to each in turn, and pinches were taken ofthe highly-scented Prince's Mixture out of the historical prince'spresent--a solid golden, deeply-chased, and massive box. Then there wasa loud snuffling noise; three expirations of three breaths in a loud"Hah!" three snappings of three fingers and three thumbs, the withdrawalof three bandanna silk, gold, and scarlet handkerchiefs, to flip away alittle snuff from three shirt frills; then the snuff-box flashed andglistened as it was held behind the Master of the Ceremonies, with hisgold-mounted whip; three hats were raised again and replaced, theirwearers having mutually decided that the day was charming, and Sir HarryPayne, officer of dragoons in mufti, like his chosen companion, SirMatthew Bray, went one way to "ogle the gyurls," the Master ofCeremonies the other to reach the pier.
Everyone knew him; everyone sought and returned his bow. Fashion's highpriest, the ruler of the destinies of many in the season, he was not theman to slight, and the gatekeeper drew back, hat in hand, and thebandmaster bowed low, as with pointed toes, graceful carriage, snuff-boxin one hand, eyeglass and whip for the horse he never rode in the other,Stuart Denville walked behind the mask he wore, mincing, and bowing, andcondescending, past the groups that dotted the breezy resort.
Half-way down the pier, but almost always hat in hand, and the set smiledeepening the lines about his well-cut mouth, he became aware of someexcitement towards the end.
There was a shriek and then a babble of voices talking, cries for aboat, and a rush to the side, where a lady, who had arrived in abath-chair, pushed by a tall footman in mourning livery, surmounted by ahuge braided half-moon hat, was gesticulating wildly and going to andfro, now fanning herself with a monstrous black fan, now closing it witha snap, and tapping lady bystanders with it on the shoulder or arm.
"He'll be drowned. I'm sure he'll be drowned. Why is there no boatman?Why is there no help? Oh, here is dear Mr Denville. Oh! MrDenville, help, help, help!"
Here the lady half turned round, and made with each cry of "help!" abackward step towards the Master of the Ceremonies, who had notaccelerated his pace a whit, for fear of losing grace, and who was onlyjust in time--the lady managed that--to catch her as she half leanedagainst his arm.
"Dear Lady Drelincourt, what terrible accident has befallen us here?"
"My darling!" murmured the lady. "Save him, oh, save him, or I shalldie!"
Volume One, Chapter X.
A SMALL RESCUE.
Small matters make great excitements among idle seaside people, and asDenville gracefully helped Lady Drelincourt to a chair, and steppedmincingly to the side of the pier, he found that the little crowd weregazing down upon the black, snub-nosed, immature bull-dog physiognomy ofan extremely fat Chinese pug dog, who, in a fit of playfulness withanother fashionable dog, had forgotten his proximity to the extreme edgeof the pier and gone in with a splash.
He had swum round and round, evidently mistrustful of his powers toreach the shore, and, in a very stolid manner, appeared to enjoy hisbath; but growing tired, he had ceased to swim, and, throwing up hisglistening black muzzle, had begun to beat the water with his forepaws,uttering from time to time a dismal yelp, while a bell attached to hiscollar gave a ting. Ignorant of the fact that he was fat enough tofloat if he only kept still, he was fast approaching the state whenchicken legs and macaroons would tempt in vain, when his stiffened jawswould refuse to open to the tiny ratafia well soaked in milk, anddigestion pains would assail him no more, after too liberal anindulgence in the well-fried cutlet of juicy veal. The bell-hung pagodain Lady Drelincourt's drawing-room was likely to be vacant till anotherpet was bought, and as the Master of the Ceremonies gazed down at poorTiti through his glass, it was in time to see a rough fisherman throw arope in rings to the drowning beast, evidently under the impression thatthe dog would seize the rope and hold on till he was drawn up, for noboat was near.
The rope was well aimed, for it struck the pet heavily, knocking himunder, and the rough boatman took off his glazed hat, and scratched avery rough head, staring in wonderment at the effect of his well-meanteffort.
But Titi came up again and yelped loudly, this time with a sweet,silvery, watery gurgle in his throat.
