First performed at the Royal Princesses Theatre (under the management of Mr. Harris), on Wednesday, Nov. 23, 1859.
Fashionable Modern Costume.
—London.
— Present Day.
These two chairs in a conversational attitude—thus!
But you're entirely destroying the symmetry of the apartment.
The artistic disorder which characterises our furniture, denotes prolonged
and animated discussion. People will imagine that you have had a perfect
levée here this morning, and will go away exclaiming, "what an immense
circle of acquaintances these Fortescues have to be sure!"
Well, there's something in that, certainly; however, I give up all hope of any morning calls to-day, I rely only on the friends we have invited to dinner.
Let's see now, whom do we expect?
There's Mr. and Mrs. Wilmington!
Ah.
Then there's Mrs. Lauderdale——
A gentleman renowned for the keenness of his appetite.
There's Mrs. Chatterton—
A lady celebrated for the sharpness of her tongue; she'll save the mistress of the house all trouble as far as talking is concerned.
Mr. and Mrs. Primley
Then there's young Horace Cleveland!
Let me see, that will make—
An enormously wealthy planter.
Why that house of ours, number twenty-seven, would have been the very thing for him.
Precisely what I said to myself. I dexterously introduced an allusion to the
tenement in question—Hayward took the hint, and favoured his friend with so
eulogistic a description of its topographical peculiarities, that the bargain
was positively struck whilst Raoul was jumping out of the window in the
fourth act of the "Huguenots." Of course we straightway became the best friends
in the world, and, under the circumstances, the very least I could do was to ask
the man who had just rented a house of me, to our dinner party to-day—he
accepted, we exchanged cards.
Ah, there's the rub. I've lost his card. I instituted a diligent search in every pocket this morning; but no, it was gone.
That's very awkward—how am I to address this new acquaintance of yours?
By his name, of course—you'll hear it when the servants announce it.
Ah, to be sure. But
Aha, my dear Horace, how are you? Come to dine with us, of course—how kind of you.
I regret to say 'tis impossible. I have come to offer Mrs. Fortescue my apologies as regards her dinner party.
Apologies! Nonsense—we'll take nothing of the sort!
My dear Fortescue, when you've heard my reasons I am sure you will excuse me; but I warn you beforehand its rather a long story, and must be kept a profound secret.
Why what are you doing?
You said a secret. I'm just assuring myself that there's no butler,
or lady's maid listening at the keyhole.
Why, you don't mean to say that your servants——
Yes I do, though. I'm surrounded by a pack of the most villainous spies that ever wore mob caps or plush breeches. My dear fellow, I assure you that the Inquisition was a common-place, straightforward institution compared to my house—everything I do, everything I say, upon my life I might almost add everything I think gets wind in the most surprising manner, and straightway is noised abroad all over London.
That must be rather disagreeable.
Disagreeable! it's frightful. To give you an idea now, I'll take one instance
out of a hundred
Then if you don't, I do. A nightcap is an extremely unpoetical attribute I
know, but never mind, in this changeable climate it's uncommonly comfortable.
However, it's not the sort of thing one expects to be taunted about by
strangers, and therefore you may judge
But how on earth came Walters to know anything about it?
Ah, there's the question! How came Walters to know anything about it, my dear boy? He afterwards confessed that he had it from his wife, who had it from her lady's maid, who had it, of course, from our John, or our Susan, or our Betsy. The thing is clear enough. You laugh! Let me tell you it's very disagreeable to have one's little peculiarities publicly discussed in this manner. But this is only a solitary proof. I could give you half—a—dozen instances of first—rate mercantile speculations, dead certainties, in which my intentions have been most unaccountably forestalled, and yet I can swear that my wife was the only soul to whom I have ever confided them. However, you now understand why I examined the keyholes before I allowed you to commence your story.
A story, which you'll say begins like a modern fashionable novel, and ends like one of Miss Edgworth's moral tales.
Flirtation terminating in matrimony. I see.
About a year ago—you see I involuntary fall into the narrative style——I spent several weeks at a friend's country house. Among the guests was a very fascinating and extremely romantic young lady who excelled in private theatricals—a pastime which, by the way formed the stock recreation of our merry party. Our rehearsals, I should tell you, were very numerous.
The love scenes especially. I perfectly understand.
Precisely! well, sir, the young lady was so charming in sentimental comedy,
that I fell, or rather fancied I fell, violently in love with her. Our party
broke up, but for a long time afterwards the fair Leonora and I kept up a most
delightful correspondence on gilt—edged rose satin note—paper, overpoweringly
scented with patchouli. In short, I had every reason to believe I had made a
decidedly durable impression; when on taking up the Times one morning
at breakfast, what should I see but
You surprise me!
