CHAPTER XI.

"This will be a busy week, big with the fate of more than Cato or of Rome," said Catsbach next day. "I have secured, for a very moderate sum, the use of a theatre down the river; and dresses, advertisements, and decorations are promised us on the most splendid scale. All the second-rates I have already retained, being, in fact, the regular company of the establishment; and I assure you they are all in the highest state of excitement about the new Hamlet and your friend Miss What's-her-name's Ophelia."

"Her name is Miss Claribel," I replied; "and I can't imagine how you take so little interest in a person whom I consider so wonderful, as to have forgotten it."

"Pardon, my dear fellow, I meant no offence either to her powers or your discernment; but I probably forgot what you called her, from a very strong idea I entertain that her name is fictitious. Don't you remember the Montalbans and De la Roses of the Stepney Star? Her name is Jones."

"How? Have you made any inquiry?" I exclaimed, rather astonished myself at the interest I took in the personal history of the beautiful actress.

"O! that's it, is it?" said Catsbach, with a shrug. "What! She has played Ophelia to the perfect satisfaction of Polonius. She knows you are heir of the De Bohuns."

"Polonius! My dear Mr Tooks, what can you possibly mean? You remember that Polonius is the father of Ophelia."

"Well, I suppose Miss Claribel has a father also, or some person who takes a tender interest in her prosperity. They are very often captains in the army, those Poloniuses of modern life; and are a little more strict in exacting an adhesion to promise, than the courtier of Elsinore. I therefore advise all Hamlets to be very cautious how they put pen to paper, or request a lady to be an astronomical heretic as to the sun and stars, but never to doubt their love; for, when Polonius is too old or too ill for work, there is generally a Laertes or two who are masters of fence, and very careful of their sisters' settlements."

"You try to put suspicions into my head. I will not yield to them. I feel sure you would not harbour the slightest doubt of her perfect openness and sincerity, if you only saw her for, half an hour."

"Possibly enough, if I only saw her for half an hour: what a few days might do, is a different question. In the mean time, I will bet your bill to Montalban that she turns out a deceiver, worming her way into your mother's favour by false representations, and into her son's, by arts which it does not need many months of the Stepney Star to bring to perfection."

"Done!" I said; "with all my heart! I would stake all I have on her perfect truth. See her, and judge for yourself."

"I shall see her at the theatre in plenty of time to prevent any mischief; but, in the meanwhile, I rely on your assistance to-night at a ball in Grosvenor Square, where I positively require you to complete the band."

Our agreement was so binding that it was useless to offer any opposition. I began to look on my flute as a frightful instrument of degradation, and thought what a different position I ought to have filled on my first introduction to the society of Grosvenor Square. The position of the temporary orchestra, at the window of the middle drawing-room, gave me a view of the whole company, both in the front room, which was very large and lofty, and the more commodious and luxuriously fitted up third apartment, at the left of where I sat. A city Croesus was the giver of the feast,--a short thin man, very pale and very silent, who stood at the centre door, and bowed coldly and formally to his visitors as they were announced. His lady-wife, on the other hand, was as gorgeous as feathers and silk could make her; an immense expanse of humanity, covered with at least an equal expanse of pride, for she sailed through the apartments as if the weight of empires, or at least the price of kingdoms, lay on her shoulders; and round her gathered, at respectful distance, the lesser plumb-holders of the commercial world, like a set of yachts and merchantmen round a first-rate at Spithead. Mrs Willox was quite aware of the position she held, and made no secret that a cousin of hers had married an Irish baronet, and that her aunt was the widow of a city knight. Connected to this extent with the aristocracy, she felt she had a right to look down on Mr Willox, who had begun his career as purser in an Indiaman, and accordingly she looked down upon him from morn to night. At my left hand stood two gentlemen, pilloried so immovably in white neckcloths that they could not turn their heads without an effort that made them red in the face. Two young patricians they were from the India Docks, whose conversation was very loud about their shootings in Scotland, and hunting-boxes at Melton. This enlivening conversation, though apparently addressed to each other, was in reality intended for me. So fond of admiration are some of our weaker brothers, that they will angle for it even from a professional player on the flute. They soon saw that I attended to what they were saying, and they launched out into various subjects, evidently for my improvement and edification. "Sir Peter, and Lady Potts, and Miss Emmeline Potts," were announced in stentorian sounds, and Mr Willox made his customary bow.