Then he turned over, and a lady shrieked. Then he paddled about on hisside, and made a foam in the water, and in spite of the helpless,sympathising glances given through the gold-rimmed eyeglass of theMaster of the Ceremonies, Titi must have been drowned had there not beena sudden splash from the staging of the pier somewhere below, a loudexciting cry, and a figure seen to rise from its plunge, swim steadilyto the drowning dog, reach it amidst a storm of delighted cries, swimback to the staging, and disappear.
This was the correct time, and Lady Drelincourt fainted dead away, withher head resting upon her shoulder, and her shoulder on the back of herchair. Immediately there was a rustling in bow-decked reticules,smelling salts were drawn, and Lady Drelincourt's nose was attacked.She was almost encircled with cut-glass bottles.
The Master of the Ceremonies looked on, posed in an attitude full ofeager interest, and he saw, what was nothing new to his attentive gaze,that Time had behaved rudely to Lady Drelincourt; that art had beencalled in to hide his ravages, and that her ladyship's attitude causedcracks in the thickened powder, and that it differed in tone from theskin beneath; that there was a boniness of bust, and an angularity ofshoulder where it should have been round and soft; and that if herladyship fainted much more he would not be answerable for theconsequences to her head of hair.
But Lady Drelincourt was not going to faint much more. The dog had beensaved, and she had fainted enough, so that at the first approach of arude hand to loosen the fastenings at her throat, she sighed and gasped,struggled faintly, opened her eyes of belladonna brilliancy, staredwildly round, recovered her senses, and exclaimed:
"Where is he? Where is my Titi? Where is his preserver?" and somebodysaid, "Here!"
There was a hurried opening of the circle, and Stuart Denville, Esquire,Master of the Ceremonies, struck a fresh attitude full of astonishment,but, like the rest of the well-dressed throng, he shrank away, as atall, fair youth, dripping with water, which made his hair and clothescling closely, came from an opening that led to the piles below,squeezing the pug to free him from moisture, and gazing from face toface.
"You rascally prodigal!" whispered the Master of the Ceremonies, as theyouth came abreast, "you've been fishing for dabs again!"
"Well, suppose I have," said the youth sulkily.
"Where is his preserver? Give me back my darling Titi," wailed LadyDrelincourt; and catching the wet fat dog to her breast, regardless ofthe effect upon her rich black silk dress and crape, the little beastuttered a satisfied yelp and nestled up to her, making a fat jumpupwards so as to lick a little of the red off the lady's lips.
"And who was it saved you, my precious?" sobbed the lady.
"Lady Drelincourt," said the Master of the Ceremonies, taking theyouth's hand gingerly, with one glove, "allow me to introduce your dearpet's preserver--it was Morton Denville, Lady Drelincourt, my son. I amsorry he is so very wet."
"Bless you--bless you!" cried Lady Drelincourt with effusion. "I couldembrace you, you brave and gallant man, but--but--not now."
"No, no--not now. Lady Drelincourt, let me assist you to your chair.Morton," he whispered, "you're like a scarecrow: quick, be off. Youdog, if you mind me now, your fortune's made."
"Oh, is it, father? Well, I'm precious glad. I say, isn't it cold?"
"Yes: quick--home, and change your things. Stop; where are you going?"
"Down below, to fetch the dabs."
"Damn the dabs, sir," whispered the Master of the Ceremonies excitedly;"you'll spoil the effect. Run, sir, run!"
The youth hesitated a moment and then started and ran swiftly towardsthe cliff, amidst a shrill burst of cheers, the ladies fluttering theirhandkerchiefs, and fisherman Dick Miggles wishing he had been that thereboy.
"Denville--dear Denville," said her ladyship, "how proud you must be ofsuch a son!"
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"The idol of my life, dear Lady Drelincourt," said the Master of theCeremonies, arranging her dress in the bath-chair. "Shall I carry thepoor dog?"
"No, no--no, no, my darling Titi!" cried the lady, to his great relief."Thomas, take me home quickly," she said, as the wet dog nestled in hercrape lap and uttered a few snuffles of satisfaction. "Quick, or Titiwill take cold Denville, see me safely home. My nerves are gone."
"The shock, of course."
"Yes, Denville, and I shall never forget your gallant son," sobbed herladyship hysterically, as they passed through a lane of promenaders;"but I must not cry."
It was indeed quite evident that such a giving way to natural feelingwould have