The Honourable Mr. Tawnish Part 5

"As for you, sir," says she, "you stole away my letter,--was that gentle, was it loving, was it kind? Uncle Bentley--say 'No'!"

"Why--er--no," stammered Bentley, "but you see, Pen--"

"Then, Sir John," she continued, with her calm, reproving gaze still fixed upon her father's face the while he fidgetted in his chair, "then yesterday, Sir John, when I found you'd taken it, and came to demand it back again, you heard me coming and slipped out--through the window, and hid yourself--in the stables, and rode away without even stopping to put on your riding-boots, and--in that terrible old hat! Was that behaving like a dignified, middle-aged gentleman and Justice of the Peace, sir?

Uncle Richard, say 'Certainly not!'"

"Well, I--I suppose 'twas not," says I, "but under the circ.u.mstances--"

"And now I find you all with your heads very close together, hatching diabolical plots and conspiracies against poor little me--heigho!"

"Nay, Penelope," says Jack, beginning to bl.u.s.ter, "we--I say we are determined--"

"Oh, Sir John," she sighed, "oh, Sir John Chester, 'tis a shameful thing and most ungallant in a father to run off with his daughter's love-letter. Prithee, where is her love-letter? Give her her love-letter--this moment!"

Hereupon Jack must needs produce the letter from his pocket (where he had hidden it) and she (naughty baggage) very ostentatiously set it 'neath the tucker at her bosom. Which done, she nods at each one of us in turn, frowning a little the while.

"I vow," says she, tapping the floor with the toe of her satin shoe, "I could find it in my heart to be very angry with you--all of you, if I didn't--love you quite so well. So, needs must I forgive you. Sir John dear, stoop down and let me straighten your wig--there! Now you may kiss me, sir--an' you wish."

Hereupon Jack kissed her, of course, and thereafter catching sight of us, frowned terrifically.

"Now, look'ee here, Pen--Penelope," says he, "I say, look'ee here!"

"Yes, Sir John dear."

"I--that is to say--we," began Jack, "for d.i.c.k and Bentley are one with me, I say that--that--er, I say that--what the devil do I mean to say, d.i.c.k?"

"Why, Pen," I explained, "'tis this stranger--this--er--"

"Tawnish!" says Bentley.

"Aye, Tawnish!" nodded Jack. "Now heark'ee, Pen, I repeat--I say, I repeat--"

"Very frequently, dear," she sighed. "Well?"

"I say," continued Jack, "that I--we--utterly forbid you to see or hear from the fellow again."

"And pray, sir, what have you against him?" says she softly,--only her slender foot tapped a little faster.

"Everything!" says Jack.

"Which is as much as to say--nothing!" she retorted.

"I say," cried Jack, "the man you come to marry shall be a _man_ and not a mincing exquisite with no ideas beyond the cut of his coat."

"And," says I, "a man of position, and no led-captain with an eye to your money, or needy adventurer hunting a dowry, Pen."

"Oh!" she sighed, "how cruelly you misjudge him! And you, Uncle Bentley, what have you to say?"

"That whoso he be, we would have him in all things worthy of thee, Pen."

"Aye!" nodded Jack, "so my la.s.s, forego this whim--no more o' this Tawnish fellow--forget him."

"Forget!" says she, "how lightly you say it! Oh, prithee don't you see that I am a child no longer--don't you understand?"

"Pooh!" cries Jack. "Fiddle-de-dee! What-a-plague! This fellow is no fit mate for our Pen, a stranger whom n.o.body knows! a languid fop! a pranked-out, patched and powdered puppy-dog! So Penelope, let there be an end on't!"

Pen's little foot had ceased its tattoo, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed when she spoke again.

"Oh!" says she, scornfully. "Oh, most n.o.ble, most fair-minded gentlemen--all three of you, to condemn thus, out of hand, one of whom you know nothing, and without allowing him one word in his own behalf!

Aye, hang your heads! Oh, 'tis most unworthy of you--you whom I have ever held to be in all things most just and honourable!"

And here she turned her back fairly upon us and crossed to the window, while we looked at one another but with never a word betwixt us; wherefore she presently went on again.

"And yet," says she, and now her voice was grown wonderfully tender, "you all loved the mother I never knew--loved her pa.s.sing well, and, for her sake, have borne with my foolish whims all these years, and given me a place deep within your hearts. And because of this," says she, turning and coming back to us, "yes, because of this I love thee, Uncle d.i.c.k!"

Here she stooped and kissed me (G.o.d bless her). "And you too, Uncle Bentley!" Here she kissed Bentley. "And you, dear, tender father!" Here she kissed Jack. "Indeed," she sighed, "methinks I love you all far more than either of you, being only men, can ever understand. But because I am a woman, needs must I do as my heart bids me in this matter, or despise myself utterly. As for the worth of this gentleman, oh! think you I am so little credit to your upbringing as not to know the real from the base? Ah! trust me! And indeed I know this for a very n.o.ble gentleman, and what's more, I will never--never--wed any other than this gentleman!" So saying, she sobbed once, and turning about, sped from the room, banging the door behind her.

Hereupon Jack sighed and ruffled up his wig, while Bentley, lying back in his chair, nodded up at the ceiling, and as for myself I stared down at the floor, lost in sombre thought.

"Well," exclaimed Jack at last, "what the devil are you shaking your heads over? Had you aided me just now instead of sitting there mumchance like two graven images--say like two accursed graven images--"

"Why," retorted Bentley, "didn't I say--"

"Say," cries Jack, "no sooner did you clap eyes on her than it's 'My sweet la.s.s!' 'My pretty maid!' and such toys! And after all your talk of being 'harsh to be kind!' Oh, a cursed nice mess you've made on't betwixt you. Lord knows I tried to do my best--"

"To be sure," nodded Bentley, "'Come let me straighten your wig' says she, and there you sat like--egad, like a furious lamb!"

"Jack and Bentley," says I, "'tis time we realized that our Pen's a woman grown and we--old men, though it seems but yesterday we were boys together at Charterhouse. But the years have slipped away, as years will, and everything is changed but our friendship. As we, in those early days lived, and fought, and worked together, so we loved together, and she--chose Jack. And because of our love, her choice was ours also.

And in a little while she died, but left us Pen--to comfort Jack if such might be, and to be our little maid. Each day she hath grown more like to what her sweet mother was, and so we have loved her--very dearly until--to-day we have waked to find our little maid a woman grown--to think, and act, and choose for herself, and we--old men."

And so I sighed, and rising crossed to the window and stood there awhile.

"Lord!" says Bentley at last, "how the years do gallop upon a man!"

"Aye!" sighed Jack, "I never felt my age till now."

"Nor I!" added Bentley.

"And now," says Jack, "what of Raikes; have you seen aught of him lately?"

"No, Jack."

"But I met Hammersley this morning," says Bentley, "and he was anxious to know when the--the--"

"Meeting was likely to take place?" put in Jack, as he paused; "Purdy tells me I shan't be able to use this foot of mine for a month or more."

"That will put it near Christmas," added Bentley.

"Yes," nodded Jack, "I think we could do no better than Christmas Day."