The Passionate Elopement
teacups and every one knows that to be monstrous ungenteel behaviour.
Lud! I've been censured before. Why, when I was but sixteen I was the
talk of the ballroom because I stepped four gavottes with Dicky
Combleton, Squire Combleton's youngest son. Every one said I was a
forward minx, and he's only a year older than me and that's only last
year." Phyllida became very indignant, and Mr. Vernon who lacked humour
became very indignant too at being compared to a bumpkin.
"Surely my angel sees the circumstances are slightly altered?"
He clasped her hand, and stroked it slowly, but she was not to be
pacified and drew it away.
"For my part, I don't know how you dare say you care for my reputation
and sit here holding my hand. Walls have ears and hedges have eyes."
"You would not withdraw your hand if you were sure we were not
observed?"
She made no reply.
"Possibly," he went on, "you would let me kiss those sweet lips to a
smile--if we were not observed?"
"Indeed, I vow you should never do anything so indelicate."
"Z----ds! my pretty Puritan----" he stopped because Phyllida's eyes
were very wide open indeed.
"Oh Sir! no one but a father or a very old man has the right to swear so
dreadfully before a maid."
He laughed.
"So oaths depend on age for their propriety? I 'faith that's a new maxim
I've learned this morning. After all, my Phyllida, I am fifteen years
older than you."
"That may be," she retorted primly, "and I have often wondered whether I
should allow a man of middle-age to make love to me."
Vernon wrinkled with annoyance at such a description. He certainly
lacked humour.
"But then, you see, I am in love with you, and not marrying you because
our estates join like my cousin Clarice who, we all agreed, was old
enough to know better."
"Young enough, you mean. Morality rusts with the years."
"I don't know what you are talking about, but it sounds like a text."
"It is a text, my dear, the text of the man of the world."
"I hate texts, but I don't hate goodness and you must promise never,
never to swear again, and--never, never to try to kiss me."
"Not even when we are wed?"
"That's another matter."
"Perhaps when you are old and wise and able to kiss you won't like
kissing."
"Oh! I protest, I should like it vastly," said Phyllida with great
decision.
"But if you have never made the attempt?"
"A young woman knows by instinct."
"But why won't you make sure in advance?"
"Because 'tis imprudent and wicked."
"For my part, I believe you are playing with me."
And then began a long argument which settled nothing at all and, after
ten minutes, left matters precisely where they started.
What Vernon said in jest was in essence perfectly true but unfortunately
he was too vain and she was too young to believe it; for if potential
Phyllida knew very well she would not expire if her dear Amor vanished
for ever, actual Phyllida who was much younger and far more obstinate
was equally sure that a gradual decline into an interesting consumption
would be the natural result of such a calamity; while potential Vernon
who was anxious to prove himself a very fine fellow was very
contemptuous of actual Vernon and not at all willing to admit he would
find more than sufficient compensation for the loss of his Phyllida in
the ample charms of Miss Diana Flashington of the Theatre Royal, Drury
Lane.
And this is the way a large number of world-shaking passions begin,
since at first we seldom apprehend our potentiality.
The quarrel was interrupted by the sound of approaching voices just as
Betty came flying round the corner with the news that "Mr. Thomas and
your mamma be coming as fast as legs can carry 'em this way as ever is."
The implication of a rapid advance is to be understood merely as
relative to their usual rate of procedure.
In an instant all was confusion. Miss Courteen wrung her hands and
behaved quite as wildly as a grand married lady on the verge of
discovery in an ambiguous situation below stairs. Mr. Vernon flicked a
number of invisible specks of dust from his purple sattin breeches as
though he had been kneeling in devout protestation of honourable love
for the past hour, while Betty ran in turn to each of the four alleys
leading to their present position, and put a hand to an attentive ear.
She quickly ascertained by which path the enemy was advancing and
without more ado pushed Mr. Vernon hastily in the opposite direction,
thrust a tambour frame into her mistress's hands and composed herself to
spell aloud the Agricultural Calendar and Farmer's Assistant for the
current year. She was in the middle of some astonishing statisticks of
the comparative productiveness per acre of turnips and mangel-wurzels
when Mrs. Courteen followed by the majestick Thomas appeared upon the
scene. On perceiving her daughter, the latter gave a faint scream and
declared the meeting would certainly produce palpitations.
At the utterance of this fatal word, Thomas immediately unscrewed the
knob of his cane and drew forth a bottle of salts, Phyllida performed
the same conjuring trick with her bag, while Betty after some
lace-involved rites in which a crimson garter played a prominent part
offered a third bottle not more than a moment later. By the tonick
influence of several sniffs Mrs. Courteen was sufficiently revived to
ask in a stern voice what Phyllida was doing in this ungodly place.
Thomas accompanied the query by muttering 'Canaanites' several times in
quick succession under his breath. What the commentary was intended to
imply no one knew; but there was a general belief that the footman
symbolized states of mind, people and actions of which he disapproved,
by the various hostile tribes encountered by the Israelites during their
wanderings.
