Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

her veil over her face. Sir Francis rose and attempted to enfold her in his embrace. But she eluded him, and spoke breathlessly. "If you really have any regard for me, sir, you will restrain yourself. Let us-ah-let us speak of other things-this paper. Nay, I entreat you . . . . What would you have me say? Is this a time or a place for me to confess that you have inspired me with a sentiment-oh! have pity, sir. Come to me to-morrow-this evening, if

you will-but not here, not now. . . ."

"You give me hope, then? Divine creature, do you grant me an interview?"

"Yes, yes-anything! indeed, you may command me but too easily only, if you love me at all, have consideration for my position-for

,,

"Enough! I am obedient, and I am mute, save as you bid me speak," cried the baronet, almost bewildered with the immensity of his own good fortune, and physically much out of breath besides. He sank into his chair, panting. "We understand each other!" he sighed out, with an impassioned smile. "Till this evening! meanwhile

[ocr errors]

"This paper, then? Is it a legal form? Are you serious in making such a contract with me?"

The baronet nodded profoundly. "It bears my signature: it is complete and irrevocable !"

"But my own name is not written here.

You have left a blank."

How could I write your

"For you to fill up, dearest creature! name, when you have not told me what it is?"

"How, sir? You do not know my name?" exclaimed the lady, with an accent of surprise.

"Positively, I have not a notion of it. The servant did not announce it."

46 And you enter into this contract with one of whom you know nothing?"

""Tis yourself, fairest of your sex, not your name, that has im portance for me," panted the baronet complacently. "But you will tell it me? and lift that veil that obscures so much beauty?"

"Apparently, Sir Francis, it has obscured more than my beauty," returned the lady drily. She approached the table at which he sat, and added, “Give me your pen."

Somewhat startled at the abruptness of her tone, the baronet complied with her request. She held the paper upon the desk with her left hand, while she wrote a name in the blank space which Sir Francis had left for that purpose. His eye followed the swift movement of

154

The Gentleman's Magazine.

the pen, and when the writer laid it down, he read out the name

mechanically

Perdita, Marquise Desmoines.”

Sir Francis leant back heavily in his chair, and his arms fell

loosely at his side. He stared at the charming figure in front of him with a sort of vacant consternation. She threw back her veil. appoint the most sanguine expectations. In shape it was a full oval, the nose delicate and pointed, with the tip mobile to the changing solid, round, and white. It was the face of one capable alike of Play of the lips in smiling or speaking. Her chin was firm, her throat luxurious indolence and of dangerous energy; endowed with dimples for mirth and with clear-cut lines for resolute purpose. Sound sense and accurate memory dwelt in the broad brow; good temper in the curve of cheek and eyelid: passion in the full lower lip. From the movements of the features and the poise of the head upon the neck, might be divined that she was proud. generous, or implacable as the whim suited her; but the dominant expression at present was one of archly mischievous amusement.

The face that was thus revealed was certainly not one to dis

"You don't seem glad to see me, Uncle Francis!" she exclaimed,

making a moue of lovely irony.

No answer from the baronet.

"You wanted to kiss me just now; come-I am ready!"
Sir Francis was still speechless.

"Why, uncle, how unsympathetic you are grown all of a sudden! Don't you love your poor widowed niece, whom you haven't seen or heard of for ten years? You were so complimentary and affectionate a moment ago! And so generous, too, uncle," she added, holding up the signed agreement between her white forefinger and thumb. At the sight of this the baronet's countenance became ghastly, and

he emitted a groan.

Perdita, Marquise Desmoines, threw back her head and laughed with all her might-a laugh full of liquid music. "You are a most incomprehensible man, uncle," she declared, when she had recovered herself. "When my veil is down you call me fairest of my sex, dearest creature, and sweetest of women; you go down on your knees to me, devour my hand, and pay me ten thousand sterling a year to live in London. You were so delightfully impetuous, in short, that

you

almost frightened me. from a man of your age? Then, when the veil is lifted, you sit as Who would have expected such ardour silent and impassive as a bag of guineas; you glare at me as if I were a gorgon. I hope you will be more agreeable when you come

to see me this evening?

We understand cach other, you know-
And she laughed once more.

don't we?-eh, uncle ?"
"Well, well, Perdita," said the baronet at last in a feeble voice,
"you are a monstrous clever girl, and you may have your laugh out.
As for that paper, you may as well return it me at once. You
have your jest that was mine."

"If all your jests are worth ten thousand a year, I should like to engage you as my court-jester, uncle. You will be worth your weight in silver if you make no more than six jests in a twelvemonth."

