Lady Maude's Mania Part 48

"Justine," continued her ladyship, "you understand the language?"

"No, my lady, not Italian."

"Then speak to him in French, it will impress the man. Go and see that Robbins is not imposed upon. Now, Robbins, mind and be firm. This is not London."

"No, milady."

"And don't lose any more luggage."

"No, my lady," said Robbins; and he left the room with Justine.

"Luggage, indeed," he growled; "all this row about a sandwich-box, and she left it in the rack herself."

"Nevaire mind her, Rob--bain," said Justine; "take him coolly."

"Take _him_ coolly. Yes, ma'amselle, I can the governor; but her ladyship."

"Ah, yais, she is a womans. But see me, I do not complain; I am drag all ovaire Europe by her ladyship, who have rob me of my loaf till I return and see him once again. I do not complain."

In the coffee-room her ladyship b.u.t.ton-holed Lord Barmouth directly, and then took Tom's seat at the table, while that gentleman grasped Tryphie's hand.

"Oh, Tom," she said, "what news?"

"You've both come," he said shortly. "Is that all you have to say?"

"All? Ah, Tom dear, if you only knew how much."

This was accompanied by so pleasant a pressure of the hand that Tom's acidity began to evaporate in gas, and he turned to help his father, who was giving way under a vigorous attack. For as he approached the table her ladyship exclaimed, with a warning motion of her index finger--

"Now, Barmouth, your gout is much worse."

"Ye-yes, my dear," said his lordship, "I'm--I'm afraid it is."

"Of course! You've been taking port wine recklessly."

"No, no, really, my dear: the port is so horribly bad that--"

"Then you've had Burgundy."

"Well--well, yes, a little, my dear."

"I knew it! What's this?" cried her ladyship, seizing the bottle on the table. "Burgundy, of course."

"No, Barolo," said Tom. "Regular physic for gout, isn't it, gov'nor.

Take another gla.s.s."

"Shall I, my boy?" said the old man, hesitating.

"Of course," cried Tom, pouring one out, which his lordship eagerly drank.

"Tom!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her ladyship, whose breath seemed to be taken away by the daring displayed.

"Physic," said Tom, sharply.

"Have you secured rooms for us?"

"Of course not. Only just knew you were coming."

"Then ring for the landlord; I shall now continue the search myself. I have been much to blame in leaving it in other hands so long. But a weak woman--"

"Who is?" said Tom, innocently.

"I am, sir," replied her ladyship. "I was not aware, when I entrusted the search to my husband and son, that it was to be made an excuse for a pleasant and expensive continental tour, with no results whatever but the shrinking of a good balance at the bank, and a fit of gout?"

"Oh, bosh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom.

"No more gadding about; no more Burgundy and strong drinks. I mean to find that wretched girl myself; the authorities shall intervene, and I will do my duty as a mother."

"What shall you do?"

"Place her in a madhouse as sure as I stand here."

"Then you will not," said Tom, "for you're sitting."

"Reserve your ribald jestings, sir, till we return to town."

"All right," cried Tom; "then let me speak in a downright manner, my dear mother. You can do just as you please, but I am now on the scent, which I shall keep to myself; and I tell you this, old lady, I will not have Maude--whatever her faults--ill-used."

"Hear, hear!" cried Lord Barmouth; but then he had had four gla.s.ses of wine.

"Barmouth!"

"_Yes_--yes, my dear."

"Oh, what language, and to a mother!"

"There, there, stop that," cried Tom. "We are not at home, but at an hotel, and the people won't understand tragic amateur acting."

"Tryphie, my child," cried her ladyship, after giving her son an annihilating look, "come with me to our own apartments. Lord Barmouth, summon the waiter, or no, come with me. Tryphie, you can ring and order _dejeuner_, I wish to speak to these people in the hotel. I think I can obtain some information here."

Lord Barmouth cast a despairing look at his son, and followed her ladyship into the hall, while Tom had just seized the opportunity, and Tryphie at the same moment, to embrace her in spite of a certain amount of resistance, when there was a loud "Oh!" and he turned to find that Charley Melton had entered the room.

"You here, Charley! Why, my dear old chap!"

They shook hands warmly, Tryphie following suit, and the pretty little face flushed with pleasure and confusion.

"Why, Charley, you here!" cried Tom. "Stop, I know; you need not say a word."