Oh, bless you, these very romantic young ladies are the most heartless flirts
imaginable. Well, sir, I was just beginning to recover from the shock, when I
received a letter from the faithless Leonora herself, coolly informing me that
Destiny had made her another's, that her husband, although of dove—like
tranquility in every other respect, was a perfect Othello for jealousy,
and calmly requesting me to return her forthwith the letters she had formerly
written to me!
Evidently taking it for granted that you had affectionately preserved them.
Of course. Well, sir, her letter went on to say that to avoid all possibility of a mistake, I must deliver the epistles to none other but herself in person. For this purpose she requested me to meet her with the whole series at a remarkably secluded spot, in the midst of a clump of trees, in a remote part of Kensington Gardens.
How deliciously romantic!
Well, sir, the assignation came off, with all due mystery and formality we exchanged our gilt—edged, rose—satin sentimentalities with all the solemnity usual on such occasions.
I can see no great romance here.
But the climax of the story is yet to come——a few days after the mysterious
rencontre I have just described, my father writes to me from the
country, enclosing a letter of introduction—now to whom of all men in the world
should you think ?
'Pon my life I've no idea.
To no less a person than the husband of the little flirt in question, Mr.—
Well, it had suddenly occurred to my father, that Mr.—— the unromantic
stock—broker, I mean, had a niece who, of all the girls he had ever known, would
be the very wife for me.
What an unheard of coincidence.
Isn't it? However, to cut my story short, the niece in question turns out to
be a beautiful, amiable, talented young lady, who, I am delighted to say, hasn't
the
Wish you joy, then, old fellow; see, here comes my wife, who, I am sure, will
re—echo my congratulations.
Don't scold him, poor fellow, his excuse is a substantial one—matrimony!
Yes, and you are the first of my friends to whom I have revealed my good fortune—for the present, I must tell you, it's a bit of a secret.
Then be upon your guard, my dear—Mrs. Chatterton dines with us to—day!
Mrs. Chatterton, I surely know that name—she's a friend of my future wife's family, a very agreeable person I'm told.
Oh, yes, vastly agreeable, but like many other agreeable things, rather dangerous; you never heard such a talker, once she's started it's just like the express train, you must stand clear, or take the consequences.
None of your quiet little gossips in a corner, for Mrs. Chatterton; no! she delights in grand orchestral conversation, in which she represents the kettle drum and cymbals! The Derby Galop is a mere fool to her; in short, my dear fellow, the woman's a torrent of talk, a whirlwind of words, and when the steam gun of her conversation has fairly exhausted its ammunition, away she goes, leaving behind her a hectacomb of reputations ruined, and fair names mortally wounded, and all with the very best intentions. If you wish to keep your marriage a secret, take my advice—don't tell her anything about it until your first christening.
You alarm me.
Now my dear Alfred you are really too severe, I assure you, Mr. Cleveland, Mrs. Chatterton is by no means——
I'll follow you. Mrs. Fortescue, I wish you good morning, I know you'll forgive my precipitate retreat.
Mr. Horace Cleveland.
There! I'll wager she knew all about it before he did.
Au revoir, then—we'll suspend hostilities until the evening.
My dear, the over-susceptible individuals must take their chance; now only
just listen to reason—is it possible to move about in a crowded ball—room
without elbowing somebody? of course it isn't! Well then, it's equally
impossible to converse on a large scale without saying something at which
somebody must be offended. It isn't my fault if people will be so
absurdly sensitive, and I don't see why I should not indulge in a
little innocent criticism even on you my dear friend!
You never hear me speak of Mr. Chatterton, never! and yet I have the greatest affection for him—at home; and revere him amazingly—in the chimney corner; but I should never think of expatiating upon his perfections before strangers, I should never carry my enthusiasm to such an extravagant pitch as to inform the public that the object of my adoration, among other interesting peculiarities—wore a night—cap!
Most distinctly, in my presence at the Haywards'.
Dear me. Yes, I almost think I remember the circumstance.
I don't go frustrating my husband's plans by letting out that he
expects to make no end of money by a certain investment, thereby enabling all
the world to anticipate his intentions. I don't go telling people that
I'm dreadfully jealous about Mr. Fortescue—Mr. Chatterton, I mean, and that I
turn pale with anxiety at the very sight of a letter addressed to him.
But if such is the case?
Well then, my dear, instead of making yourself wretched as to what the letter might be about, you should set your mind at rest by examining the contents—that's my plan!
Oh, but that's dreadful.
Dreadful, there you go again; now answer me one question—does your husbard
open your letters ?
Yes.
Well then, you owe him a similar proof of confidence.
You're quite right.
Why not? He's without exception the politest man I know.
And that's precisely it; he's too polite, he positively overwhelms
you with his assiduous enquiries after your health, all couched in pedantically
elaborate phrases, which he always winds up like the concluding paragraph to
some old—fashioned epistle.
