CHAPTER XXXIX.--IS IN TWO FYTTES--VIZ., FYTTE THE FIRST, A SULKY

FIT--FYTTE THE SECOND, A FIT OF HYSTERICS.

Frere reached the drawing-room in a state of mind which the occurrences related in the last chapter had not tended to render more amiable. The front room was evidently the more popular of the two, a numerous group being gathered round Mrs. Brahmin, who in the sweetest of mild sopranos was daintily cooing forth a plaintive love-ditty, which was evidently telling well with John Dace, D.D. Avoiding the crowd, Frere made his way into the back drawing-room, which, barring an ardent flirtation in a corner between two poor young things who could not, by the most remote possibility, marry for the next fifteen years, was unoccupied. Here seating himself astride across a chair as if it had been a horse, and leaning his arms on the back, he fell into a deep fit of musing. From this he was roused by the approach of a light footstep, and looking up, perceived Rose Arundel.

“Why, Mr. Frere,” she exclaimed playfully, “I do believe you were asleep; will you not come into the other room? Mrs. Brahmin is singing like a nightingale and charming everybody.”

“Nightingales are humbugs. I hate singing women in general, and abominate Mrs. Brahmin in particular, so I’m better where I am,” was the grumpy reply.

Rose had often before received speeches from Frere quite as rude as the present one, but in this instance there was a peculiarity in his method of delivering it which at once struck her attention. Usually his bearish sayings were accompanied by a half-smile or merry twinkle of the eye, which proved that he was more than half in jest, but now there was a bitter earnestness in his tone which she had never before remarked, and Rose felt at once that something had occurred to annoy him; so she quietly drew a chair to the table near which he was seated, and carelessly turning over the pages of a book of prints which lay before her, observed--

“If you are not to be tempted within the siren’s influence, and positively refuse to be charmed with sweets sounds, I suppose I am bound by all the rules of politeness to remain here and try to talk you into a more harmonious frame of mind.”

“Pray do nothing of the kind,” returned Frere, “unless you’ve some better reason than a mere compliance with what you please to term ‘the rules of politeness,’ for they are things I trouble my head about mighty little. Besides,” he added sarcastically, “your new friend, Mr. James Rasper, must have found his way upstairs by this time, I should imagine, and I should be sorry to deprive you of the pleasure of his intellectual conversation, more particularly as you seem to appreciate it so thoroughly.”

“How viciously you said that!” returned Rose, smiling. “But tell me, are you really angry? have I done anything to annoy you? I’m sure it’s most unwittingly on my part, if I have;” and as she spoke she looked so good, and so willing to be penitent for any possible offence, that a man must have had the heart of an ogre to have resisted her. Such a heart, however, Frere appeared to possess, for he answered shortly--

“No, I’ve no fault to find with you. I dare say it may be quite according to the ‘rules of politeness’ to cast off old friends and take up with new ones at a minute’s notice, and be completely engrossed by them, though they may contrive to talk about horses till they prove themselves little better than asses to the mind of an unprejudiced auditor. There is your friend conversing eagerly with Bracy, asking, no doubt, what has become of you.”

“You are very unjust, Mr. Frere,” returned Rose, looking hard at her book and speaking eagerly and quickly. “Mr. Rasper is no friend of mine; I scarcely knew his name till you mentioned it. He sat next me at dinner, and talked to me about horses and galloping over ploughed fields after foxes, till I became so stupid that I had scarcely two ideas left in my head, but of course I was bound to answer him civilly. So much for my new friend, as you call him; what you mean by my casting off old ones I don’t at all know; I have done nothing of the kind that I am aware of.”

“No, you have not,” returned Frere, recalled to his better self by Rose’s harangue; “it is I who am, as you say, unjust and absurd, but the honest truth is that I wanted to talk to you myself. All these good people are bores more or less, none of’em able to converse rationally for five minutes together. I meant to have handed you down to dinner, but that silky, scheming widow got hold of me instead and irritated me with her bland platitudes; and then I heard that idiot prating to you about horses’ legs, and you appeared so well satisfied with him, when I knew that you were one of the few women who could understand and appreciate better things, that altogether I grew savage, and could gladly have punched my own head or any one else’s.”

