Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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"I wish it were possible. He's charming, but I don't think he'll be satisfied with anyone other than the girl on whom he's set his heart." Polly grimaced. "And has Melly set her heart on him?" "Our Melisande is a good girl, Polly Kendrick; and she knows his wife. Otherwise . . . I'm not sure. But I've got to be sure. Polly, we've got a job to do. Her father sent her to me to be married, and I've never yet failed anyone who entrusted his child to me. We've delayed too long over that girl. I'm fond of her. I wanted to keep her with us for a bit. But she's got to be married . . . soon. Then this blue-eyed cavalier won't be my affair. I'm afraid of him—he's so charming. Polly, he's formidable!"

They continued to discuss Melisande and the night's uninvited guest. They laughed and talked about the couple in the Bed of Fertility; they went over the chances of Genevra's marrying her lord; and they ended up by mentioning certain young men who would be eager to marry Melisande, for the adequate dowry her father would provide, together with her undoubted charms, would make her an excellent match.

Melisande saw Fermor frequently after that night. He presented himself at the house three or four times a week, and, although Fenella told Polly, every night after such occasions, that she would command him to discontinue his visits, she never did so. She found handsome young men charming, and handsome young men in pursuit of beautiful young women irresistible.

"When we have Lucie married," she told Polly, "our next marriage shall be Melisande's."

"Always providing," put in Polly, "that little French Melly don't elope with her lover beforehand. Even you, Madam dear, might find it hard to marry her off if she was to do that."

"Nonsense!" said Fenella to that, but she was uneasy. She added: "I must do something about the child at once."

She comforted herself that it would be useless to ask Fermor to stay away, for he would find other means of seeing the girl.

She sent for Lucie.

Lucie was a good girl who had never given any trouble. Why was it that Lucie was the one of whom Fenella was the least fond ? She could rely on Lucie; if all girls were like Lucie there would be little to worry about. She was now calmly going into a marriage of convenience, sensibly realizing that, after the ceremony, she would enjoy a status hitherto denied her, wisely not looking too high—as that absurd and adorable Genevra was doing—but taking the sensible way to security.

Dear Lucie! thought Fenella hypocritically.

"Lucie, my dear," she said. "I want to have a little talk with you. It is about Melisande."

"Yes, Madam?"

"She is very like you, I always think. Her position is similar, and it would give me great pleasure if you took her under your wing. I should like to see her as happily settled as you will be. I want you to make a special friend of her, talk to her about your coming wedding. Polly shall take you both to look over your new house. You see, Lucie my dear, girls like Genevra and Clotilde could so easily put wrong ideas into the head of an impressionable girl."

"I will do all you say, Madam."

"Andrew Beddoes is a friend of your future husband's, I believe."

"They know each other because they are in the same profession."

"It would be rather pleasant if the friendship were cultivated. You and your charming Francis, Melisande and Andrew."

"Why yes, of course."

"I should like it all to come about naturally . . . romantically."

Lucie smiled. She was grateful to Fenella. Some might cavil at the darker side of the activities which went on in this house, but it was an establishment like no other, Fenella was a woman like no other. She helped girls who found themselves in unfortunate positions; naturally her methods must vary according to the girls. When she was securely married, Lucie would wish to sever all connection with Fenella Cardingly's establishment; until that happy day, she was ready to obey Madam Fenella.

"I shall do my best," said Lucie. "Melisande is quite unlike the other girls. Being convent bred she is very innocent. Marriage with Mr. Beddoes would be good for her."

When she had gone, Fenella said aloud: "Dear Lucie!"

Her conscience was salved. There was no need to worry about that

charming young man. Let him come to the house as his father had.

Melisande's future was about to be happily settled.

Polly, the chaperone, escorted the two girls out of the house. She knew that he would be waiting. He was always popping up, she told Madam. Madam only laughed when she was told. He was so charming, she said.

Lucie was saying to Melisande: "I am so glad you are coming with me. The others . . . they're not serious. And at times like this it is pleasant to have a friend."

"It is good of you to let me come," said Melisande. "I hope you will be happy, Lucie. Oh, I do hope that."

"Why not? I shall have everything I want. Mr. Grey will rise in his profession. I shall see to that." Lucie's face under the large bonnet was serene. Prim, Genevra called it. Not prim, thought Melisande, but contented. Melisande sighed. Lucie would never act in such a way as to bring disaster to herself.