Mr. and Mrs. Primley.
Good! here he is! now just observe the majestic entrance of this highly—starched solemnity.
We have come early you see, that we may have as much as possible of your delightful society.
Believe me, my dear Mrs. Fortescue, I am ever your most obedient—
This may be Alfred's West Indian. I'll listen for the name.
Walk in, my dear sir, I beg; my dear
I'm sorry to say, my dear. I'm just as wise as ever; I relied upon the
servants announcing him, and it has most provokingly happened that I met him on
the staircase. You must call him, sir—plain sir, there's no
help for it.
Dear me, how very provoking.
Who is he?
I was, madam.
I hear the audience took far less interest in the performance than in the contemplation of the new constellation, whose beams shone forth from a box on the grand tier.
The new constellation—who's that?
Why the beauteous Mrs. Beresford to be sure—the belle of the season—the culminating point of every fashionable soiree.
I can only say she has most magnificent eyes—the largest I ever saw.
Size does not always constitute beauty—eyes may be too large just as mouths may be too small.
Dear, dear! in other words you mean the lady's hair is black. How
very wonderful in a lady from Jamaica,—why they're all black—they can't
help it! Besides the lady evidently possesses a constitution of the most robust
description—you understand me—there's too much of her!
I'll wager now her husband is uncommonly slim—it's invariably the case. I do
believe that Nature assigns a given amount of volume to every married couple,
and yet you'll always find one of the two mean enough to infringe on the other's
share. However, let her be as beautiful as she pleases, it's uncommonly strange
that a lady who was never heard of until lately, should be at once admitted into
the very best society, run after, fèted——raffled for, I might almost
say.
I accidentally stumbled
upon a very unmistakeable one.
You, madam.
I, sir, I.
I'm sure you'll all acquit me of any wish to divulge this lady's secrets.
Besides, there can be no harm in alluding to the occurrence, as I am quite convinced that you will none of you mention it again.
Of course, of course.
Oh, of course, not!
I have already told you that it was in Kensington Gardens I met our heroine. I take so little interest in other people's affairs that I should not have recognized her myself, had I not heard two gentlemen, as they passed, exclaim, "There's Mrs. Beresford, the belle of the season;" looking round, I beheld a lady alighting from her carriage. Having heard a great deal of this eighth wonder of the world, I naturally scrutinized her with some attention. After giving her coachman orders to await her, she walked on for a little distance alone, and then turned off among the trees; this proceeding somewhat excited my curiosity not, I beg you'll understand me, that I am capable of acting as spy upon any one's movements.
Oh! no, no, certainly not!
Merely then, for the sake of a little pedestrian exercise, I followed this paragon of loveliness through a somewhat secluded part of the gardens. I lost her for a few moments, but of a sudden, through a clump of leafless trees, I saw a gentleman.
How interesting!
Now this struck me as a most ill—advised proceeding—if ladies will
make appointments with young men in parks and gardens, and do not wish to be
recognized, they should surely wait till the trees are in full foliage; don't
you think so Mr. Fortescue?
Most certainly, this sort of thing should never be perpetrated before the month of July.
Certain.
And the gentleman?
Ah, to be sure, the hero of the adventure! We must be introduced to him.
I deeply regret to say that I couldn't make him out at all.
But how is it that the clump of trees was sufficiently denuded of leaves to enable you to recognize the lady, and yet was too dense to admit of your identifying the gentleman?
Simply because I had already seen the lady alighting from her carriage, and it was her dress which enabled me to recognize her.
But mind, gentlemen, you have promised, not a word of all this must ever escape your lips.
Oh, certainly not—certainly not!
Yes, but, first of all, permit me to ask you one question—look at me well now!
Have you ever seen me before?
No, sir, never.
You are quite certain ?
Most positive.
Well then, now for our exchange. Do you make known to me this young man, this friend of Mrs. Beresford's, and I will introduce you to her husband!
What a very strange proposal!
'Tis a fair bargain in every sense of the word, and to prove to you how trustworthy I am in business matters, I'll discharge my share of the contract first—I, madam, am the lady's husband.
What!
I, madam, I.
But really, sir, your behaviour is scandalous, unheard of—you should have warned me, have stopped me in time!
I really do not know it, sir.
Will you favour me with a description of his features ?
I did not see them.
With any peculiarity, then, by which I may identify him.
I assure you, sir, 'tis quite out of my power. I sincerely regret what has occurred, but—
Of course. I knew I should get no information from you here.
Eh! to—morrow?
And also on the following day.
But what can be your object, sir. If I were a man
I could but challenge and shoot you, which perhaps would be a bad method of wresting from you your secret; having however to deal with a pretty and highly accomplished lady, I have surer weapons at my disposal.
I don't know it, sir.