“It is quite as well Mr. Rasper was on the opposite side of the table to you,” returned Rose, “or you might have carried out your theoretical inclinations by practising on him, and then we should have had a scene.”

Frere looked a little awkward and conscious as he replied--

“Though I am a bear, I am not quite such a savage animal as all that comes to; I do not give the fatal hug unless I am attacked first.”

At this moment Bracy and Mr. Rasper, whose backs were turned towards them, approached within earshot. The latter appeared much excited, and Rose heard him say--

“It’s no use talking, I’ve been grossly insulted, sir, and if you won’t take my message to him, by------ I’ll take it myself, and give him as good as he gave me, or perhaps a little better.”

Frere heard him also, and a flash of anger passed across his features.

“My dear Rasper, you’re excited,” returned Bracy soothingly. “I did not witness the affair certainly, but I cannot think that any insult was intended. Frere is rough in his manner, but the best-hearted fellow in the world.”

“I don’t know what _you_ may consider an insult, Mr. Bracy; but taking a man by the collar and swinging him over the banisters like a cat, at the risk of his neck, is quite insult enough for me, one for which I’ll have satisfaction, too.”

“Hush, my dear fellow, you’ll attract general attention if you speak so loud. Here, come aside with me, and we’ll talk the matter over quietly.”

So saying, he drew Rasper’s arm within his own, and led him through a side door which opened upon the staircase. Involuntarily glancing at his companion, Frere perceived her eyes riveted on his features with an expression of alarmed inquiry.

“Well, what’s the matter?” he demanded, answering her speaking look.

“What is that man so angry about?” returned Rose breathlessly; “what have you been doing?”

“Nothing very wonderful,” rejoined Frere coolly. “The young gentleman, as I suppose one is bound to call him, drank rather more wine than was prudent, and fancying I looked a quiet, easy-tempered kind of person, by way of a dull jest, indulged himself with falling against and rudely pushing by me on the staircase; and I, not being at the moment in the humour for joking, did, as he very truly observes, swing him like a cat over the banisters, where, cat-like, he fell upon his legs.”

“Oh, Mr. Frere, how could you do such a thing? And now he is dreadfully angry, and talked about sending you a message, which means that he wants to fight a duel. Mr. Frere, you will not fight with him?” and as Rose spoke her pale cheek flushed with unwonted animation, and tears, scarcely repressed, glistened in her earnest eyes.

“What do you think about it?” returned Frere, looking at her with a kind smile.

“Oh, I think, I hope, you are too good, too wise, to do such a thing. For Lewis’s sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will refrain.”

“For a better reason still, my dear, warm-hearted little friend,” returned Frere kindly but solemnly; “for God’s sake I will not break His commandment, or incur the guilt of shedding a fellow-creature’s blood. But,” he added, “all this folly has frightened you;” and as he spoke he took her little trembling hand in his and stroked it caressingly, and this time it was not withdrawn.

“Then you will apologise, I suppose,” Rose observed after a short pause.

“Well, we’ll hope that may not be necessary,” returned her companion, “seeing that Rasper the infuriated was more to blame in the affair than I was; but if the good youth is so obtuse that nothing less will quiet him, I suppose I must accommodate his stupidity by doing so. It is a less evil to pocket one’s dignity for once in a way than to murder or be murdered in support of it.”

At this moment Bracy entered the room _solo_, with such a vexed and anxious expression of countenance that Frere, who guessed rightly at the cause, could, though he liked him the better for it, scarcely forbear smiling.

“Go back to your singing widow,” observed Frere to Rose, “and when I have administered his sop to Cerberus I will come and tell you what wry faces he has made in swallowing it.”

Rose fixed her eyes on him with a scrutinising glance, and reading in his honest face that he was not deceiving her, smiled on him approvingly, and rising, quietly mingled with the company in the front drawing-room.

“I say, Frere,” began Bracy as Rose disappeared, “I’m sadly afraid you have got into a tiresome scrape. That young fool, Rasper, declares you’ve pitched him over the banisters.”

“A true bill so far, and richly he deserved it,” returned Frere.