Phyllida assured her mother she was working a peacock in blue and
scarlet wool for the seat of a chair, and when Mrs. Courteen demanded
why she was not sitting on her own balcony, for the privilege of
possessing which she paid an additional five-and-sixpence a week in
rent, the daughter protested the East wind chapped her ankles.
"Chaps your ankles, miss? What d'ye mean by chaps your ankles? At your
age, I didn't know I had ankles. Woollen hose was what I wore, and I
should have been whipped if I had ever dared to think my ankles were not
as thick as marrowbones."
Phyllida begged her dear mamma's pardon and hoped to be forgiven, but
could not help remarking the sun was so warm that she had felt quite
positive her dear mamma would be pleased to see her take the air.
"Twas very unkind of you," complained the widow, "to presume so far on
my acknowledged indulgence of your whims. You know the miserable state
of my health compels me to sip several glasses of the waters after
breakfast, and seize the lamentable opportunity to deceive your too
confiding parent. How am I to know you have not been sitting in this
heathen nook for days in succession?"
Again the footman muttered 'Canaanites! Canaanites!' As this was exactly
where Phyllida had been sitting for days in succession, she looked
immensely shocked by the question.
"Well! well," said Mrs. Courteen as if resigned to her daughter's
iniquity, "go home and pray that you may become a more dutiful child."
Thomas murmured a low Amen and earned for his devotion a derisive and
ribald gesture from Betty.
"Aren't you coming too, mamma?"
"No, miss, I am not coming; I must rest myself and compose my mind and
soothe my feelings. Thomas, will you arrange my cushion."
Thomas produced it from under the seven capes of his surtout without
perceptibly diminishing his girth.
Said Phyllida to Betty as they stepped out of the Maze, "For my part, I
believe she only wanted to be rid of us in order to meet puffy old Moon
or skimpy little Tarry."
And this supposition was perfectly true.
_Chapter the Fifth_
THE PUBLICK BREAKFAST
At half-past twelve o'clock of the following day, masculine Curtain
Wells began to arrive at the Town Hall determined to eat the health of
General Sir Jeremy Dummer with all the vigour of an appetite unspoiled
by a morsel of food since yesterday's supper. No procession was arranged
by those responsible for the entertainment, but the habit of punctuality
instilled by the Great little Beau secured an unrehearsed pageant. There
was no marshalled order, but since everybody set out from his abode at
the same time, the component populations of the place were compelled to
affect a military method of progress.
It was quite unpremeditated and, therefore, the more impressive. The
Town Hall designed by Sir John Vanbrugh had been erected by publick
subscription to serve as a memorial to those gallant natives of Curtain
Wells who fought and died under the Duke of Marlborough. That the
aforesaid gallant natives were only three in number and in no case
killed in action was no cooler to the furnace of civick gratitude
kindled by the signing of the Peace of Utrecht. In their delight at the
discomfiture of the quarrelsome Whigs, the citizens expressly stipulated
there should be no hint of War and War's alarms in the construction of
their Hall. There were to be no cannon eternally belching forth stony
smoke, no image or superscription of Mars or Bellona. Greaves, bucklers,
spears, culverins, swords, scimitars and grenades were forbidden by
name. The central medallion of the pediment should enshrine Civick
Unity.
So the reigning Mayor was represented in all the pomp of office grasping
the hands of two equally, befurred and bechained Aldermen. It was an
affecting combination of the real and the allegorical. A second
medallion contained a voluminously draped and very substantial lady who
with absent gaze spilled from a heavy Etruscan vase a large stream of
petrified Chalybeate. Her far-away look might be attributed to an effort
at ascertaining what a small AEsculapius was doing to a serpent on the
summit of a diminutive Pelion. This was Health. Finally a third
medallion held a peer in coronation robes thoughtfully regarding the
front of St. James' Palace. A curved scroll announced this pensive
aristocrat to be the representative of Society.
Civick Unity, Health, and Society--could any other personifications so
justly convey the essential quality of Curtain Wells? And not a pike or
arquebus to frighten them out of a rigid serenity.
Upon this sermon in stone, three streets converged, which at half-past
twelve o'clock were all thronged. Since the breakfast was essentially a
male function, the civick band by a happy inspiration of the band-master
thundered out _The Girl I left Behind Me_, as in its wake a number of
prosperous tradesmen tripped to the measure of the tune. Haberdashers
and cheesemongers, drygoodsmen and fishmongers, butchers, tailors,
saddlers, cooks and silversmiths all marched along with a pleasant
emotion of relief. Fortified by preliminary tankards of ale and
unhampered by prosaick wives and daughters, they retreated from nothing
save the business of serving customers. Vapours were dispelled by the
breeze of trumpets, and the thoughts aroused by the musick of the song
only added a pungent spice to their dreams of food and confirmed their
faith in the superiority of breeches over petticoats--at any rate when
walking away from the latter.
Meanwhile down the central street came another crowd not marching with
the precision of movement inspired by the escort of the band, but still
urged to a certain unanimity of gait by the common object of their
advance. Mr. Mayor, preceded by his mace, set the time, and a line of
Aldermen carefully ordered their pace to his. Behind the Aldermen came
the Watch. This was a mistake. The latter should have led the
dignitaries, but had spent so much time in buttoning and unbuttoning its