"Gome along, my dears," said Polly. "It's a sharp step to our Lucie's new home, and Madam won't expect us to be too long away. My goodness gracious me, who's this ?"

He came forward bowing. "Three ladies . . . out alone! You must allow me to be your escort."

Lucie was shocked; she looked at him coldly. "We are well chaperoned, thank you, Mr. Holland."

"I'm here to look after the young ladies," said Polly. "I'm as good as any gentleman."

"Better!" he said, giving her one of his winning smiles. "I know it; you know it; the young ladies know it. But does the rest of the world know it? My dear Polly, your size belies your valiant heart, and I shall take it upon myself as a duty to accompany you."

Polly clicked her tongue and shook her head. Fermor took Lucie's hand and kissed it. Lucie softened. After all, she thought, what harm can come of it in the street ?

He then took Melisande's hand and kissed it. He kept it in his and said: "A guardian apiece. What could be better than that?"

Lucie could only walk beside Polly.

Melisande said to him as the other two stepped ahead: "You are not wanted. You know that. Have you no pride?"

"On the contrary, my pride swells to enormous proportions when I consider how much I am wanted. Polly dotes on me; so do you. As for the prim little Lucie, I have such belief in my powers that I think I can melt even her stony heart."

"I wish you would not come to the house so often."

"You would be hurt if I did not."

"I should be happier if you did not."

"But you think often of me, you must admit."

"I often think of Caroline. Is she very unhappy?"

"She is well and happy, thank you."

"Unaware of your conduct?"

"She can have nothing to complain of so far. Melisande, let us have done with this bantering. Let us be ourselves, say what is in our minds. I am in love with you . . . you with me."

"No!"

"I said, let us tell the truth. Promise me to answer one question truthfully. Will you, or are you afraid to do so?"

"I am not afraid to answer truthfully."

"If I were free to marry you and asked you, would you marry me ?"

She hesitated and he said: "You promised the truth."

"I am trying to tell the truth. I think I should, but I should be very uneasy."

He laughed contentedly. "That is all I wanted to know. The uneasiness would not worry me. We should not be too easy in our minds, should we? We should be anxious . . . anxious to preserve that which is so precious to us both. Melisande, for once let us not quarrel. Let us pretend that this is our home which we are going to see . . . our marriage which is about to take place. Can you imagine that?"

"Perhaps," she admitted.

Here in the street it was possible to throw caution away. The pleasure of such contemplation surprised her. Here, with him beside her, it was so easy to believe in.

He had slipped his arm through hers. It did not matter. Polly was going on ahead with Lucie. Besides, Polly would only have said: "The daring young man!" and she would have said it indulgently. Like her mistress she had a fondness for daring young men.

He looked down at her; she looked up at him; longing and love was in their eyes. They said nothing. It was wonderful to have such moments as these, thought Melisande; to step right out of the world of reality into the world of the imagination. There was no Caroline in this world; Fermor was himself, yet becomingly different. They were two lovers on their way to visit their new home.

He sang softly so that only she could hear, and the song he sang was wistful and tender, simple and moving:

"O, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,

Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'."

If they could have walked on through the streets of London for ever like that, how happy she would have been!

They turned into that street in which stood the charming little house which was to be Lucie's home, and as they did so suddenly the spell was broken.

It was a moment of horror for Melisande. She had turned, sensing that they were being followed, and so she saw the woman who was walking behind them and might have followed them since they left the house in the square. For one moment Melisande's eyes met a pair of bright malevolent ones. Wenna was in London with Caroline, and Wenna had come to spy on her and Fermor.

She shivered and looked quickly away.

"What is it?" said Fermor.

She looked over her shoulder, but Wenna was not to be seen.

"I ... I saw Wenna," she said. "She must have followed you."

"That old horror!"

"She will tell Caroline that she has seen us together."

"What of it? How could I refuse to escort you and your friends?"

"I don't like her. She makes trouble. She hates me."

"She hates me too. She makes no secret of it. She clings to Caroline like a leech and snarls at me like a bulldog."

"I am frightened of her."

"You? Frightened of an old woman ... a servant!"

"After to-day you must not come to see me any more."

"Let 'after to-day' take care of itself."

They stepped into the hall of the little house. It was in process of being prettily furnished, and Lucie went from room to room in delight, calling attention to the carpet which had been delivered and laid in the drawing-room, asking them to admire the ormolu mirror—Madam Fenella's advance wedding present.