“I can well believe that,” was Bracy’s reply, “for he was more than half screwed whence left the dinner-table; but the shake appears to have sobered him into a state of the most lively vindictiveness. However, it’s no laughing matter, I can assure you: he has sent you a message by me, and means fighting.”

“_He_ may, but _I_ don’t,” returned Frere shortly.

“My dear Frere, I wish I could make you understand that the affair is serious. Rasper’s determined to have you out. I can make no impression upon him, and you can’t refuse to meet a man after pitching him over the banisters,” rejoined Bracy in a tone of annoyance.

“Can’t I, though?” returned Frere, smiling. “I’m not of such a yielding disposition as you imagine. Where is the sweet youth?”

“I left him in the cloak-room,” answered Bracy; and as Frere immediately turned to descend the stairs, continued, “ ’Pon my word, you’d better not go near him: he’s especially savage. Depend upon it, you will have something disagreeable occur.”

“Do you think I’m going to be forced into fighting a duel, a sin of the first magnitude in my eyes, because I’m afraid of meeting an angry boy? You don’t know me yet,” returned Frere sternly; and without waiting further parley he ran downstairs, followed by Bracy, with a face of the most comic perplexity. The door of the cloak-room stood half open, and at the further end of the apartment might be perceived the outraged Rasper, pacing up and down like a caged lion, “nursing his wrath to keep it warm.” Unintimidated even by this tremendous spectacle, Frere coolly entered the room, and immediately walked up to his late antagonist, holding out his hand.

“Come, Mr. Rasper,” he said, “this has been a foolish business altogether, and the sooner we mutually forget it the better. Here’s my hand: let’s be friends.”

That this was a mode of procedure on which Mr. Rasper had not calculated was evident, as well by his extreme embarrassment as by his appearing completely at a loss what course to pursue. For a moment he seemed half inclined to accept Frere’s proffered hand; but his eye fell upon Bracy, and probably recalling the threats he had breathed forth in the hearing of that worthy individual, he felt that his dignity was at stake; and giving himself a shake to re-arouse his indignation, he replied, “I shall do no such thing, sir. You have grossly insulted me, and I demand satisfaction.”

“Excuse me,” returned Frere quietly, “I did not insult you: I simply would not allow you to insult me; no man worthy of the name would.”

“It’s no use jangling about it, like a couple of women, _I_ consider that you have insulted me: what _you_ may think matters nothing to me. I have been insulted, I require satisfaction, and I mean to have it too,” reiterated Mr. Rasper, talking himself into a passion.

“Now, listen to me,” returned Frere impressively. “You are a younger man than I am, and have probably, therefore, more of life before you. You are of an age and temperament to enjoy life vividly. There are many that love you; I can answer for three, for I met your mother and two sisters at Lord Ambergate’s a fortnight since, and the kind creatures entertained me for half-an-hour with your praises. Why, then, seek to throw away your own life and embitter theirs, or bring upon your head the guilt of homicide, entailing banishment from your home and country, and other evil consequences, merely because, having drunk a few extra glasses of wine, you sought to play off a practical joke upon me, and I, not being at the moment in a jesting humour, retaliated upon you, as you, or any other man of spirit, would have done in my situation? Come, look at it in a common sense point of view: is this a cause for which to lose a life or take one?”

After waiting a moment for a reply, during which time Rasper stood gnawing the finger of his white glove in irresolution, Frere resumed--“If you’re sorry for your share in the matter, I’m perfectly willing to own that I am for mine; and now, once more, here’s my hand--what do you say?”

“Say, that you’re a regular out-and-out good fellow, and that I’m a------d ass, and beg your pardon heartily,” was the energetic rejoinder; and bringing his hand down upon Frere’s with a smack that re-echoed through the room, Rasper and his late antagonist shook hands with the strength and energy of a brace of giants; and then, both talking at once with the greatest volubility, they ascended the stairs arm in arm, Bracy following them, with his left eye fixed in a species of chronic wink, expressive of any amount of the most intense satisfaction and sagacity. As they re-entered the drawing-room, Rose, whose powers of hearing, always acute, were in the present instance rendered still more so by anxiety, caught the following words; “Then you promise you will dine with me at Lovegrove’s on Thursday, and I’ll pick up half-a-dozen fellows that I know you’ll like to meet, regular top-sawyers, that you’re safe to find in the first flight, be it where it may.”

