Our Admirable Betty Part 62

"So!" he exclaimed, "that makes another fifteen guineas!"

"Twenty-five, my dear Marchdale!" smiled Mr. Dalroyd, taking up a new pack.

"How much ha' you lost, Alton?"

"Nothing much Tony, only ten or so."

"And you, Alvaston?"

"Nay I'm 'n odd guinea or so t' th' good, s' far," yawned his lordship.

"May I perish," exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, "but you and Dalroyd have all the luck, as usual!"

"I--I in luck?" exclaimed Alvaston, his sleepy eyes wider than usual, "stint y'r dreams and babble not, Tony! Whoe'er saw me win? Never had any measure o' luck since I was breeched, or before. And talking o'

luck, Major, how goeth Merivale, how's poor Tom since his spill yesterday?"

"Bruised and sore, sir, but no worse, thank G.o.d. He'll be about again in a day or so."

"Tom rides like--like the devil, strike me blue if he don't!" said the Marquis.

"And just as reckless!" added Dalroyd.

"Aye, but here was none o' that. His horse balked a fence, rapped and went down with him. Brute'll kill him yet, damme if he don't!"

"Talking o' luck," pursued Alvaston, sorting his cards lazily, "never had any measure of it yet, either with cards, dice, horses or the s.e.x.

An' talkin' o' the s.e.x, Tony my lad, what of its brightest and most particular, what of Bet, how speeds th' wooing?" Mr. Marchdale swore earnestly. "Oho!" murmured Alvaston, "doth she prove so cold and indifferent----"

"Neither one nor t'other, but I must ha' more time."

"Three days must suffice, Tony, 'twas so agreed. After you comes Ben and after Ben, Jasper and then after Jasper, West, with poor Ned and me left nowhere."

"Aye, but damme," quoth the Marquis, "what o' Dalroyd here?"

"Aye, where d'you come, Dalroyd?" queried Alvaston.

Mr. Dalroyd's nostrils worked and his white teeth gleamed. "I come nowhere, anywhere or everywhere," he answered, surveying his hearers beneath lowered eyelids. "A free-lance in love, I--to woo precisely how and where and--when, I choose." Here for an infinitesimal s.p.a.ce of time his keen eye rested on the Major.

"You always were such a dem'd dumb dog!" quoth the Marquis.

"Close as 'n oyster!" murmured Alvaston.

"And he's lucky in cards and love, which ain't fair," grumbled Mr.

Marchdale. "I've heard whispers of a handsome farmer's daughter not a hundred miles hence--eh, Dalroyd?"

"'Tis your turn to lead, Marchdale!" said Mr. Dalroyd, his lips a little grim.

"My fellow swears he saw you only t'other night--dev'lish late--with an armful o' loveliness----"

"You should kick your fellow for impertinence, Marchdale, and 'tis your turn to lead!"

"I'll be curst if I know what, then!" he exclaimed, slapping down a card at random. "There's Bet, now--and but one more day to win her!

Who might win such a G.o.ddess in a day, 'tis preposterous----"

"I've heard," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "yes, I've heard of women being won in less. And as to G.o.ddesses, Endymion sighed not vainly nor over long."

"Why as to that I progress--O I progress!" nodded Mr. Marchdale with youthful a.s.sertiveness, "she's all witching laughter and affection----"

"Unhappy wight!" exclaimed Mr. Dalroyd.

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, wine-gla.s.s at lip, "How so?"

"Kind Venus save me from affection feminine!" smiled Dalroyd, "Where affection is pa.s.sion is not. So give me burning love or pa.s.sionate hate and she is mine."

"Od Dalroyd," interposed Sir Benjamin indignantly, "I say od's my life, sir, here's wooing most unorthodox, most unseemly i' faith!"

"But natural, Ben," retorted Dalroyd, "women love or hate as the wind bloweth. Your loving woman is very well though apt to cloy, but your hater--O Ben! Besides, all women love a little force--to force 'em willing is child's play, to force 'em hating--ah Ben, that methinks is man's play."

"Out on you, sir!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin. "Is it thus you'd win our incomparable, Our Admirable Betty?" Mr. Dalroyd threw down his cards and leaning back in his chair surveyed the indignant Sir Benjamin with his fleeting smile.

"She is a woman, Ben, and therefore to be won one way or t'other." And here once again his keen gaze rested momentarily on the Major's pa.s.sive figure. As for Sir Benjamin, his face grew purple, his great peruke seemed to bristle again.

"Enough sir!" he cried, "Are we satyrs, hairy and unpolished, to creep, to crouch, to win by forceful fury what trembling beauty would deny? I say no sir--I say the day of such is long gone by I--I appeal to Major d'Arcy!"

The Major, being thus addressed, blew forth a cloud of smoke, fanned it away with his hand and spoke in his measured, placid tones:

"I fear sir, even in these days satyrs walk among us now and then though indeed they have covered their hairy and unpolished hides 'neath velvets and fine linen and go a-satyrizing delicately pulvilled. Yet woman, I take it, hath been granted eyes to see the brute 'neath all his dainty trappings."

Here there fell a moment's silence, for the company, quick to sense the sudden tenseness in the air, sat in rapt expectation of what was to be; perceiving which Mr. Dalroyd smiled again and the Major went on smoking. At last, when he judged the silence had endured long enough, Mr. Dalroyd spoke:

"Major d'Arcy, Ben's simile is perchance a little harsh, for he would have us all satyrs, in that at some time or other, every man doth seek, pursue and hunt the lovely s.e.x to his own selfish end. Even you yourself, I dare swear, have dreamed dreams, have beheld a vision of some dainty beauty you would fain possess. I have, I do confess. Now, doth she yield--well and good! Doth she fly us, we pursue. And do we catch her--well, hate and love are kindred pa.s.sions, nay indeed, hate is love's refinement, though both are pa.s.sing moods. Indeed some women are preferable in the hating moods--to know the woman in one's arms hates one, there, sir, so 'tis said, is the very refinement of pleasure."

"Sir," said the Major gently, "I heard one say as much in Flanders years agone and I did my best to kill him and thought I had succeeded, but of late I have begun to entertain grave doubts and never more so than at this minute." Here fell a silence absolute.

Mr. Dalroyd's white lids flickered and into his eyes came a bodeful glare as he met the Major's placid but unswerving gaze and as they fronted each other thus, there fell a silence so absolute that the tick of a clock in distant corner sounded uncannily loud--a chair creaked, a foot sc.r.a.ped the floor, but save for this was silence, threatening and ominous, while Mr. Dalroyd glared at the Major and the Major, leaning back in his chair, stared at Mr. Dalroyd as if he would read the very soul of him. All at once came a whirr of springs and the clock began to chime midnight whereupon was sudden relaxation, chairs were moved, arms and legs stretched themselves.

"Od's my life--midnight already!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin in very apparent relief.

"Aye, faith!" yawned Alvaston, "Now is the witching hour when graveyards yawn----"

"No, no, Bob!" laughed Dalroyd, "Now is the witching hour when beauty coy doth flush and furtive steal to raptures dreamed by day. Now is the witching hour when satyrs in compelling arms----" he yawned, smiled and rose. "Howbeit sirs, I am summoned hence----"

"Ah--ah!" nodded Marchdale, "The farmer's daughter--the beauty o' the blue cloak--ha, lucky dog!"

"A blue cloak!" repeated Mr. Dalroyd, "Egad, your fellow's too infernally observant, Marchdale, you should really kick him a little."

So saying, Mr. Dalroyd crossed to the corner and took up his sword, "Adieu gentlemen," said he, "I go, shall we say, a-satyrizing--no, 'twould shock our Ben, none the less I--go. Gentlemen, I salute you!"

And bowing to the room Mr. Dalroyd sauntered away.

"Burn me!" exclaimed Alvaston, "the wine's near out, let's order up 'nother dozen or so an' make a night on't." This being agreed, the bottles presently made their appearance, gla.s.ses clinked and the company began to grow merry. But after two or three toasts had been called and honoured, the Major arose, made his excuses, and calling for his hat, sword and cane, presently took his departure.