X
In the living-hall of Selwoode Miss Hugonin paused. Undeniably therewere the accounts of the Ladies' League for the Edification of theImpecunious to be put in order; her monthly report as treasurerwas due in a few days, and Margaret was in such matters a careful,painstaking body, and not wholly dependent upon her secretary; but shewas entirely too much out of temper to attend to that now.
It was really all Mr. Kennaston's fault, she assured a prickingconscience, as she went out on the terrace before Selwoode. He hadbothered her dreadfully.
There she found Petheridge Jukesbury smoking placidly in theeffulgence of the moonlight; and the rotund, pasty countenance heturned toward her was ludicrously like the moon's counterfeit in muddywater. I am sorry to admit it, but Mr. Jukesbury had dined somewhatinjudiciously. You are not to stretch the phrase; he was merelyprepared to accord the universe his approval, to pat Destiny uponthe head, and his thoughts ran clear enough, but with Apriliancounter-changes of the jovial and the lachrymose.
"Ah, Miss Hugonin," he greeted her, with a genial smile, "I am indeedfortunate. You find me deep in meditation, and also, I am sorry tosay, in the practise of a most pernicious habit. You do not object?Ah, that is so like you. You are always kind, Miss Hugonin. Yourkindness, which falls, if I may so express myself, as the gentle rainfrom Heaven upon all deserving charitable institutions, and dailycomforts the destitute with good advice and consoles the sorrowingwith blankets, would now induce you to tolerate an odour which I amsure is personally distasteful to you."
"But _really_ I don't mind," was Margaret's protest.
"I cannot permit it," Mr. Jukesbury insisted, and waved a pudgy handin the moonlight. "No, really, I cannot permit it. We will throwit away, if you please, and say no more about it," and his glancefollowed the glowing flight of his cigar-end somewhat wistfully. "Yourfather's cigars are such as it is seldom my privilege to encounter;but, then, my personal habits are not luxurious, nor my privateincome precisely what my childish imaginings had pictured it at thiscomparatively advanced period of life. Ah, youth, youth!--as the poetadmirably says, Miss Hugonin, the thoughts of youth are long, longthoughts, but its visions of existence are rose-tinged and free fromcare, and its conception of the responsibilities of manhood--suchas taxes and the water-rate--I may safely characterise as extremelysketchy. But pray be seated, Miss Hugonin," Petheridge Jukesburyblandly urged.
Common courtesy forced her to comply. So Margaret seated herself ona little red rustic bench. In the moonlight--but I think I havementioned how Margaret looked in the moonlight; and above her goldenhead the Eagle, sculptured over the door-way, stretched his wings tothe uttermost, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, and seemed toview Mr. Jukesbury with a certain air of expectation.
"A beautiful evening," Petheridge Jukesbury suggested, after a littlecogitation.
She conceded that this was undeniable.
"Where Nature smiles, and only the conduct of man is vile andaltogether what it ought not to be," he continued, with unction--"ah,how true that is and how consoling! It is a good thing to meditateupon our own vileness, Miss Hugonin--to reflect that we are but wormswith naturally the most vicious inclinations. It is most salutary.Even I am but a worm, Miss Hugonin, though the press has been pleasedto speak most kindly of me. Even you--ah, no!" cried Mr. Jukesbury,kissing his finger-tips, with gallantry; "let us say a worm who hasburst its cocoon and become a butterfly--a butterfly with a charmingface and a most charitable disposition and considerable property!"
Margaret thanked him with a smile, and began to think wistfully of theLadies' League accounts. Still, he was a good man; and she endeavouredto persuade herself that she considered his goodness to atone for hisflabbiness and his fleshiness and his interminable verbosity--whichshe didn't.
Mr. Jukesbury sighed.
"A naughty world," said he, with pathos--"a very naughty world, whichreally does not deserve the honour of including you in its censusreports. Yet I dare say it has the effrontery to put you down in thetax-lists; it even puts me down--me, an humble worker in the vineyard,with both hands set to the plough. And if I don't pay up it sellsme out. A very naughty world, indeed! I dare say," Mr. Jukesburyobserved, raising his eyes--not toward heaven, but toward the Eagle,"that its conduct, as the poet says, creates considerable distressamong the angels. I don't know. I am not acquainted with many angels.My wife was an angel, but she is now a lifeless form. She has been forfive years. I erected a tomb to her at considerable personal expense,but I don't begrudge it--no, I don't begrudge it, Miss Hugonin. Shewas very hard to live with. But she was an angel, and angels are rare.Miss Hugonin," said Petheridge Jukesbury, with emphasis, "_you_ are anangel."
"Oh, dear, _dear!_" said Margaret, to herself; "I do wish I'd gone tobed directly after dinner!"
Above them the Eagle brooded.
"Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted totell you--"
"No," said Margaret, "and I don't want to know, please. You make meawfully tired, and I don't care for you in the _least_. Now, you letgo my hand--let go at once!"
He detained her. "You are an angel," he insisted--"an angel with alarge property. I love you, Margaret! Be mine!--be my blushing bride,I entreat you! Your property is far too large for an angel to lookafter. You need a man of affairs. I am a man of affairs. I amforty-five, and have no bad habits. My press-notices are, as a rule,favourable, my eloquence is accounted considerable, and my dearestaspiration is that you will comfort my declining years. I might addthat I adore you, but I think I mentioned that before. Margaret, willyou be my blushing bride?"
"No!" said Miss Hugonin emphatically. "No, you tipsy old beast--no!"
There was a rustle of skirts. The door slammed, and the philanthropistwas left alone on the terrace.