“Only on condition that you come to my rooms on Friday and bring your brother, and we’ll show you sporting men how we bookworms live--Bracy, we shall see you?”

“You’ll dine with us, too, at Blackwall, Mr. Bracy,” rejoined the first speaker, who was none other than the redoubtable Rasper. And numerous other genial sentences of like import reached the ear and comforted the heart of that little philanthropist, Rose Arundel, who could no more bear to see her fellow-creatures disagree than could Dr. Watts, when in his benevolence he indicted that pretty hymn which begins--

“Let dogs delight to bark and bite,

For ’tis their nature to!”

then proceeds to state the interesting ornithological fact that

“Birds in their little nests agree,”

and touchingly appeals to the nobler instincts of childhood in the pathetic metrical remonstrance--

“Those little hands were never made

To tear each other’s eyes.”

Oh! excellent and prosy Watts, doer of dull, moral platitudes into duller doggerel, co-tormentor with Pinnock and the Latin grammar of my early boyhood, would that for thy sake I had the pen of Thomas Carlyle, for then would I write thee down that which I suspect thou wast, my Watts, in most resonant un-English, nay, I would make thee the subject of a “Latter-Day Pamphlet,” and treating of thee in connection with the _vexata questio_ of prison discipline, would by thy aid invent a new and horrible punishment for refractory felons, who in lieu of handcuffs and bread and water, hard labour, or solitary confinement, should straightway be condemned to a severe course of “Watts’ Hymns.”

Thomas Bracy, his mind being relieved from the _onus_ of this rather serious episode in his evening’s amusement, now cast his eyes around to discover how the various schemes projected by his fertile brain might be progressing. The first group that met his eye afforded him unmixed satisfaction--Lady Lombard, seated on a low fauteuil, was listening with delighted attention to De Grandeville, who, hanging over her, was talking eagerly (about himself) with an air of the most lover-like devotion. The next pair that his glance fell upon scarcely pleased him so well, for Mrs. Brahmin had again hooked the Dace, and appeared in a fair way of landing him safely. “However,” reflected Bracy, “one comfort is that he’s such an awful fool he will bore her to death in less than a week after they’re married, and she’ll revenge herself by flirting with every man she meets, which is safe to worry him to distraction, and they’ll be a wretched, miserable couple; so I really believe there’ll be more comedy evolved by letting them alone than by interfering with them;” and consoling himself with this agreeable view of the matter, he turned his attention to the state, mental and physical, of General Gudgeon. That gallant son of Mars, as though conscious of the hopes and fears that were abroad concerning his possible behaviour, was taking the best method of neutralising the dangerous effects of his devotion to Bacchus by composing himself to sleep in a mighty arm-chair. Next him was seated Miss MacSalvo, who was engaged in a truly edifying conversation with Mrs. Dackerel, mother to the “postponed one,” on the propriety of establishing a female Missionary Society for the prevention of Polygamy amongst the Aborigines of the North-Eastern Districts of South-West Australia; an evil which both ladies agreed to be mainly owing to the fact that the women did not know how to conduct themselves like the women of civilised nations; a fact to which Bracy assented by observing “that was self-evident, or the men would find one wife quite enough;” on which Miss MacSalvo turned up the whites, or more properly speaking, the yellows of her eyes, and ejaculated, “Ah, yes indeed!” with much unction, though it is to be doubted whether after all she perceived the full force of the remark.

“Why, General,” exclaimed Bracy quickly, “_you_ have been in Australia; you’re the very man we want; rouse up, my dear sir, and enlighten our darkness.”

“Pray, sir,” observed Miss MacSalvo, addressing General Gudgeon, “pray, sir, can you give me any insight into the habits and customs of those interesting, but, alas! misguided individuals, the Aborigines of South Australia; more particularly with reference to the female portion of the population--any little anecdotes which may occur to you now?”

“By Jo-o-ove, ma’am,” returned the General, whose English had not yet ‘suffered a recovery’, “you’ve come to--you’ve come to the right, eh--to the, the right, what-is-it?”