"That Emmeline Potts," said one of my instructors, "is no go. She has been trying it on with Harry Buglefield of the Guards; but the father won't fork out the coin, and Harry fights shy. He told me so himself when I was selling him my brown filly last season in Leicestershire."

"He ought to give her a hundred thousand down," said the other, "and the rest when he's run to earth; but he's a jaded old screw, and can't last long. I would advise Harry to wait."

"He says he's very willing to wait if his creditors could be persuaded to wait too. A fine generous fellow as ever lived; and a very intimate friend of mine. He has never paid me a farthing for the brown filly, though he sold her to his uncle, Lord Silliveer, at a profit of a hundred and fifty."

"Mr Hoddie, and the two Miss Hoddie's!" bawled the footman at the drawing-room door, and the individuals announced sailed into the room. Dancing was now in full force, so that I missed the first appearance of the party, but I heard the criticism of the two arbiters of fashion on my left.

"That Malvina Hoddie is the vainest little fool in England," said the senior Petronius, whose name was Baggles, to Mr Hooker--both in the West India trade--as expectant heirs and successors of their respective fathers. "She believes every word that a fellow says to her, and tells her father all the soft speeches from her partner, as if they were proposals of marriage. Hoddie is therefore for ever sending letters to ascertain what men's intentions are, as, after the very warm manner in which his little darling was informed that the hope of meeting her was the only thing that kept Mr So-and-so from committing suicide, if not murder, it is impossible to doubt that Mr So-and-so cannot intend to leave matters as they are."

"What an old fool," replied Mr Hooker. "Why didn't you tell me this before? for I met her last night in Harley Street, at the Molasses'; and when she put up her absurd little face to my shirt pin, when we were in the middle of the Row Polka, and asked if I didn't think love in a cottage was better than a gay and festive scene like this, I said, 'Ah! certainly, if you had the choice of the partner of your bliss.' 'Do you mean it?' she lisped, and looked very hard at me. 'Certainly,' I said. 'Papa will be so delighted,' she continued, and swung round, with her chin fairly resting on my shoulder; and when the dance was over, tript up to the old snob, on which I took the opportunity of rushing out of the house."

"You'll get a note to-morrow morning, to a certainty, demanding what your next step is to be; and then, if you shuffle out, they will be very industrious in circulating a report that you have been ignominiously rejected."

"There she goes," exclaimed Hooker, "dancing with Hugs of Blackwall. I hope she'll catch him, for it would be very awkward if she spread any nonsensical report about my having either proposed for her, or being rejected."

"It might be very unpleasant, old fellow," replied Mr Baggles, "if it reached the good people at Muswell Hill."

"Mr, Mrs, and Miss Pybus!" shouted out the St Peter of the drawing-room door; and the well-remembered name gave me such a shock that in a moment my accompaniment attenuated itself into a feeble whistle, and suddenly the music stopped. I looked at Catsbach, who returned my look with no very complimentary expression, as he discovered that the astonished dancers, and, in fact, the whole brilliant assemblage of the fair and brave, had fixed their eyes on the performers. The whistle, also, in which I had concluded my musical exercise, was so irresistibly ludicrous, that there was a wonderful display of white teeth, and a not very inaudible laugh.

"What's the matter with the band?" inquired Mr Willox, coming up, red with rage. "Mr Conductor, you must have, at all events, one very poor performer in your number, which, considering the sum you charge, I consider inexcusable--quite inexcusable, sir. I insist on your turning him out, or, at all events, telling him to be quiet the rest of the evening."

"Encore!" exclaimed Mr Catsbach, striking his bow across the fiddle. "Donner und blitzen!--der teufel!--now, den!" and the dancing was once more resumed. So I sat silent and horror-struck, with my flute lying quietly on the ledge of the music-desk before me. I had blackened my eyebrows, and wore a false beard, with a tuft on the lower lip. There was no chance of recognition, and I had a curiosity to see the gentleman who had been so generous and friendly at the examination of Puddlecombe-Regis school. I was anxious, also, to see the beautiful little girl who had made such an impression on the hearts of all the scholars, and deepest, perhaps of all, on mine.

