Lady Maude's Mania

Tom gave her ladyship a great deal of trouble by his opposition to the very last, but his efforts were in vain.

“I might perhaps have done more, Maude,” he said, “but, hang it all, what more can I do? A fellow can’t hardly say his soul’s his own in this house. I’ve tried all I can to get the governor to take the lead, but the old woman sits upon him so heavily that he hasn’t a chance.”

Maude only wept silently and laid her head upon his shoulder.

“There, there, little girl,” he said, “cheer up. It’s fashion, and you mustn’t mind. Old Wilters is very soft after all, and you must take a leaf out of the old girl’s book, and serve him out for it all. Hang me, if I were you, if I wouldn’t make him pay dearly for all this.”

“Hush, Tom, dear Tom. Pray, pray don’t talk about it. Tom, dear, when I am gone – ”

“There, I say, hang it all, don’t talk as if you were going to pop off.”

“Listen to me, Tom dear,” said Maude, firmly. “I say when I am gone, be as kind as you can to poor papa. I may not be able to speak to you again.”

“All right,” said Tom; “but I say, you will try and hold up.”

“Yes, Tom dear, yes.”

“That’s right, old girl, make the best of a bad bargain. You won’t be much worse off than Diana. Fashionable martyrs both of you.”

“Yes, Tom dear.”

“And you will try to be happy?”

“Yes, dear, I’m going to be happy. But you’ll think the best of me, dear, and take care of poor papa?”

“Of course I will. The old man will be better off when you are gone. Her majesty won’t be so stingy when she has got you both off her hands, and married to rich men.”

“No, dear. I will try and cheer up.”

“That’s right, old girl. I wish some one would make me happy.” This was accompanied by a look at Tryphie, who was in the room.

“I don’t see how you can expect any lady to make you happy, Tom,” said the little girl, sharply. “A gentleman who worships two idols, cigars and billiards, cannot have room for a third love.”

“There she goes,” said Tom, disconsolately. “Maude, I’ve told her I loved her a score of times, and she pooh-poohs me, and looks down upon me.”

“Of course,” said Tryphie, pertly. “Is it not settled that I am to be Mrs Captain Bellman?”

“Mrs Captain Bellman!” cried Tom, savagely. “Look here, Tryphie, I thought we had settled him, and now you bring him up again like an evil spirit in a play. I tell you what it is, if somebody does not shoot that great moustached scoundrel, I will.”

“What, such a handsome, gentlemanly man?” said Tryphie, sarcastically.

“Handsome? Gentlemanly? The narrow-minded scoundrel! Look here, Tryphie, a man may do worse things than smoke cigars and play billiards. Damme, I can say I never caused a woman the heartache, or deceived my friend.”

“Are you sure, Tom?” said Tryphie, looking up at him with a melancholy droll expression upon her countenance.

“Tryphie!” he cried, running to her, and catching her hand.

“Get along, you silly boy,” she cried, laughing; and he turned away with a look of annoyance, but Maude caught his arm.

“Tom, dear,” she said, laying her head upon his shoulder, “come what may, you will always think kindly of me.”

“Why of course, my dear,” he said, “always. I shall think of you as the dearest and best of sisters, who always stuck up for me, and kept herself poor by lending me – no, hang it, I won’t be a humbug – giving me nearly all her allowance. Maude, old girl: I’m afraid we young fellows are terribly selfish beasts. Look here,” he cried, excitedly, to hide the tears that would come into his eyes, “I tell you what; I can get half a dozen fellows together who’ll help me burke old Wilters if you’ll say the word.”

“Don’t be foolish, Tom dear,” sighed Maude. “I must go now to papa. I want to stay with him all day. Thank you, dear Tom; be kind to him when I’m gone.”

“That I will, dear,” he said; and, embracing him fondly, Maude hurried away out of the room.

“Tom,” said Tryphie, coming behind him as he stood, rather moist of eye, gazing after her.

“Tryphie,” he cried excitedly, facing round, “I feel such a scoundrel; and as if I ought to put a stop to this cursed marriage. Here’s a set out: she detests him, that’s evident; and if Charley Melton had been a trump, hang me if he shouldn’t have had her. Curse it all! her ladyship’s too bad. There, I can’t stand it, and must be off. This place chokes me – What were you going to say!”

“I was only going to say, Tom,” she said, softly, “that I’m very sorry I’ve behaved so unkindly to you sometimes, and snubbed you, and been so spiteful.”

“Don’t say any more about it, Tryphie,” said the little fellow, sadly. “I’d forgive you a hundred times as much for being so good to the old man. Good-bye, Tryphie, I’m off.”

“But you’ll come back for the wedding, Tom!”

“I’ll be there, somethinged if I do,” he said.

“What! See a second sister sold by auction? – Knocked down by my lady to the highest bidder? No, that I won’t. I can’t, I tell you. Hang it all, Tryphie, you chaff me till I feel sore right through sometimes. I’m a little humbug of a fellow, but I’ve got some feeling.”

“Yes, Tom,” said Tryphie, looking at him strangely, though he did not see it. “But I was going to say something else to you.”

“Well, look sharp then,” he said. “What is it!”

“Only, Tom, that I don’t think I ever quite knew you before; and you have pleased me so by what you said to poor Maude.”

“Tryphie!” he cried, with his eyes sparkling.

“Yes, Tom, dear,” she said, looking up in his face. “Don’t let aunt marry me to any one.”

“If I do!” he cried, clasping her in his arms, and her pretty little rosebud of a mouth was turned up to his for the kiss that was placed there, just as the drawing-room door opened, and her ladyship sailed in to stand as if petrified.

“Lord Diphoos! Tryphie!” she cried in a deep contralto. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing,” said Tom. “It’s done this way,” and he imprinted half a dozen more kisses upon Tryphie’s frightened little face before she struggled from him, and ran out by another door.

“Have the goodness, sir, to ring that bell,” said her ladyship, laying her hand upon her side, and tottering to an easy-chair. “I cannot talk to you about your conduct now – your wickedness – your riot and debauchery – my mind is too full of what is about to take place; but as you are going away to-day, I must tell you that you can return here no more until Tryphie is married. I will not have her head filled full of wicked nonsense by so unprincipled a young man.”

“Yes, I am a very bad one, mother,” said Tom, quietly; “but don’t make yourself uncomfortable. I am not going away.”

“Not going away?” shrieked her ladyship. “Ah, who is that?” she continued, without turning her head.

“Robbins, my lady.”

“Oh, Robbins, send Justine to me.”

“Yes, my lady,” said the butler, retiring.