“Shop,” suggested Bracy.

“Ye-es, to the right sho-op, if that’s what you want, ma’am. I should think there ain’t a man--there ain’t a man--eh? yes, breathing--that can tell you more--eh? more about larks----”

“It is scarcely with a view to the ornithology of the country that I am anxious to gain information,” interrupted Miss MacSalvo; “the facts I require regard the general behaviour and moral conduct of the female population of the north-eastern district.”

“Eh! oh, yes--yes, I under--I understand what you’re up to, eh?” resumed the General, with what he intended for a significant wink at Bracy; “there was Tom Slasher and me--a rare wild young, eh? yes, a wild young dog was Tom; well, ma’am, there was a gal over there--she wasn’t one of the natives, though--they’re taw-taw--yes, tawny coloured--but this gal was a nigger--reg’lar darkie--Black-_hide_ Susan, Tom used to call her--witty chap was Tom.”

And the General being fairly started, continued to talk most volubly, though, from the peculiarities of his diction, he did not get to the point of his story so quickly as might have been expected. In the meantime Frere contrived to rejoin Rose, and seating himself almost in her pocket, observed in a low voice--

“Well, I’ve managed to tame the dragon, you see.”

“Yes, and persuaded him to dine _with_ you instead of _upon_ you,” returned Rose, smiling; “but tell me,” she added, “how did you contrive to satisfy him. Were you forced to apologise?”

“Oh, I put the thing before him in a common sense point of view,” replied Frere; “appealed to his good feeling as if I had faith in his possessing such a quality, which is the sure way to call it forth if it exists, and wound up by telling him that if he was sorry for his share in the business, I was ditto for mine, which mode of treatment proved eminently successful. He applied a forcible adjective to the word ass, and stigmatising himself by the epithet thus compounded, he shook me heartily by the hand, and straightway we became the greatest friends, ratifying the contract by an exchange of dinner invitations, without which ceremony no solemn league and covenant is considered binding in England in these days of enlightened civilisation.”

“Well, I think you have behaved more bravely and nobly than if you had fought twenty duels,” exclaimed Rose, fairly carried away by her admiration. “I esteem and respect you, and--and----!” Here she stopped short, and a bright blush overspread her pale features, for she perceived Frere’s fine eyes fixed upon her with an expression of delighted surprise which she had never observed in them before, and which brought to her recollection the fact that, after all, he was a living man not many years older than herself, instead of some magnanimous, philosophical, and heroic character in history done into modern English and animated by magic for her express delectation. The light in Frere’s eyes had, however, faded, and he had relapsed into his accustomed manner ere he replied: “I can’t say I see anything to make a fuss about in it. I wasn’t going to allow a half-tipsy boy to insult me with impunity, so I pitched him over the banisters as a trifling hint to that effect; neither did I feel inclined to shoot him, or let him shoot me, by way of compensation for his tumble, because it would have been equally wrong and irrational so to do, and I went and told him my ideas in plain English, which was the natural course to pursue, and produced the desired effect. I really can’t see anything remarkable in it all.”

“I fancy that I do,” replied Rose archly; “but of course we poor women cannot pretend to be competent judges in such a case.”

“You know you don’t think anything of the kind,” returned Frere; “you’ve got a very good opinion of your own judgment, so don’t tell stories.”

“Without either admitting or denying the truth of your assertion, I should like to know what grounds you have for making it?” asked Rose.

“I can soon tell you, if that’s all you want to know,” returned Frere. “You could not act for yourself with the quiet decision I have before now seen you exercise when occasion required it unless you possessed self-appreciation sufficient to give you the requisite degree of confidence.”

Ere Rose could reply their conversation was interrupted by a piercing shriek followed by an extreme bustle and confusion on the other side of the room. The cause was soon explained. Excited with wine, and artfully drawn on by Bracy, General Gudgeon had told one of his “gentleman’s stories” to Miss MacSalvo, on the strength of which outrageous anecdote that zealous advocate for establishing a Female Missionary Society for the Prevention of Polygamy amongst the Aborigines of the North-Eastern District of South-West Australia had seen fit to go off into a perfect tornado of the most alarming hysterics!