"Very odd," continued Mr Baggles, renewing the conversation with his friend, "that we should be speaking of the Pybuses at the very moment they made their appearance. Emily, I suppose, would never forgive you if she thought you cared a straw for Malvina Hoddie?"

"She would be very severe," replied Mr Hooker. "She's very sharp, and can say such cutting things." At which words he seemed to shudder, as if at some appalling recollection of her powers of repartee.

"Why don't you read _Punch_ and _Joe Miller_, and learn to retort? She's very young, and ought to be put down."

"She doesn't think sixteen so very young; and as she is the pet at home, and an immense heiress, it is not so very easy to gain a victory over her, if you were as witty as the Honourable Bob Chockers of the Blues."

"Your true plan is to keep in with the father. He is a jolly old ass, and very fond of high society. If you were a lord, you might have Emily for the asking."

"I know a good many lords," replied Mr Hooker, "and that's the next thing to being one myself. But here comes Emily and the ancients."

O, the change that two years produce on a girl of fourteen!--two years of health, and wealth, and education! There came towards us, from the outer drawing-room, a figure as perfect as ever was revealed to sculptor--with intelligence and sweetness radiating from a countenance such as no sculptor could ever fix in marble. She did not walk, she touched the floor with her feet, and seemed to repress a bound at every step, that would have sent her dancing in like a Hebe holding forth a wine-cup, or like one of the nymphs of Venus, who are all far prettier, I beg to say, than Venus herself--tripping forward and scattering roses on the pathway of the goddess. Never did I see so radiant a beauty, combined (when you examined the features, the firm lip, and high imperial brow) with as much dignity and power. The dignity and power were hidden, to be sure, below the transparent veil of her sixteen summers; but there they were, ready to expand when that veil was removed--a dissolving view, as it were, where the solid outlines and severe majesty of a Grecian temple were already faintly visible over the disappearing lineaments of a bower in fairyland. From this glorious apparition I looked to Mr Hooker--good features, but inexpressive; eyes blue and feeble; nose finely chiselled, but effeminate; lips well shaped, but uneducated; and a bearing mock-easy, mock-aristocratic--loud, conceited, contemptible! I could have killed him with ineffable delight.

Her father was unchanged; the same stately presence, the same benevolent smile, the same appearance of having Golconda in one pocket, and the Bank of England in the other, and a chuckle in his voice as if his throat was filled with guineas. How is it, thought I, as I looked at the father and daughter, that wealth always softens and refines the woman, while it only swells out and amplifies the man? In the man, we see the counting-house resisting, or ill accommodating itself to the drawing-room. There is either an uneasy effort to escape from the ledger, or a still more painful attempt to convert it into a book of fashionable life. He has had fights about sugar in the morning, disquisitions with underwriters, reports of bankruptcies in Ceylon, of short crops in Jamaica, or a fall in the funds in Mexico, and he finds it impossible to give himself up entirely to the careless enjoyment of an evening assemblage of friends, and yet cannot relieve his mind by making the objects of his thoughts the subject of his conversation. So he takes to political talk, by way of doing the genteel, and discusses Lord George, or Sir Robert, or Lord John, in the violent effort he makes to escape from indigo and muscovadoes. With the daughter how different! Here wealth merely represents the absence of those petty and worrying annoyances which narrow the circle of thought, when a grim vision of the weekly bills is seldom long absent from the mind. She has magnificence, luxury, refinement all round her, and imbibes a grace from the very furniture and ornaments of her room. A blue sea with its tossing waves, by Stanfield, insinuates its life and freshness into her habitual thoughts--vases from the antique, statues from Canova, and flowers from Chiswick, are her daily and homely companions. Her nature gets raised to what it works in; and though her mother is not very intimate with Lindley Murray, and her father has some strange ideas about the letter H, she is as graceful, as pure, and elegant, as if she could trace up her lineage to the Plantagenets.

"O, such a funny thing!" said Mr Hooker, as Emily came up to where he stood. "Your very name made a conquest of one of the fiddlers, and he broke down the moment you came in. He'll get such a wigging from his commander-in-chief."

