My lord nodded his head sadly, and said,--"Will your ladyship give me your word of honor to be secret? My son has but a thousand a year, which I allow him, and is heavily in debt. He has played, madam, I fear; and for this reason I am so glad to hear that he is in a respectable domestic circle, where he may learn, in the presence of far greater and purer attractions, to forget the dice- box, and the low company which has been his bane."
My Lady Griffin looked very grave indeed. Was it true? Was Deuceace sincere in his professions of love, or was he only a sharper wooing her for her money? Could she doubt her informer? his own father, and, what's more, a real flesh and blood pear of parlyment? She determined she would try him. Praps she did not know she had liked Deuceace so much, until she kem to feel how much she should HATE him if she found he'd been playing her false.
The evening was over, and back they came, as wee've seen,--my lord driving home in my lady's carridge, her ladyship and Miss walking up stairs to their own apartmince.
Here, for a wonder, was poar Miss Kicksey quite happy and smiling, and evidently full of a secret,--something mighty pleasant, to judge from her loox. She did not long keep it. As she was making tea for the ladies (for in that house they took a cup regular before bedtime), "Well, my lady," says she, "who do you think has been to drink tea with me?" Poar thing, a frendly face was a event in her life--a tea-party quite a hera!
"Why, perhaps, Lenoir my maid," says my lady, looking grave. "I wish, Miss Kicksey, you would not demean yourself by mixing with my domestics. Recollect, madam, that you are sister to Lady Griffin."
"No, my lady, it was not Lenoir; it was a gentleman, and a handsome gentleman, too."
"Oh, it was Monsieur de l'Orge, then," says Miss; "he promised to bring me some guitar-strings."
"No, nor yet M. de l'Orge. He came, but was not so polite as to ask for me. What do you think of your own beau, the Honorable Mr.
Algernon Deuceace;" and, so saying, poar Kicksey clapped her hands together, and looked as joyfle as if she'd come in to a fortin.
"Mr. Deuceace here; and why, pray?" says my lady, who recklected all that his exlent pa had been saying to her.
"Why, in the first place, he had left his pocket-book, and in the second, he wanted, he said, a dish of my nice tea; which he took, and stayed with me an hour, or moar."
"And pray, Miss Kicksey," said Miss Matilda, quite contempshusly, "what may have been the subject of your conversation with Mr.
Algernon? Did you talk politics, or music, or fine arts, or metaphysics?" Miss M. being what was called a blue (as most hump- backed women in sosiaty are), always made a pint to speak on these grand subjects.
"No, indeed; he talked of no such awful matters. If he had, you know, Matilda, I should never have understood him. First we talked about the weather, next about muffins and crumpets. Crumpets, he said, he liked best; and then we talked" (here Miss Kicksey's voice fell) "about poor dear Sir George in heaven! what a good husband he was, and--"
"What a good fortune he left, eh, Miss Kicksey?" says my lady, with a hard, snearing voice, and a diabollicle grin.
"Yes, dear Leonora, he spoke so respectfully of your blessed husband, and seemed so anxious about you and Matilda, it was quite charming to hear him, dear man!"
"And pray, Miss Kicksey, what did you tell him?"
"Oh, I told him that you and Leonora had nine thousand a year, and--"
"What then?"
"Why, nothing; that is all I know. I am sure I wish I had ninety," says poor Kicksey, her eyes turning to heaven.
"Ninety fiddlesticks! Did not Mr. Deuceace ask how the money was left, and to which of us?"
"Yes; but I could not tell him."
"I knew it!" says my lady, slapping down her tea-cup,--"I knew it!"
"Well!" says Miss Matilda, "and why not, Lady Griffin? There is no reason you should break your tea-cup, because Algernon asks a harmless question. HE is not mercenary; he is all candor, innocence, generosity! He is himself blessed with a sufficient portion of the world's goods to be content; and often and often has he told me he hoped the woman of his choice might come to him without a penny, that he might show the purity of his affection."
"I've no doubt," says my lady. "Perhaps the lady of his choice is Miss Matilda Griffin!" and she flung out of the room, slamming the door, and leaving Miss Matilda to bust into tears, as was her reglar custom, and pour her loves and woas into the buzzom of Miss Kicksey.