But looking into the mirror, Melisande seemed to see Venna's brooding face looking at her threateningly. She felt that Wenna

228 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

had followed her, watched her, seen this love of hers for Caroline's husband trembling on the edge of surrender.

Then she knew that this must be her last meeting with Fermor.

TWO

>3o Lucie was married.

Fenella was pleased. Lucie's wealthy parent was pleased. Lucie was settled in life, and this was another triumph for Fenella. More ladies and gentlemen would put their bastard children in her charge, since the stigma attached to those children made it impossible for them to be launched through the usual channels. Fenella was doing such a useful service.

Fenella, the fabulous, the incredible and the mysterious, might be a product of an earlier era when life was lived in a more colourful manner; but the new era had scarcely begun, and Fenella would flourish for many a day as yet to come.

At the wedding the bridegroom's best man was Andrew Beddoes– a serious, quiet young man who selected Melisande for his attentions and stayed by her side during the drinking of toasts.

He was pleasant and courteous and seemed such a contrast to Fermor that she was glad of his company.

He talked of his friendship with the bridegroom, of their profession, of the luck of Francis Grey, who was as happy as a man could be.

Melisande liked him for his warm appreciation of Lucie's bridegroom.

He talked interestingly of his hopes for the future. Francis was going ahead. Mr. Beddoes was certain that he would succeed with Lucie to help him. In such a profession a man needed a wife, and a wife like Lucie could help so much. There was a great deal of entertaining to be done. Lucie was so poised, so elegant and so modest, and yet completely confident.

"You speak as though you are in love with Lucie yourself," said Melisande.

"No," he said gravely, "not with Lucie." He smiled and said how kind Melisande was to listen to him.

"But I am so interested. I hope you will be as lucky as Francis Grey."

"I hope that too," he said.

After the wedding she saw more and more of Andrew Beddoes.

He came often to the house, where Fenella welcomed him with special warmth. She allowed him to walk with Melisande in the Park with the newly married pair as chaperons.

There were times when they visited Lucie and her husband. Then the men would talk of Law, and Lucie would expound on the delights of housekeeping. It was a pleasant household, and it seemed to Melisande that Lucie had grown more attractive since she had married.

Fermor was angry when he saw what was happening.

Fenella did not deny him admittance to her house. She told herself that it would be good for Andrew to meet a little competition. She and Polly watched his sober courtship and the fiery one of Fermor with amusement and delight.

"It's dangerous," Polly said. "You never know what a young man like that will do. It wouldn't surprise me if he abducted Melly. He's quite capable of it."

"I know. I know," said Fenella. "But he'd have to get her consent."

"He might do that."

"But have you noticed she's changed? There was a time when I thought she was ready to fall into such a trap. But not now. Something's happened. She's wary. She may have discovered some of his wicked secrets. Depend upon it, he's got some."

"You think she'll take Andrew?"

"She's fundamentally a good girl, Polly. I ought to know. Don't I know girls? She longs for that bad one, and I believe he would have won, but she knows his wife. I feel sure that he's made some mistake somewhere. He must have made love to Melisande before his marriage. It's all very well to be bad, but badness must have some disguise. He's too blatantly wicked. That's his youth, I expect. He's too arrogant as yet and thinks he can get away with anything. He should have waited until after his marriage. Then he could have come along, very sad and dejected and told her his wife didn't understand him."

"That old tale?"

"All tales are new to those who haven't heard them before. He should have made her sorry for him. Melisande is generous; she's all heart. She'll act first and think afterwards. But in behaving as he did he made her think first. She's thinking now. She's thinking hard. And Lucie's working for Andrew Beddoes. Our dear Lucie has no imagination and, like all the unimaginative, she sees others as a pale shadow of herself. She's happy. She's got her home and lawyer. She's got what she wanted. Therefore she decides that's what Melisande must want."

"But something's happened to change Melly. It was that day I told

you about. They walked behind Lucie and me . . . like a pair of lovers. Then, as we went into the house, I noticed she was as white as a sheet. She's been different since then."

"It may be that his wife saw them together."

"What! Followed them! Ladies don't do such things, Madam dear."

