The Woman with One Hand (and) Mr. Ely's Engagement Part 30

"Ah, it's a serious thing to have a misunderstanding with your best girl!"

Mrs. Bailey laughed again.

"It's all very well to laugh, but I've had more than one, and n.o.body knows what it feels like who hasn't gone through it all. Poor chap, no wonder he feels down!"

"Mr. Ely," explained the lady, "never you mind Jack, it's a way he's got; he will always have his joke." Then she showed the tact for which women are so famous. "I hope that there really has been no misunderstanding with--with the lady?"

"S--sh!--Bess!--For shame!--I'm surprised at you! I wouldn't have asked such a question, not for a thousand pounds!"

"Mr. Bailey, if the worst comes to the worst, I feel quite convinced that you will be able to provide Mrs. Bailey with an excellent establishment by becoming a professional buffoon."

This was Mr. Ely's final word. The train just then drew up at Guildford. Mr. Bailey rose with the air of a martyr.

"I'm afraid, my dear Bess, we must really tear ourselves away. We ought to find a separate compartment. Our friends are most anxious to smoke, and the presence of a lady prevents them, you know."

When the pair were gone, Mr. Ely turned upon Mr. Ash with something that was very much like a snarl.

"I have to thank you for that."

"For what? What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean. For that clown's impertinence--great, lumbering buffoon!"

"Good gracious, Ely, you don't seem to be in the pleasantest of moods.

What did I tell him? I only said you were engaged. What harm is there in that? I don't know what good you expect to come from keeping it hidden from the world."

Mr. Ely turned the matter over in his mind. He gnashed his teeth, not figuratively, but very literally indeed.

"By George, I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why!"

"One way to that desirable consummation is to compromise the lady's name. Advertise the fact that she has promised to be your wife."

"If I thought that, I'd stick it up on every dead wall in town."

"Let's try milder means at first. Leave more vigorous measures to a little later on. Unless I'm much mistaken, you'll find the milder means will serve. There's a little misunderstanding, that is all."

"Little misunderstanding you call it, do you? I should like to know what you call a big one, then."

If they did not actually come to blows they did more than one little bit of figurative sparring on the way. Mr. Ash found it best to keep quite still. Directly he opened his mouth Mr. Ely showed an amazing disposition to snap at his nose. For instance, once when the train stopped at a station--

"This is Rowland's Castle, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't Rowland's Castle. I should like to know what on earth makes you think it's Rowland's Castle. I wonder you don't say it's Colney Hatch."

Mr. Ash gazed mildly at his friend, and subsided into his paper. He felt that with things as they were conversation might be labelled "dangerous."

CHAPTER XII

THE RIVALS--NEW VERSION

When they reached Shanklin, Mr. Ely was shown into the drawing-room, while Mr. Ash disappeared upstairs.

"You wait in there," suggested Mr. Ash; "there's a word or two I want to say to the old lady. I want to get to the bottom of the thing, because it's quite possible we've come on a wild goose chase after all. You wait half a minute, and I'll see Miss Lily's sent to you. I shouldn't be at all surprised to see her come flying headlong into your arms. Then you'll find out that it's almost worth while to fall out for the sake of the reconciliation."

Left alone in the drawing-room, Mr. Ely was not by any means so sure.

He was inclined to be sceptical as to the young lady's flying leap into his arms. And as to falling out for the sake of the reconciliation--well, there might be something, perhaps, in that, but he would like to have felt as sure about the reconciliation as he did about the falling out.

He seated himself on an ottoman, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and stared at his patent toes. A minute pa.s.sed, more than a minute, more than five minutes, indeed, still he was left alone. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes had elapsed since he entered the room.

"This is a pretty state of things; ten living minutes have I sat stewing here! And Ash said that in less than half a minute he wouldn't be surprised to see her in my arms. It looks like it!"

He got up and surveyed the apartment.

"I wonder where she is? And where the other fellow is? That's the man to whom I ought to apply for information. I lay my hat that she's done some bounding into his arms since yesterday. That's a pleasant thought to think about the woman who's promised to be your wife!"

Mr. Ely disconsolately paced the room.

"And to think that I paid twenty pounds for an engagement-ring! And I might have forked up forty-five! That's what gets at me! And I've got Rosenbaum's writ in my coat pocket. Damages laid at thirty thousand pounds! Oh, lor! This is a nice day's work I've done!"

Pausing before the fireplace he leaned his elbow on the mantelshelf, and his head upon his hand, and groaned.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where Miss Truscott is?" There was a voice behind him. Mr. Ely turned.

"Hallo, Ely! I had no idea that it was you! How are you, dear old man?"

Mr. Ely turned--metaphorically--into a pillar of ice. Into a pillar of red-hot ice, if we may confound our metaphors. For while his exterior demeanour was several degrees below zero, his interior economy left boiling point at the post.

A gentleman had strolled into the room through the opened window--Mr.

William Summers. Mr. William Summers as large as life, and larger.

There were no signs of guilt upon his countenance; certainly there were none in his bearing. He held a soft crush hat in one hand, the other he held out to Mr. Ely.

"Well, I'm--hanged!"

"I say, Ely, what's the row?"

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Ely turned and strode towards the door. When he reached it he paused, and turning again, he gazed at the intruder. The intruder did not seem to be at all abashed.

"That's the way they used to do it at the Coburg. Exit vanquished vice."

"Sir!"

"That's a little Coburg, too. They used to roll their r's."

Mr. Summers tugged at his beard. Retracing his steps, Mr. Ely strode on until he was in a measurable distance of Mr. Summers's nose.