astonishingly embellished by a patch cut in the form of a cabriolet; and of course by Mr Crosby Drelincourt, with a huge nosegay stuck in his coat, and a spy-glass set in the head of his long cane. The Macaronis, mincing, simpering, sniffing at crystal scent-bottles, formed a startling contrast to the Bucks, the young sparks who, in defiance of their affected contemporaries, had flown to another extreme of fashion. No extravagance of costume distinguished these gentlemen, unless a studied slovenliness could be called such, and their amusements were of a violent nature, quite at variance with your true Macaroni’s notions of entertainment. These Bloods were to be found at any prizefight, or cock-fight, and when these diversions palled could always while away an evening in masquerading abroad in the guise of foot-pads, to the terror of all honest townsfolk. Lord Winwood, who was engrossed throughout the first act of the opera in a heated argument respecting the chances of his pet bruiser, the Fairy, against Mr Farnaby’s protege, the Bloomsbury Tiger, at Broughton’s Amphitheatre next evening, was himself something of a Blood, and had spent the previous night in the Roundhouse, having been moved to join a party of light-hearted gentlemen at the sport of Boxing the Watch. As a result of thisstrenuous pastime his lordshiphad an interesting bruise over one eye, a circumstance that induced Mr Drelincourt to utter a squeak of horror on sight of him.

When the curtain presently fell on the first act the real business of the evening might be said to begin. Ladies beckoned from boxes, gentlemen in the pit went to pay their court to them, and a positive buzz of conversation arose.

Rule’s box was very soon full of Horatia’s friends, and his lordship, ousted from his wife’s side by the ardent Mr Dash-wood, suppressed a yawn and strolled away in search of more congenial company. He was presently to be seen in the parterre, chuckling at something Mr Selwyn seemed to have sighed wearily into his ear, and just as he was about to move towards a group of men who had hailed him, he chanced to look up at the boxes, and saw something that apparently made him change his mind. Three minutes later he entered Lady Massey’s box.

Since his marriage he had not singled Lady Massey out in public, so that it was with triumph mixed with surprise that she held out her hand to him. “My lord!—You know Sir Willoughby, I believe? And Miss Cloke, of course,” she said, indicating two of her companions. “How do you like the Iphigbrie, sir? Lord Lethbridge and I are agreed that Marin-ozza is sadly out of voice. What do you say?”

“To tell you the truth,” he replied. “I only arrived in time to see her exit.” He turned. “Ah, Lethbridge!” he said in his soft, sleepy way. “What a fortunate rencontre! I apprehend that I stand in your debt, do I not?”

Lady Massey looked sharply round, but the Earl had moved to where Lethbridge stood at the back of the box, and Sir Willoughby Monk’s stout form obscured her view of him.

Lethbridge bowed deeply. “I should be happy indeed to think so, my lord,” he said with exquisite politeness.

“Oh, but surely!” insisted Rule, gently twirling his eyeglass. “I have been held quite spell-bound by the recountal of your—what shall I call it?—your knight-errantry this very afternoon.”

Lethbridge’s teeth gleamed in a smile. “That, my lord? A mere nothing, believe me.”

“But I am quite lost in admiration, I assure you,” said Rule. “To tackle three—it was three, was it not? Ah yes!—to tackle three desperate villains single-handed argues an intrepidity—

or should I say a daring?—you were always daring, were you not, my dear Lethbridge?—a daring, then, that positively takes one’s breath away.”

“To have succeeded,” said Lethbridge, still smiling, “in depriving your lordship of breath is a triumph in itself.”

“Ah!” sighed the Earl. “But you will make me emulative, my dear Lethbridge. More of these deeds of daring and I shall really have to see if I cannot—er—deprive you of breath.”

Lethbridge moved his hand as though to lay it on his sword-hilt. No sword hung at his side, but the Earl, watching this movement through his glass, said in the most friendly way imaginable: “Precisely, Lethbridge! How well we understand each other!”

“Nevertheless, my lord,” Lethbridge replied, “you must permit me to say that you might find that task a difficult one.”

“But somehow I feel—not entirely beyond my power,” said his lordship, and turned back to pay his respects to Lady Massey.

In the box opposite the crowd had begun to grow thinner, only Lady Amelia Pridham, Mr Dashwood, and Viscount Winwood remaining. Mr Dashwood having borne the Viscount company on his adventures of the previous night, Lady Amelia was scolding them both for their folly when Mr Drelincourt entered the box.

Mr Drelincourt wanted to speak with his cousin Rule, and was quite put out to find him absent. Nor was his annoyance assuaged by the naughty behaviour of my Lady Rule, who, feeling that she had a score to pay off, chanted softly: