The Fortunes Of Glencore Part 26

"I think you have hit it yourself, Prince," said Baynton. "It was the trouble, the bore of an explanation, deterred him. He hates writing, and he thought there would be a shower of notes to be replied to, meetings, discussions, and what not; and so he said, 'Let him have his shot, and have done with it.'"

The Russian looked from one to the other as he listened, and seemed really as if not quite sure whether this speech was uttered in seriousness or sarcasm. The calm, phlegmatic faces of the Englishmen,--the almost apathetic expression they wore,--soon convinced him that the words were truthfully spoken; and he stood actually confounded with amazement before them.

Lord Selby and his friend freely accepted the polite invitation of the Prince to breakfast, and they all adjourned to a small but splendidly decorated room, where everything was already awaiting them. There are few incidents in life which so much predispose to rapid intimacy as the case of an averted duel. The revulsion from animosity is almost certain to lead to, if not actual friendship, what may easily become so. In the present instance, the very diversities of national character gave a zest and enjoyment to the meeting; and while the Englishmen were charmed by the fascination of manners and conversational readiness of their hosts, the Russians were equally struck with a cool imperturbability and impa.s.siveness, of which they had never seen the equal.

By degrees the Russian led the conversation to the question by which their misunderstanding originated. "You know my Lord Glencore, perhaps?"

said he.

"Never saw, scarcely ever heard of him," said Selby, in his dry, laconic tone.

"Is he mad, or a fool?" asked the Prince, half angrily.

"I served in a regiment once where he commanded a troop," said Baynton; "and they always said he was a good sort of fellow."

"You read that paragraph this morning, I conclude?" said the Russian.

"You saw how he dares to stigmatize the honor of his wife,--to degrade her to the rank of a mistress,--and, at the same time, to b.a.s.t.a.r.dize the son who ought to inherit his rank and t.i.tle?"

"I read it," said Selby, dryly; "and I had a letter from my lawyer about it this morning."

"Indeed!" exclaimed he, anxious to hear more, and yet too delicate to venture on a question.

"Yes; he writes to me for some t.i.tle-deeds or other. I did n't pay much attention, exactly, to what he says. Glen-core's man of business had addressed a letter to him."

The Russian bowed, and waited for him to resume; but, apparently, he had rather fatigued himself by such unusual loquacity, and so he lay back in his chair, and puffed his cigar in indolent enjoyment.

"A goodish sort of thing for _you_ it ought to be," said Baynton, between the puffs of his tobacco smoke, and with a look towards Selby.

"I suspect it may," said the other, without the slightest change of tone or demeanor.

"Where is it,--somewhere in the south?"

"Mostly, Devon. There's something in Wales too, if I remember aright."

"Nothing Irish?"

"No, thank Heaven,--nothing Irish;" and his grim Lordship made the nearest advance to a smile of which his unplastic features seemed capable.

"Do I understand you aright, my Lord," said the Prince, "that you receive an accession of fortune by this event?"

"I shall, if I survive Glencore," was the brief reply.

"You are related, then?"

"Some cousinship,--I forget how it is. Do you remember, Baynton?"

"I'm not quite certain. I think it was a Coventry married one of Jack Conway's sisters, and she afterwards became the wife of Sir something Ma.s.sy. Isn't that it?"

"Yes, that's it," muttered the other, in the tone of a man who was tired of a knotty problem.

"And, according to your laws, this Lord Glencore may marry again?" cried the Russian.

"I should think so, if he has no wife living," said Selby; "but I trust, for _my_ sake, he'll not."

"And what if he should, and should be discovered the wedded husband of another?"

"That would be bigamy," said Selby. "Would they hang him, Baynton?"

"I think not,--scarcely," rejoined the Colonel.

The Prince tried in various ways to obtain some insight into Lord Glencore's habits, his tastes and mode of life, but all in vain. They knew, indeed, very little, but even that little they were too indolent to repeat. Lord Selby's memory was often at fault, too, and Baynton's had ill supplied the deficiency. Again and again did the Russian mutter curses to himself over the apathy of these stony islanders. At moments he fancied that they suspected his eagerness, and had a.s.sumed their most guarded caution against him; but he soon perceived that this manner was natural to them, not prompted in the slightest degree by any distrust whatever.

"After all," thought the Russian, "how can I hope to stimulate a man who is not excited by his own increase of fortune? Talk of Turkish fatalism, these fellows would shame the Moslem."

"Do you mean to prolong your stay at Florence, my Lord?" asked the Prince, as they arose from the table.

"I scarcely know. What do you say, Baynton?"

"A week or so, I fancy," muttered the other.

"And then on to Rome, perhaps?"

The two Englishmen looked at each other with an air of as much confusion as if subjected to a searching examination in science.

"Well, I shouldn't wonder," said Selby, at last, with a sigh.

"Yes, it may come to that," said Baynton, like a man who had just overcome a difficulty.

"You 'll be in time for the Holy Week and all the ceremonies," said the Prince.

"Mind that, Baynton," said his Lordship, who wasn't going to carry what he felt to be another man's load; and Baynton nodded acquiescence.

"And after that comes the season for Naples,--you have a month or six weeks, perhaps, of such weather as nothing in all Europe can vie with."

"You hear, Baynton!" said Selby.

"I've booked it," muttered the other; and so they took leave of their entertainer, and set out towards Florence. Neither you nor I, dear reader, will gain anything by keeping them company, for they say scarcely a word by the way. They stop at intervals, and cast their eyes over the glorious landscape at their feet. Their glances are thrown over the fairest scene of the fairest of all lands; and whether they turn towards the snow-capt Apennines, by Vall'ombrosa, or trace the sunny vineyards along the Val' d' Arno, they behold a picture such as no canvas ever imitated; still, they are mute and uncommunicative. Whatever of pleasure their thoughts suggest, each keeps for himself. Objects of wonder, strange sights and new, may present themselves, but they are not to be startled out of national dignity by so ign.o.ble a sentiment as surprise. And so they jog onward,--doubtless richer in reflection than eloquent in communion; and so we leave them.

Let us not be deemed unjust or ungenerous if we a.s.sert that we have met many such as these. They are not individuals,--they are a cla.s.s; and, strange enough too, a cla.s.s which almost invariably pertains to a high and distinguished rank in society. It would be presumptuous to ascribe such demeanor to insensibility. There is enough in their general conduct to disprove the a.s.sumption. As little is it affectation; it is simply an acquired habit of stoical indifference, supposed to be--why, Heaven knows!--the essential ingredient of the best breeding. If the practice extinguish all emotion, and obliterate all trace of feeling from the heart, we deplore the system. If it only gloss over the working of human sympathy, we pity the men. At all events, they are very uninteresting company, with whom longer dalliance would only be wearisome.

CHAPTER XXI. SOME TRAITS OF LIFE

It was the night Lady Glencore received; and, as usual, the street was crowded with equipages, which somehow seemed to have got into inextricable confusion,--some endeavoring to turn back, while others pressed forward,--the court of the palace being closely packed with carriages which the thronged street held in fast blockade. As the apartments which faced the street were not ever used for these receptions, the dark unlighted windows suggested no remark; but they who had entered the courtyard were struck by the gloomy aspect of the vast building: not only that the entrance and the stairs were in darkness, but the whole suite of rooms, usually brilliant as the day, were now in deep gloom. From every carriage window heads were protruded, wondering at this strange spectacle; and eager inquiries pa.s.sed on every side for an explanation. The explanation of "sudden illness" was rapidly disseminated, but as rapidly contradicted, and the reply given by the porter to all demands quickly repeated from mouth to mouth, "Her Ladyship will not receive."

"Can no one explain this mystery?" cried the old Princess Borinsky, as, heavy with fat and diamonds, she hung out of her carriage window.

"Oh, there 's Major Scaresby; he is certain to know, if it be anything malicious."