The Child Wife

“You’ll do,” said Swinton, as he scanned her with an approving glance.

“For, what, pray?” was the interrogatory.

It was superfluous. She more than conjectured his meaning.

“Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

She sat down.

He did not proceed at once. He seemed under some embarrassment. Even he – the brute – was embarrassed!

And no wonder, with the vile intent in his thoughts – upon the tip of his tongue; for he intended counselling her to shame!

Not to the ultimate infamy, but to the seeming of it.

Only the seeming; and with the self-excuse of this limitation, he took courage, and spoke.

He spoke thus:

“Look here, Fan. The gentleman I’m expecting, is the same that has put us into this little snuggery. It’s Lord – . I’ve told you what sort of a man he is, and what power he’s got. He can do wonders for me, and will, if I can manage him. But he’s fickle and full of conceit, as all of his kind. He requires skilful management; and you must assist me.”

“I assist you! In what way?”

“I only want you to be civil to him. You understand me?”

Fan made no reply; but her glance of assumed incredulity told of a perfect comprehension!

The ringing of the gate-bell interrupted the chapter of instructions.

Chapter Fifty Seven.

Patron and Protégé

The ringing of the bell did not cause Mr Swinton to start. It might have done so had he been longer in his new residence. His paper “kites” were still carried about London, with judgments pinned on to them; and he might have supposed that the bearer of one of them was bringing it home to him.

But the short time he had been installed in the McTavish villa, with the fact that a visitor was expected, rendered him comparatively fearless; and his composure was only disturbed by a doubt, as to whether the ringer of the bell was his patron, or only a deputy sent with the promised instructions.

The maid-of-all-work, that day hastily engaged, was despatched to answer the ring. If it was an elderly gentleman, tall and stoutish, she was to show him in at once, and without parley.

On opening the gate, a figure was distinguished outside. It was that of a gentleman. He was enveloped in an ample cloak, with a cap drawn over his ears. This did not prevent the servant from seeing that he was tall and stoutish; while the gleam of the hall-lamp, falling on his face, despite a dyed whisker, showed him to answer the other condition for admittance.

“Mr Swinton lives here?” he asked, before the gate-opener could give him invitation to enter.

“He does, sir. Please to walk in.”

Guided by the girl, the cloaked personage threaded through the lilacs and laurestinas, stepped on to the little piazza, on which Mr McTavish had oft smoked his pipe; and was at length shown into the apartment where Swinton awaited him.

The latter was alone – his wife having retired by instructions.

On the entrance of his visitor, Mr Swinton started up from his seat, and advanced to receive him.

“My lord!” said he, shamming a profound surprise, “is it possible I am honoured by your presence?”

“No honour, sir; no honour whatever.”

“From what your lordship said, I was expecting you to send – ”

“I have come instead, Mr Swinton. The instructions I have to give are upon a matter of some importance. I think it better you should have them direct from ‘myself.’ For this reason I present myself, as you see, in propria persona.”

“That’s a lie!” thought Swinton, in reference to the reason.

Of course he kept the thought to himself His reply was:

“Just like what is said of your lordship. By night, as by day, always at work – doing service to the State. Your lordship will pardon me for speaking so freely?”

“Don’t mention it, my dear sir. The business between us requires that we both speak freely.”

“Excuse me for not having asked your lordship to take a seat!”

“I’ll take that,” promptly responded the condescending nobleman, “and a cigar, too, if you’ve got one to spare.”

“Fortunately I have,” said the delighted Swinton. “Here, my lord, are some sold to me for Havanas. I can’t answer for their quality.”

“Try one of mine?”

The patron pulled a cigar-case out of the pocket of his coat. The cloak and cap had been left behind him in the hall.

The protégé accepted it with a profusion of thanks.

Both sat down, and commenced smoking.

Swinton, thinking he had talked enough, waited for the great man to continue the conversation.

He did so.

“I see you’ve succeeded in taking the house,” was the somewhat pointless remark.

“I am in it, my lord,” was the equally pointless reply.

More to the purpose was the explanation that followed:

“I regret to inform your lordship that it has cost a considerable sum.”

“How much?”

“I had to take it for a whole year – at a rent of two hundred pounds.”

“Pooh! never mind that. It’s for the service of the State. In such matters we are obliged to make liberal disbursement. And now, my dear sir, let me explain to you why it has been taken, and for what purpose you have been placed in it.”