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Authors: Rafael Sabatini
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discomfort to ourselves. Assuredly, it was worth while to cross to England to study manners. And there are sights for you that you will never see in France. You would not, for
instance, had you not come hither, have had an opportunity of observing a member of the noblesse seconding and assisting a tipstaff in the discharge of his duty. And doing it just as a hog
wallows in foulness—for the love of it.
"The gentlemen in your country, Leduc, are too fastidious to enjoy life as it should be enjoyed; they are too prone to adhere to the amusements of their class. You have here an opportunity of
perceiving how deeply they are mistaken, what relish may lie in setting one's rank on one side, in forgetting at times that by an accident—a sheer, incredible accident, I assure you,
Leduc—one may have been born to a gentleman's estate."
Rotherby had drawn himself up, his dark face crimsoning.
"D'ye talk at me, sir?" he demanded. "D'ye dare discuss me with your lackey?"
"But why not, since you search me with my tipstaff! If you can perceive a difference, you are too subtle for me, sir."
Rotherby advanced a step; then checked. He inherited mental sluggishness from his father. "You are insolent!" he charged Caryll. "You insult me."
"Indeed! Ha! I am working miracles."
Rotherby governed his anger by an effort. "There was enough between us without this," said he.
"There could not be too much between us—too much space, I mean."
The viscount looked at him furiously. "I shall discuss this further with you," said he. "The present is not the time nor place. But I shall know where to look for you."
"Leduc, I am sure, will always be pleased to see you. He, too, is studying manners."
Rotherby ignored the insult. "We shall see, then, whether you can do anything more than talk."
"I hope that your lordship, too, is master of other accomplishments. As a talker, I do not find you very gifted. But perhaps Leduc will be less exigent than I."
"Bah!" his lordship flung at him, and went out, cursing him profusely, Gaskell following at his master's heels.
CHAPTER V
MOONSHINE
MY Lord Ostermore, though puzzled, entertained no tormenting anxiety on the score of the search to which Mr. Caryll was to be submitted. He assured himself from that
gentleman's confident, easy manner—being a man who always drew from things the inference that was obvious—that either he carried no such letter as my lord expected, or else he had so
disposed of it as to baffle search.
So, for the moment, he dismissed the subject from his mind. With Hortensia he entered the parlor across the stone-flagged passage, to which the landlady ushered them, and turned whole-heartedly
to the matter of his ward's elopement with his son.
"Hortensia," said he, when they were alone. "You have been foolish; very foolish." He had a trick of repeating himself, conceiving, no doubt, that the commonplace achieves distinction by
repetition.
Hortensia sat in an arm-chair by the window, and sighed, looking out over the downs. "Do I not know it?" she cried, and the eyes which were averted from his lordship were charged with
tears—tears of hot anger, shame and mortification. "God help all women!" she added bitterly, after a moment, as many another woman under similar and worse circumstances has cried before and
since.
A more feeling man might have conceived that this was a moment in which to leave her to herself and her own thoughts, and in that it is possible that a more feeling man had been mistaken.
Ostermore, stolid and unimaginative, but not altogether without sympathy for his ward, of whom he was reasonably fond—as fond, no doubt, as it was his capacity to be for any other than
himself—approached her and set a plump hand upon the back of her chair.
"What was it drove you to this?"
She turned upon him almost fiercely. "My Lady Ostermore," she answered him.
His lordship frowned, and his eyes shifted uneasily from her face. In his heart he disliked his wife
instance, had you not come hither, have had an opportunity of observing a member of the noblesse seconding and assisting a tipstaff in the discharge of his duty. And doing it just as a hog
wallows in foulness—for the love of it.
"The gentlemen in your country, Leduc, are too fastidious to enjoy life as it should be enjoyed; they are too prone to adhere to the amusements of their class. You have here an opportunity of
perceiving how deeply they are mistaken, what relish may lie in setting one's rank on one side, in forgetting at times that by an accident—a sheer, incredible accident, I assure you,
Leduc—one may have been born to a gentleman's estate."
Rotherby had drawn himself up, his dark face crimsoning.
"D'ye talk at me, sir?" he demanded. "D'ye dare discuss me with your lackey?"
"But why not, since you search me with my tipstaff! If you can perceive a difference, you are too subtle for me, sir."
Rotherby advanced a step; then checked. He inherited mental sluggishness from his father. "You are insolent!" he charged Caryll. "You insult me."
"Indeed! Ha! I am working miracles."
Rotherby governed his anger by an effort. "There was enough between us without this," said he.
"There could not be too much between us—too much space, I mean."
The viscount looked at him furiously. "I shall discuss this further with you," said he. "The present is not the time nor place. But I shall know where to look for you."
"Leduc, I am sure, will always be pleased to see you. He, too, is studying manners."
Rotherby ignored the insult. "We shall see, then, whether you can do anything more than talk."
"I hope that your lordship, too, is master of other accomplishments. As a talker, I do not find you very gifted. But perhaps Leduc will be less exigent than I."
"Bah!" his lordship flung at him, and went out, cursing him profusely, Gaskell following at his master's heels.
CHAPTER V
MOONSHINE
MY Lord Ostermore, though puzzled, entertained no tormenting anxiety on the score of the search to which Mr. Caryll was to be submitted. He assured himself from that
gentleman's confident, easy manner—being a man who always drew from things the inference that was obvious—that either he carried no such letter as my lord expected, or else he had so
disposed of it as to baffle search.
So, for the moment, he dismissed the subject from his mind. With Hortensia he entered the parlor across the stone-flagged passage, to which the landlady ushered them, and turned whole-heartedly
to the matter of his ward's elopement with his son.
"Hortensia," said he, when they were alone. "You have been foolish; very foolish." He had a trick of repeating himself, conceiving, no doubt, that the commonplace achieves distinction by
repetition.
Hortensia sat in an arm-chair by the window, and sighed, looking out over the downs. "Do I not know it?" she cried, and the eyes which were averted from his lordship were charged with
tears—tears of hot anger, shame and mortification. "God help all women!" she added bitterly, after a moment, as many another woman under similar and worse circumstances has cried before and
since.
A more feeling man might have conceived that this was a moment in which to leave her to herself and her own thoughts, and in that it is possible that a more feeling man had been mistaken.
Ostermore, stolid and unimaginative, but not altogether without sympathy for his ward, of whom he was reasonably fond—as fond, no doubt, as it was his capacity to be for any other than
himself—approached her and set a plump hand upon the back of her chair.
"What was it drove you to this?"
She turned upon him almost fiercely. "My Lady Ostermore," she answered him.
His lordship frowned, and his eyes shifted uneasily from her face. In his heart he disliked his wife
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