"Well, well! but give me the paper: seriously, I insist—”

"You insist! Oh, uncle! Because the uncle is a jester, it does not follow that the niece must be a fool. Besides, you have owed me this for ten years."

"Owed it you? What the doose-—”

"Ah, uncle, you are growing old-you are losing your memory. Didn't you marry me to my poor marquis without a dowry? and didn't you say you would make it up to me when times improved? Well, in five or six years perhaps I may give you this paper back; but to do so now, dear uncle, would be discourteous; it would be denying you the privilege of doing an act of justice."

"Upon my life, madam," exclaimed Sir Francis, plucking up some resolution, "you may keep the paper or not as you see fit; but the engagement is not worth the ink it's written with; and that you shall find out!"

The marquise regarded her exasperated relative with a charming gleefulness. "But it is only for twenty per cent., you know, uncle," she said; “and you are able to put out money at double that rate — and more, I dare say."

“Zounds, ma'am, I protest I am ignorant of your meaning!" cried the baronet indignantly.

it

"I mean Rackett's," was Perdita's reply.

Sir Francis changed colour and countenance at that word, as if were a spell that threatened his life. "You don't mean

I don't know

[ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors]

"Come, uncle, we are people of the world, are we not?" said the marquise, with a rather cynical smile. "We have all made our little mistakes; I don't mean to annihilate you; but I happen to know all about Rackett's, and have a fancy to make you pay my dowry-not that I need the money, but because I dote upon abstract justice. Let us be good friends. 'Birds in their little nests agree ;' and so should uncle and niece.

You may come and pay your

respects to me to-morrow, if you like-if you can control the im patience that was consuming you ten minutes ago! I have several things to talk over with you. I have taken a house in Red Lion Square for the present; London will not hear of me until next winter. I am but just become a disconsolate widow, and mean to behave accordingly."

Sir Francis sighed, with the air of a man who resigns himself to the rigour of fate.

"And you are really going to remain in England?" he said. "As long as it amuses me. Paris is dull without the emperor. Besides-but you shall hear the rest to-morrow." She rose to go.

At this juncture Catnip tapped at the door and put in his head. "A gentleman to see you, Sir Francis."

"What is his name?"

"Mr. John Grant, Sir Francis." "Who?"

"Mr. John Grant, Sir Francis."

"I don't know him," said the baronet. "However, let him enter."

The Marquise Desmoines, going out, met Mr. John Grant in the passage, which was narrow. He ceremoniously made room for her to pass; glanced after her for a moment, and then went into the baronet's room.

(To be continued.)

157

:

L

ANNE Oldfield.

ONG years since, in what was called St. James's Market-swept away early in the century to make room for Regent Street and Waterloo Place-there stood and flourished "The Mitre Tavern," a respectable establishment conducted by one Mrs. Voss, with the aid of her widowed sister Mrs. Oldfield and her daughter Anne. Of the late Mr. Oldfield, a vintner's son, his friends were wont to speak fondly, describing him as Captain Oldfield, for he had ridden in the Guards and was even said to have held a commission in the service of King James II. Mrs. Oldfield claimed to be of gentle descent; but she had been left in straitened circumstances, for the late Captain, by his free way of living, had dissipated such fortune as he had ever possessed, and the poor lady doubtless was glad to obtain shelter for a while within the hospitable Mitre Tavern. Mistress Anne Oldfield, her daughter, born in Pall Mall in the year 1683, had been apprenticed at the age of twelve or so to a Mrs. Wotton, sempstress in King Street, Westminster. But the young lady was soon to discover that she owned a soul above sewing and hemming, millinery and mantua-making; she was for ever reading plays, reciting poetry, imitating the players.

The fine gentlemen who sauntered in Pall Mall were apt sometimes to turn aside towards the Mitre Tavern, and standing at its bar, to regale themselves with a measure of strong waters or undergo the soothing influence of a mug of small beer. One day a visitor of this class paused upon the threshold, and remained for some time listening there. For Mistress Anne, in the bar-parlour, was reading aloud scenes from the comedy of "The Scornful Lady" of Beaumont and Fletcher, and with "so proper an emphasis and such agreeable turns suited to each character," that her auditor boldly swore she was cut out for the stage, and straightway rewarded her efforts with very hearty applause. And the gentleman had some title to be accounted a critic in the matter. He was very young-only two-andtwenty or so of melancholy aspect and splenetic constitution, usually wearing black. Such is the description he has left of himself. But he was no other than Captain George Farquhar, already famous as

« НазадПродовжити »