"Was it only one?" inquired Emily. "I thought the whole band had come to a stop."

"The poor young fellow with the flute put 'em all out," replied Hooker. "He went off in such a scream, as if the drawing-room was hurrying right into a tunnel. He has never held his head up since."

"Poor man," said Emily; "which is it?"

"That foreign-looking, bewhiskered lad, with the pale face next to us. A bad job for him, I guess."

"O no! As you say my coming in was the cause of his misfortune, I must try and not let it be too serious."

In spite of all my efforts to appear ignorant of the conversation, I found my cheeks growing alternately red and white, as anger or confusion got the upper hand. I took up my flute, and had thoughts of suddenly leaving the room--of knocking Mr Hooker down--of introducing myself to Mr Pybus; but before I could make up my mind what to do, I felt that her voice was addressed to me. I felt it, I say, for I did not look to where she was. I looked upon vacancy, and must have had an intellectual expression on my countenance congenial to that interesting employment.

"He doesn't hear me," she said to Hooker. "Perhaps he doesn't understand English."

"Hollo! you sir," said the gentleman, "don't you hear the lady speaking to you? Do you only sprichen Dutch or parley-vous?"

His hand was laid roughly on my shoulder to call my attention to his speech. I half sprang up, shook off his hand as if it had been a toad and was on the point of saying or doing something very absurd, when I was checked by the alarmed look of Emily, who evidently thought I was going to commit murder on the unfortunate object of my wrath.

"The dooce is in the fellow," said Mr Hooker; "he couldn't look more lofty were he a prince in disguise."

"Will you pardon me, madam, that I did not hear you when you did me the honour to address me?" I said.

"I merely regretted that your flute played false a few minutes ago, and prevented me from the pleasure of hearing its accompaniment. It seems a beautiful instrument. I suppose the keys are very apt to get out of order?"

"Yes; and the slightest tremor in hand or breath is fatal."

"Of course, that holds good in all musical performances. Have you professed music long?"

"Not long."

"It requires immense practice to excel in it--longer time and harder study than would make a first classman at Oxford, I have heard it said; and, after all, the reward of it is very poor."

I sat horror-struck. Did the girl recognise me, and twit me with the profession I had chosen, as well as the career I had refused?

"No profession is poorly paid," I replied, "that brings with it independence and self-respect."

"O, surely not. Do you give lessons?"

"No."

"Ah! many people refuse to become teachers from false pride, and a notion that it degrades. I don't think so. Do you?"

What was I to say? The girl certainly had discovered me in spite of beard and eyebrow. I looked at her full in the face. No--there was no consciousness there. Nothing but kindness, and a strange look of compassion, with which it was impossible to take offence, for there was an appearance of deep interest in it, which was flattering to my self-love.

"Madam, I have never hitherto thought of having pupils."

"O, but you will now. I have long been anxious for a flute accompaniment to my piano. I will speak to papa."

"Miss Pybus," whispered Mr Hooker, "if you have had a long enough conversation with that fiddler, will you fulfil your promise of dancing with me this dance?"

"Certainly," she said--"I never draw back from my promise;" and I was left alone. In one of the pauses of the dance I saw her speak to her father. He expanded into a smile like a gigantic sunflower, and chucked her under the chin, and away she went, still followed by that beaming smile. I grew tired of watching the happiness of Mr Hooker, and was about to slip noiselessly away--Mr Pybus glowed up to where I stood.

"My daughter tells me you have no objection to give her a few lessons on music, and accompany her on the flute," he said.

"I am not aware, sir," I began. But at this moment I saw Emily's eye fixed on me as she moved towards us in the dance.

"Well, well, if she's quite satisfied with your proficiency, I am. Come up on Friday to Muswell Hill, Holly-Hock House--Mr Pybus. Here's my card; we have a party on that evening, and you can begin by accompanying the piano. Hire a cab, and let me know your expenses. We shall not fall out about terms."

"I really, sir, scarcely know--"

"O, any one will point out Holly-Hock House," said the father. "The cabman is sure to know it."

"I am so happy you have agreed to come," said the daughter, who had again careered within earshot of our talk. "I shall expect you on Friday."

What was to be done? I bowed--and the bargain was closed.