I tell you, sir, I do not know his name,
Dinner! really I'm in no humour for dinner now, I'll go home—I don't like this mysterious West Indian at all, I'm half afraid of him! I'll tell them I've a headache, a—a—
We are waiting for you, dear sir.
Ah, Mr. Primley, I've just come back from the station. Bella and Mrs. Wilmington have gone up to town to make sundry purchases in connection with the approaching ceremony—the wedding as you know is fixed for the twenty—fifth.
A solemn and momentous event, my dear young friend, in the life of man, respecting which you must permit me to offer you my most cordial congratulations combined with the expression of my most unfeigned anxiety as to your future beatitude.
Thank you, my dear sir;
But where is Mr. Fortescue this morning?
Poor fellow! Wilmington has him in his relentless grasp, and is at this moment showing him all over his park, his orchard, his fish ponds, his aquariums, his poultry yards, &c., &c., &c.,—he has had to bear up against at least three miles of curiosities! Ah, here they come!
Next year, I mean to build a hot—house exclusively for my new specimens of the polyanthus levianthiacus !
A very good plan.
But come, I must show you my new basin for breeding gold fish on an extensive scale.
Oh, I've seen it.
You havn't seen it, Primley.
No, dear sir.
Then you have a most interesting sight in store.
Please sir, here be card as I was to gi' you.
One moment, my dear madam.
What you still keep that fellow—is he as stupid as he used to be?
His obtuseness increases every hour—his mistakes are incessant; he confuses everything and everybody.
Then why do you retain him in your service.
I've often wished to get rid of the fellow, but then you see, he is so very tranquil and
Ah, you keep him as a sedative—that's another thing.
I certainly do not recognize this name.
Please sir, it's a gentleman from Lunnon—he says he should like to see the
conservatories, because as
Aha, my botanical grounds—he had read of them had he?—shew the gentleman into
the parlour, I'll join him immediately.
My dear young friend, I am somewhat versed in the theory of icthyologic incubation, and will take this opportunity of expounding its intricacies to you.
What a delightful treat!
And so the fame of my botanical grounds has got into the papers! people
positively come from town to pay them a visit — but this gentleman's waiting for
me all the time.
Here I am, good morning! you invited me for the twenty—fifth, and I'm come on
the eighteenth; I'm rather before time I know, but I solemnly assure you that if
I had remained another hour in town, Mr. Chatterton would now have been a
sorrowing widower.
Welcome my dear madam, thrice welcome. I do not exactly catch the purport of your very eloquent explanation, but I'll order a room to be prepared for you this moment. I'll just get rid of a gentleman who is now waiting for me, and I'll be with you immediately.
There! see how you are agitating the tranquil Mr. Wilmington—I never saw him so flurried in all my life.
And do you dare address me, sir, after the infamous trick you played
me! Was it not shameful of you, to allow me to go on telling everything before
that horrible
I solemnly assure you I no more knew it than you did. I give you my word that the next day, when the gentleman and I were signing the lease of the house, no sooner did he affix the name "Beresford" to the document, than the pen fell from my hand in amazement !
I tell you Mr. Fortescue, the man's a monster, a demon—he is positively driving me from my home, my friends, my husband! I assure you I have been in a fever of agitation for the last fortnight.
Bless my soul—what then has happened?
You little know the life I have led since that unfortunate blunder of mine.
Every morning I receive a letter penned each time in a different handwriting,
but invariably containing the same three diabolical words—“His name, madam!
What every morning?
Every morning regularly—this, in itself, is aggravation enough, but 'tis a trifle to what follows. I breakfast—
Well?
No, not by any means well—I've entirely lost my appetite—as I step
into my carriage for my morning drive, I find standing before my door, a man,
tall, erect, stately as the statue of the Commendatore in Don Giovanni, the
figure respectfully offers me his arm, and murmurs in my ear—"his name,
madam!"
How aggravating!
If I alight at a shop, 'tis he who opens the carriage door with hat in hand and a derisive smile on his lips he accosts me with the odious phrase, "his name, madam." The last time he did this, in the height of my exasperation, I pretended to mistake him for a beggar and dropped a sixpence into his hat—will you believe me—the monster not only pocketed the coin, but actually returned me his grateful thanks!
'Pon my life—that's carrying the joke too far.
But wait, my dear sir, that's nothing. Last Saturday I was at Brighton staying at a friend's; just as we were sitting down to dinner a telegraphic despatch arrives for me; I open it in all haste and behold the words
"His name, madam !"
I have sought safety in flight,
Which I trust he'll not think of doing, being a tenant of mine, till the expiration of his lease.
Yes! my troubled spirit needs the society of real friends.
She's gone up to town.
Go—go, bring her to me with all possible speed! meanwhile, I'll place myself under the protection of Mr. Wilmington—there's a tranquillity about him which acts like balm upon my harrassed mind!
