The Passionate Elopement
contemplating an offer of marriage. Yet certainly such might well be
described as an affair of the gravest moral importance. If weddings were
not moral, what would become of our weak humanity?
"Madam," said the Beau. "'Tis only after long thought and exhaustive
research among the social archives of Curtain Wells: 'tis only after a
complete examination of my glorious predecessor, Beau Melon's notes on
the amenities of Polite Cures in which he calls attention with a red
cross to the special difficulty of tendering advice to perplexed
visitors, that I am resolved to inform you of a fact which may distress
your maternal heart, complicate your domestick arrangements, disturb
your apprehensive piety and not inconceivably lend to-morrow's goblet a
very wry flavour. Madam, your daughter is in love."
The widow raised two anguished hands, but Mr. Ripple continued:
"When I say in love, madam, I say so because I am not so cynical of
maiden humanity as to suppose that she would sit in vivacious discourse
with a young gentleman for the space of one hour and a half measured by
the frequent chimes of the publick clock unless she were in love."
"You cannot mean this," palpitated the unhappy mother. "Say you cannot
mean it!"
"Madam, I am not used to devoting so much valuable time to the
preparation of circumstantial falsehoods. Your daughter is in love."
"But she is so young," protested the widow. "Not more than fifteen or at
the most seventeen."
"To you, madam, deaf to Love's alarms, for evermore protected against
his showered darts, such precocious ardour must appear improbable, but I
have proof of its existence."
"Malicious tongues! The world is so censorious. It would destroy the
reputation of the mother by insinuations against the virtue of the
child."
"Madam, pray allow me to narrate the unhappy but indisputable facts of
the affair. You must know that it is a part of my duties--a pleasant
part, if I may say so without undue want of reserve--to inspect Curtain
Garden from time to time. You will recollect that this forenoon we
enjoyed for two hours a glimpse of the sun. Having been kept indoors
during the last two or three days, I determined to seize the balmy
occasion and perform my rural duties. I observed that the spring bulbs
were remarkably forward. I noticed with pleasant anticipation of summer
saunters that the paths were in good order, the gravel free from weeds.
From the main Promenade I turned into the Maze."
The widow started.
"The yew hedges were neatly trimmed and I noticed some very good
examples of topiary; I may mention in particular the transformation of
the old Noah into a peacock whose tail will doubtless gain a more
vigorous plumage from the warm weather. I wandered along contemplating
the various greens of the mosses that adorn the path and muffle the
footsteps in a manner extremely suitable to the decorous quiet of the
surroundings. During my saunters, I delight to rest my mind with the
recitation of the Odes and Epodes of my poetick and pre-Christian
namesake. I was embarked upon the apostrophe to Lyce:
_Nec Coae referunt jam tibi purpurae
Nec clari lapides tempora, quae semel
Notis condita fastis
Inclusit volucris dies._
"I had got so far, but egad! I could get no farther for the life of me.
I repeated the last four lines, and in my attempts to catch the
fugitive--Ah!" cried the Beau, "I have it!"
_Quo fugit Venus? Heu quove color? decens_
_Quo motus?_
or to paraphrase with an extempore couplet,
_Where now is fled thy beauty? Where thy bloom,_
_Those airy steps that charmed th' expectant room?_
"To continue, however--this elusive sentence made me lose my direction
and I found myself removed from the centre of the Maze by an
impenetrable hedge of yew. I was about to retrace my steps when I heard
voices on the other side of the hedge. It was a duet, madam--man and
maid, flute and bass viol, fife and drum, describe it how you will."
"Did you recognize the voices?"
"Madam, I did not."
"Then how--since you were not able to see over the tops of the hedges
without----"
The Great little Man drew himself up.
"Madam," he said, "I regard the physical exertion of bobbing up and down
as ungenteel."
"Then how do you----?"
"Because on retracing my steps I passed your maid in an attitude of
vigilance and exactly one hour and a half later I saw Miss Courteen and
the aforesaid maid leave the Garden; and vastly well she looked, madam."
Mrs. Courteen asked why Mr. Ripple did not interrupt them. "'Twould
surely have frightened them out of love-making for ever."
"Madam, if I am a king, I hope I am also a gentleman."
"I will call the hussy and you shall reproach her, Mr. Ripple."
"Madam, that is precisely what I am anxious to avoid. On former
occasions my interference has proved futile and I cannot allow my
counsel to be exposed to contempt. In confidence let me tell you that
the last three elopements which I tried to stop were all successfully
carried through, and I hear that the parties have lived very happily
together ever since. I have vowed not to accept again the
responsibleness of a prophet. My glorious predecessor, Beau Melon,
mentions several instances of his advice being neglected without any ill
effects and notes that it is probably injudicious to interfere unless
compelled by the prospect of a duel. Let me read you his comments.
'_Elopements. Tell the father. D---- n Miss. She won't listen. Fool for
your pains. Fifteen times bitten--shy for evermore. Bodies more
important than souls in Curtain Wells._' An ill-constructed sentence,
madam, but nevertheless full of truth."
"Then what do you advise me to do?"
"Madam, I should recommend you to pay less attention to your own heart,
and give the most of your care to your daughter's."
The widow rose in a state of extreme agitation and rustled about the
room to the hazard of all ware under a certain stability. Such a
reproach from Mr. Ripple was more than she could bear politely.