Do so, my dear madam. Keep up your spirits till we return, and think no more of this phantom foreigner.
I feel rather better—yes, decidedly better.
His name, madam ?
What right—what business have you here, sir?
I am visiting, with Mr. Wilmington's permission, his magnificent botanical
collection,
When is the persecution to cease, sir?
Whenever you think proper to reveal to me—
"His name, madam." I know the phrase.
Aha, I shall gain my end—you already begin to lose temper the fiery glances
which dart from your eyes, the convulsive twitchings of those taper fingers, all
reveal
Then, sir, allow me to assure you that you have lost the game by showing me
your hand—for the future, sir, I shall receive your visits with positive
pleasure. I will listen to you calmly and patiently, but shall not answer a
single word, which will be the more easy as I haven't anything to answer.
You will find my process a tedious one.
I'll take my chance.
Be it so, then.
The man's a fiend—a demon! I had often read in novels of deliberate, systematic vengeance, but little thought I should ever live to be its victim!
For the moment, then, madam, I take my leave, but I cannot quit the house without again enquiring—
What—what, sir?
The merest trifle—his name, madam!
What is to become of me? The monster's pertinacity is likely to be attended
with even more dangerous results than I had anticipated—poor dear Mr.
Chatterton! what would he say? an immediate stop must be put to all this!
My dear Caroline, Alfred has just told me all, how sorry I am to hear of the persecution to which you are subjected—but heaven be praised, you have escaped your tormentor.
There's no escaping him—he's here!
Here—Mr. Beresford !
Yes, to fulfil his mission—to torture me, it's all he has to do!
This is really terrible for you, but, after all he has some reason to feel annoyed; and, I confess, I am at a loss to understand why you do not tell him this gentleman's name, and so put an end to the matter.
But when I solemnly assure you I don't know it.
You don't know it.
You know it—who is he? what is he?—where does he live, tell me all about him!
Now, you know, I'm rather of a jealous disposition.
Yes, yes, yes; I know all about that—make haste.
Well, the other day; just before we left town, I entered Alfred's room in his absence; several newly—arrived letters were laying on his desk, one of which, addressed in a small minute character, immediately struck me as having come from a lady. To give you an idea of my emotion at that moment——
No, don't, don't—it will take too long.
Fortunately, however, I remembered the excellent advice you had given me.
You opened the letter? Perfectly right—go on, go on!
I did open it—the letter was not from a lady, it was from some
gentleman who had had an assignation with some anonymous young married woman in
the middle of a clump of trees in Kensington Gardens!
Precisely!
The letter went on to say that the young lady had all of a sudden been seized with a paroxysm of terror, lest she should have been seen and recognised—that's all I read, for I was so delighted at finding my suspicions groundless—
But the gentleman's name.
I really don't know whether I ought——
Ought—ought—you must! I'm eagerly awaiting it, that I may exorcise
this boa constrictor—this demon of the jungle—with its magic sound—who was
it?
Not a bad idea that.
Hush, here he comes—'twas he.
Mr. Cleveland, good Heavens !
Yes, be cautious I implore you!
Aha, my dear Mrs. Chatterton, what an unexpected pleasure. I give you fair notice we shall not allow you to escape until after the happy day—the glorious twenty-fifth—
Unhappy young man! I quite feel for him.
Ruined me, may I enquire how.
Hush, they must not hear. That assignation in Kensington Gardens—the lady feared she had been seen, she was right—I saw all !
You don't mean to say—
Yes I do, and worse than that—I've told it all.
Told it all! to whom?
To the husband!
To the husband, the devil you have.
'Tis alas but too true, I heard her tell him the whole story. Oh, you impudent young man!
But I solemnly swear I—horrible thought! appearances are against us. Mr. Wilmington will conceive the most terrible suspicions.
Ill fated youth! my heart bleeds for you, I'll hasten to get rid of these Primleys, and then do my utmost to get out of this terrible dilemma..
Pray don't trouble yourself madam.
Now then, I am with you!
All this comes of gossiping. How thankful I am that I am not like Mrs.
Chatterton.
She was right; that tongue of hers has ruined me—my marriage, my hopes are
blighted! To think that she, of all people in the world, should have discovered
that most unlucky interview. Wilmington will never believe in the innocence of
the motives which led to my meeting his wife in that infernal clump of
trees—he'll tell Bella, our marriage will be broken off, the happiness of my
life destroyed! but Mrs. Wilmington must not remain under the odium of these
unjust suspicions—let her husband believe me, or not, as he pleases; I'll write
and explain to him the whole truth!
Hallo! who's that slipping along by the shrubbery yonder. Impossible, it
surely can't be—and yet it is by Jupiter, it is our mysterious West Indian—it
must be he whose card was delivered to Wilmington just now; the gentleman,
forsooth, came down from town to inspect the conservatories—ha, ha, ha! he has
evidently pursued Mrs. Chatterton—the hunter has tracked his prey, ha, ha, ha!
what a persevering dog it is, at all events he's a rare practical cure for
gossips!
Fortescue my friend, farewell!
What the deuce do you mean by "Farewell!"
Wilmington has been told all about that infernal assignation.
You don't mean that!
He will, of course, put the very worst construction upon it, and therefore, until my innocence in the matter is thoroughly established, my remaining here, under his roof, would only look like an intentional insult. I have written to him explaining everything!
You've written—
Yes, these few lines, which I shall at once forward him by Barnes, his servant. I shall start for town immediately, and await his answer there—farewell!
Stop a bit, my dear fellow, hang me if I can make head or tail of all this.
Hush, here he comes—as matters stand 'tis better he should not see me. I'll
step into this conservatory—do what you can to pacify him, and, whatever you do,
get him out of the way as soon as you can.
A pleasant position this to be left in.
I say, Fortescue, that gentleman from town is a first—rate fellow!
Well, for a jealous man he takes it very coolly.
I have been showing him my gold fish pond, and my tropical plants—bless you he appears to be more deeply versed in the matter than I am!
Horace must be mistaken, he surely cannot know anything about it.
He has just given me an excellent idea—only fancy now—
Confound it all, here he comes with Horace's letter—if I could only prevent
him from delivering it.
Yes, sir, directly, sir.
The dolt—the idiot!
A letter!
N—o—o! tell it me now! I'm longing to hear it—you can read your letter
presently.
Please, sir, the gentleman said as how it was werry immediate.
The miserable booby!
"Sir, I hasten to—"
You were saying that—a—a—canary birds—
No, no, we were talking of gold fish.
Ah, yes to be sure, gold fish.
What's this, my wife, "romantic disposition—innocent flirtation—assignation." Good heavens! how frightful.
Don't believe it—it isn't true!
What isn't true?
Haven't the remotest idea—but its every word of it false !
My dear friend, read this. Horace and my wife, assignation—Kensington Gardens—the villainous young man has actually the barefaced audacity to write and tell me all about it.
The cat is now indeed out of the bag!
Just as he was going to marry my niece—the thing's frightful, shocking, awful!
My dear friend, it's all a mistake; be tranquil!
Tranquil! I—I can't—I shall never be tranquil again!
Well!
You're a clever fellow you are; do you know what you've done?
What do you mean?
Wilmington knew nothing about the matter, and you in the kindest manner have favoured him with all the particulars!
Knew nothing about it—impossible. I was only just now informed by that dreadful woman who has made all the mischief, that odious Mrs. Chatterton—
Mrs. Chatterton! I thought that inveterate chatterbox must have had a finger in all this.
I've got rid of those Primleys at last, and hasten to repair this most unfortunate mistake. Surely, between the three of us we shall be able to think of something.
One moment, madam, what was it you told me just now?
Let us not waste time in useless reminiscences,—it appears
It appears, madam, that Mr. Wilmington knew nothing whatever of the matter!
Mr. Wilmington—who said he did? I never even mentioned his name, but as I said before, we've no time to lose.
Did you, or did you not tell me here on this spot that you saw me in Kensington Gardens with
With Mrs. Beresford, to be sure I did.
Mrs. Beresford, I—I don't even know her!
You don't know her ?
I give you my word of honour I've never seen the woman in all my life.
Now Julia, what was it that you told me just now?
What! my wife in the conspiracy? Upon my word!
But, my dear Caroline, when I told you, I had no idea you would repeat it.
And if I did repeat it, Julia, 'twas for Mr. Cleveland's good.
There! d'ye hear Horace? it was for your good, what an ungrateful fellow you are!
It's no fault of mine. How was I to know that that identical clump of trees
in Kensington Gardens was the universal place of assignation for the whole
fashionable world?
His letter to me!
What sir! do you reveal the contents of my letters ?
Letters! what letters, I've received none from you.
Yes, I wrote to you the other day.
Ah, those rascally servants! the Inquisition has been at it again! They actually read my letters now—I—I'll discharge every one of them!
It wasn't the servants my dear, a—a—it was I who opened the letter, but it's the very first time, I assure you.
The first time! Aha! a light breaks in upon me.
My dear, I—I accidentally allowed it to escape me.
You did! who was it then let out that I wore night—
I happened by the merest chance to mention it at Mr. Hayward's—but I assure you I would never have opened your letters if it hadn't been for—for—
For what?
For the advice you gave me.
What, her fault again!
Oh, of course it's my fault—I'm to bear the blame, of course!
Yes, madam, it is your fault; thanks to you, my marriage is broken off—thanks
Thanks to you, I've deserved the anger of my husband.
Go on, go on! has no one else anything to thank me for?