However, presently she caught her placket in the wanton arm of a chair
and after a short struggle capitulated to stillness.
She began the catalogue of her natural virtues. "I vow the child has
been reared on the Church Catechism, she was for ever learning collects,
texts, parables, miracles, question and answer, sermons, homilies, and
aspirations. If I had been allowed my own way with her education, she
would have led a life of Sundays; but the late Mr. Nicholas Courteen her
father and my husband swore the child's intelligence was become like a
Crusader's tomb, scrabbled over with pious nonsense ill-digested and
ill-writ. Have I not warned her a hundred times that gentlemen do not
love the gawky charms of a hoyden? Have I not repeated to her the
history of half a score seductions? Am I to blame? Don't I keep a maid
to look after her? What else has that hussy to do? I ask you, Mr.
Ripple, what else?"
"Upon my soul, ma'am, I don't very well know," murmured Mr. Ripple.
"Nothing, sir, nothing, save to dress and undress me twice a day, give
an eye to my gowns and arrange my toilet table. Apparently they think
that I should--" The widow broke off to ring violently for Betty in
order to reproach her with a careless supervision of Phyllida.
Mr. Ripple seized the opportunity to make his farewells. He swore to
himself that nothing should induce him to remonstrate again with a
careless mother. He would say a friendly word to the child herself.
The widow thanked the Beau for his advice and promised to be mighty
severe with Phyllida.
"Not if you will be warned by me, madam. No, no, I beg you will not
think it was to urge severity that I made you this visit. No, no, it was
merely to suggest prudence. Your humble servant, madam."
"Your very devoted, sir."
The widow curtsied the Beau out of the room, and, having heard the front
door closed, she watched in prim disgust for the entrance of Betty.
That young woman presently came into the room.
"Well, vixen!" said the widow.
"La! ma'am, what is it?"
"Well, gypsy!"
"Not a drop in my family, ma'am, and that's more than some of the
cottage-folk near by can say."
"Well, little Impropriety, what excuse have you to hand?"
Betty asked what Impropriety meant.
"Would it be stealing you mean, ma'am?"
"Well, Madam Indecency!"
Betty suddenly saw the widow's amber petticoat gleaming through the
unfastened placket.
"Dear love and barley breaks! However did I come to leave that undone!
Never mind, ma'am. 'Tis not as if he'd caught a sight of your smock,
though for my part I should not be afraid to show clean linen to any
man, Bow or whatsoever."
"'Tis not to talk of plackets that I called you, hussy, but of
packets--love-packets, notes, letters, assignations."
Betty began to understand. She remembered how they had met Mr. Ripple
that morning in Curtain Garden, and at once connected the two incidents.
"'Twould be about this very forenoon that you are talking, ma'am?"
The widow was surprized. She had expected an impregnable barrier of mock
stupidity.
"It would," she answered severely.
"Well, there now! And if I didn't say as 'twas very wrong, but indeed,
he was so genteel and made such very grand bows that I didn't think as
'twould be kind to refuse him."
"Refuse him what?"
"Why, direction, ma'am, for the handsome poor soul was lost in the Maze.
He was just twirling around from North to South like the weathercock on
the old Parish Church at home."
"Does it take an hour and a half to direct a man out of a shrubbery?"
"No, indeed, ma'am, but hearing we was from Hampshire, he fell a-talking
and said as when he was last there he was staying with my Lord Senna at
Camomile Hall, and was bosom friend of Mr. the Honourable John Squills."
The widow grew interested. The latter had once attended a hunting
breakfast at Courteen Grange.
"And what was the loquacious gentleman's name?"
"Ah there! indeed, 'twas wrong of me, but if I didn't go and forget to
axe him!"
"Idiot!" said Mrs. Courteen, "and where does he lodge?"
"He intends to post to Bristol Well to-night."
"Is this true?"
"La, dearest ma'am, how does I know. But he spoke as though 'twas."
"You are a pair of simpletons. Lud! you might have been ravished and no
one the wiser. I doubt you both deserve a whipping."
Mrs. Courteen dismissed the subject and turned to survey the ravages of
emotion on her own face. Betty retired to warn her young mistress.
The widow was considerably vexed. Vain woman as she was, she was not too
dull to perceive that the Beau's complaint of her daughter levelled an
indirect reproof at herself. The late Squire Courteen, a-man of
plethorick habit and a good seat, had broken his neck over a five-barred
gate more than seven years ago. Some said his recklessness was too
deliberate. Certainly the week before, young Mr. Standish had left the
neighbourhood in a great hurry. Moreover when the Will was read it
appeared that a codicil had been added the day before the Squire died by
which his lady had forfeited every halfpenny of his money if she married
before her daughter and by an ingenious stroke did the same if she
failed to find a husband during the ensuing six months. Farther, a
provision was inserted that this husband must be ten years younger than
herself. It was all very much complicated and extremely malicious.
Mrs. Courteen fanned herself reflectively. She was perfectly happy in
the ridiculous attentions and elderly gallantries of Major Tarry and
Justice Moon. At twenty-nine she had still possessed enough florid
beauty to excuse her ill-spelled love-letters. Moreover, she had a
husband and was safe sport for young gentlemen who lost the hounds