Oh, gossip, gossip! to think that our penal code should include a "silent
system," and yet gossips are allowed to go unpunished!
Please, sir, you said as how you should want me in five minutes or so.
Yes! get out the gig, put my trunk and carpet bag into it, and wait for me at the garden gate.
Ees, your honour.
Barnes!
Ees, marm.
Get out whatever you please, put my boxes into it, and wait for me at the garden gate.
What are you going, too?
I am.
'Pon my word this is pleasant! here are the two principals in the affair
coolly walking off, while I, who have nothing whatever to do with the matter, am
to be left here to appease two exasperated husbands.
Ees, sir.
Get me whatever species of conveyance first comes to hand, a truck or a wheelbarrow if you like—and wait for me at the
Garden gate, ees sir!
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to offer you my arm; we'll all start together.
What do you mean?
I mean, madam, that Horace is perfectly right in leaving a house in which you
have rendered it impossible for him to remain; but that you, the cause
of all this disturbance, should coolly walk off just as the storm is at its
height, is really worthy of no one but Mrs. Chatterton!
Mr. Fortescue, you
We—you, if you please.
Well then, I—I—I—if you insist upon it, since I'm to bear the blame
of everything!—let us now reflect calmly and quietly.
Ah, if that idiot Barnes who's constantly making mistakes when they are of no
earthly use, could only have delivered this unfortunate letter to anybody but
the person to whom it was addressed!
What?
A magnificent idea is now fermenting in my brain! Stop! yes, yes, I have it.
Well.
Well, don't you see that we can now turn the worthy Barnes's character for
stupidity to excellent advantage. It's the simpliest thing in the world. Barnes
has delivered the letter to the wrong man, that's all.
Aha, a most splendid idea of ours!
Ours! well, never mind!
Mark Beresford
Most certainly.
Most certainly.
Most certainly.
But—
There's no time for buts—you've not a moment to lose.
And I say, Julia,
Excellent—it's all Barnes !
Now, then, Horace, give me the envelope, and make yourself scarce.
But—
As I told you before, there's no time for buts, be off with you!
Mr. Wilmington is coming this way.
Quick! crumple up the envelope and throw it wherever the other lay.
But you'll tell me all about it afterwards.
My dear sir, how do you find yourself now—more tranquil I hope.
Tranquil, my dear sir! how can I be tranquil? My tranquility is ruffled for ever.
Come, come, my dear sir, you must not give way to such gloomy ideas.
What o'clock is it?
A quarter past five.
Half-past, you're slow.
Half—past? then she will soon be here.
Who?
My wife. I shall require an instant explanation.
I can readily imagine it.
But he, the perfidious youth will not be here to witness the tragic scene. Barnes tells me he has ordered the gig, it's evident he dreads my wrath—he's going!
He! who!
The treacherous Cleveland.
Cleveland going? he hasn't a notion of such a thing.
Why then has he ordered the gig?
Oh, to—to fetch the ladies from the station, of course.
To fetch my wife and Bella? how dare he think of such a thing.
Precisely what Mr. Fortescue and I were saying, how dare he think of such a thing, and yet he alluded to the circumstance with such light—hearted gaiety—
Gaiety!
That I am convinced you are mistaken.
But alas.
Yes, here it is.
Horace Cleveland.
You know his handwriting.
Yes, I can swear to that "H" of his ! alas there can no longer be a doubt
about the matter.
The address? there it lays.
Where?
There where I threw it just now.
Don't trouble yourself, 'tis alas! needless.
But still I may as well show you.
Pray don't stoop, your proofs are already but too strong.
You shall now see for yourselves, there—look!
What's the matter?
Why, it isn't addressed to me at all! Fortescue, my dear friend, look here, it's addressed to Mark Beresford!
Impossible!
To Mark Beresford Esq., my dear madam.
My poor friend you must be out of your mind.
They won't believe me.
'Pon my life, so it is—Mark Beresford.
It really is—but how can this terrible mistake have occurred?
Can't you guess, it's that abominable Barnes, the
Now if I were not morally certain as to Horace's innocence in this matter, I should feel some compunction at duping the poor man in this way; however, it is for his own good—besides a ruse must surely be excuseable when perpetrated in the cause of truth !
I say Fortescue, this Mr. Beresford must be the very identical individual—
Who is now inspecting your conservatories.
Ha, ha, ha! Then
There is indeed, ha, ha, ha!
I'm dying to know how they're getting on!
Why they are laughing—Fortescue's stratagem has evidently succeeded.
Aha, Horace! there now, who said he was going?
My dear young friend, now don't look so uneasy, he knows nothing about it!
He—who?—oh, ah—he, yes, yes!
I've got the letter, but what an absurd idea it was of yours to favour the gentleman with such a very gratuitous explanation. I say, if Bella only knew the contents—sly young dog, ha, ha, ha!
I assure you, my dear sir, if you only knew
Don't be alarmed, it's only my joke. I won't tell her, and to put you out of
your misery I'll run and burn it this very instant.
My dear Mr. Cleveland, let me congratulate you—we've got you out of it splendidly!
Haven't we?
Say rather I have fortunately succeeded in averting the consequences
of your thoughtless and indiscriminate gossip—and let our friend Cleveland's
narrow escape teach you both to think a little more and talk a
little less for the future;
Beresford, I defy Beresford! Let Beresford employ whatever form of persecution Beresford pleases—Beresford shall never get a word out of me!
Then place yourself at once on the defensive, for here Beresford comes!
A very sensible remark Mr. Primley.
Quite a mistake, sir; I am now more than ever determined never to breath a syllable of it.
Am I really to look upon this as your final, irrevocable resolve?
As my final, irrevocable resolve.
That being the case, my dear madam, will you do me the favour to inform me at what hour I am likely to find Mr. Chatterton at home?
Mr. Chatterton! what has Mr. Chatterton to do with the matter?
He will merely have to answer me with his life for his wife's former loquacity, and present taciturnity; if, therefore, you will kindly inform me at what hour Mr. Chatterton is visible, my second shall wait on him without loss of time.
Second! a duel! merciful powers, the tiger is going to slaughter my unoffending husband!
You have thought proper to relate in my hearing
Bless me! he says he must kill somebody!
Monster!
You must do nothing of the sort. For Cleveland's, for Wilmington's sake, you must not allow a word to escape you.
Why, dear me, what can be going on?
Let me see Mrs. Chatterton's address is——
What an awful situation.
My dear madam, your anxiety for Mr. Chatterton's safety proves to me that
although that remarkably fluent tongue of yours is a most dangerous member, its
errors are not dictated by the heart! Be not alarmed your dismay on Mr.
Chatterton's account, shall protect him from my just indignation, but the very
affection you evince for your own husband, should have taught you a little more
regard for the feelings of others you!
Eh?
The name of the gentleman whom you saw with my wife in that ever memorable clump of trees in Kensington Gardens, was Mark Beresford—the individual who has now the honour of standing before you!
You ! ! !
Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you had an assignation in the middle of a clump of trees with your own wife?
For "assignation" substitute "appointment," and you will have faithfully described the situation. It really is the simplest thing in the world; there is a little of the recluse in my nature, and since my arrival in London, I have made it my practice daily to escape for a few hours from the hollow, artifical excitement of what is called fashionable life, and with some favourite author for a companion, have frequently bent my steps towards the agreeable, but somewhat transparent reclusion, which should henceforth be designated, "Mrs. Chatterton's clump." On one of these occasions it had been arranged that my wife, as soon as her morning calls were over, should drive to the gardens, join me at my favourite haunt, and that we should then stroll through the gardens together. On that identical day was it that Mrs. Chatterton beheld my wife alighting from her carriage, and fired with the hope of collecting materials for an intensely exciting anecdote, the inquisitive lady gave chase with all the vigilance of a female detective, and actually succeeded in convicting Mrs. Beresford of the monstrous impropriety of a stolen interview with her own husband!
Ha, ha, ha! well this is an unexpected denouement!
Most satisfactory solution of a hitherto unfathomable enigma!
But what then becomes of Mr. Cleveland ?
Hush, there are more clumps of trees than one in Kensington Gardens—bless you there's accommodation for all Belgravia !
I say, then nobody knows anything about my rendezvous after all.
Bless you, no—a mere coincidence of platonic assignations, that's all!
How was it then? nobody seems to have met nobody else.—No, I mean somebody
must have met nobody.—No, I can't make it out!
But may I enquire, sir, why you did not correct my error at the time I told
the story, and why you have relentlessly persecuted me night and day, for the
last fortnight, for the sole purpose of enquiring after what now proves to be
your own name!
Simply, madam, because I considered it my duty to society to read you a
lesson, a severe, practical, and not easily forgotten lesson, which will, I
trust, teach you and other ladies
To think now my dear Constance that all this fuss should have arisen out of—
A little friendly gossip!
Friendly gossip—the mistake lies in that phrase ! words must be judged by their consequences, as well as by the speaker's actual intentions, in which case it strikes me that the noun substantive "gossip" and the epithet "friendly," will be found to possess marvellously little in common !
I see how it is, they'll compel me at last to give up talking entirely, and
to renounce conversation altogether! Yes! Henceforth I shall rigidly restrain
myself to mony-syllables, eked out when absolutely necessary by an occasional
nod, or supplementary wink, or should I ever be tempted into an entire sentence,
it shall relate exclusively to the weather, that being the only topic about
which one may express one's candid opinion, without fear of offending any one!