"Jealous women do; and ladies can turn into jealous women, Poll, my dear. It was something like that, I'll warrant. Well, it will do Master Fermor good to know that he can't have it all his own way. He's like his father. Men used to be like that when I was young. Hard livers, hard drinkers, hard lovers. Times are changing, my insect. We're getting prim. I shouldn't have been able to start a salon like mine in these days. This young Gladstone is not our sort at all, and he's one of the men of the future. I don't like the virtuous, Polly. They pry. They see evil rather than good. No! Men are not like they used to be. But Fermor's a chip off the old block of mankind. He's of our time . . . not of the coming age. Times are changing a*ad we're sticking, Polly. We don't belong to the age that's just beginning.

'Wedlock is a hard pinching boot But fornication is an easy shoe.'

"Yes, some years ago that was printed quite casually in one of the papers, and it was not meant to -shock. It was the way we thought in those days. Most people think the same now; they always think the same; but we're entering a new age, Polly. We're becoming a people who wrap ourselves up in decorum and think that if we lay it on thick, what's underneath doesn't exist. But it's there just the same. It's there."

"So he's one of the old lot, is he?" said Polly. "He finds his wife a hard-pinching boot and he thinks our Melly would be an easy shoe. I don't doubt it. I don't doubt it at all. But our little girl took fright, and that's going to send her to Mr. Beddoes. I hope it's right. I only hope it's right."

"He's bewitched you as he has Melisande. That's what men were like in the old days."

"Well, we'll see. But I'd like our little French Melly to be a happy little girl, that I would."

"She will. She'll marry Beddoes and live happy ever after. And we shall have done our duty."

"And earned our money."

"Don't be vulgar, Polly. In time she'll understand that sober marriage and a bank balance are worth all the blue-eyed wooers in the world ... in the long run, of course."

But Polly sighed; and Fenella sighed; they were romantics at heart.

So the meetings between the lawyer and Melisande were encouraged and, a month or so after Lucie's wedding, Andrew Beddoes asked Melisande to marry him.

"I know it seems sudden to you, Miss St. Martin," he said, "but I think it is partly due to seeing the happiness of my friend, Francis Grey. I won't deny that I have given this matter a great deal of thought. I have even discussed it with Grey. He is fond of you, and his wife loves you dearly. We could be near neighbours of theirs and we—he and I—might even consider joining together in a business relationship."

"I ... I see," said Melisande.

She looked at his clear, honest-looking eyes, at his serious face. Fermor had made her expect more passion in a proposal; but this was, of course, a different proposition from that which Fermor had made. She thought of Leon, whose proposal had been of yet another nature. Was she as fond of this lawyer as she had been of L£on ? It was hard to say. Then she had been innocent and inexperienced. She knew now that Leon had aroused her pity and that she had turned to him in order to escape from Fermor. Once again she was seeking escape from Fermor. She did not pity this self-assured young man, but she did admire him. He was always courteous; he did not anger her; he was so energetic in his desire to advance in his profession. How many times had she compared him with Fermor—and always to Fermor's disadvantage! Andrew would be a faithful husband, she was sure; Fermor never. Andrew was determined to make his way in the world. What ambitions had Fermor? Few it seemed, but to seduce her. There had been talk of his going into Parliament. She wondered whether he was too lazy. He already had a large income and one day would inherit more. Fermor seemed to have no ambition but to look about the world, decide on what he wanted, and proceed to take it.

In every way Andrew was admirable; in every way Fermor was disreputable. A wise girl would have had no difficulty in deciding; unfortunately Melisande was not wise.

But she was learning more and more about this establishment in which she found herself. She listened to the chatter of the girls. Lucie had warned her that it was not wise to stay too long with Fenella. If one did sooner or later one might become as Daisy, Kate and Mary Jane. They were such jolly girls—so full of fun and laughter—but what did the future hold for them ? Jane and Hilda, two seamstresses, had been desirable once; they liked to talk to the three jolly girls while they remembered wistfully that that was how they were once. Now they sat sewing for a living, and the privilege

of doing so they owed to the benevolence of Fenella Cardingly.

She must get away from this house. She was sure that Sir Charles was ignorant of its nature. She did not believe he would have sent her there had he known. Lucie was right. A girl must not stay too long at Fenella's. She had only yesterday wandered into the room which was set apart from the rest of the house, and in which was the Bed of Fertility. She had smelt the heavy perfumed air, had seen with shocked dismay the statues and pictures. It was an embarrassing experience.

Now this young man was offering her escape—not only from Fermor and the tragedy which any weakness on her part would surely bring to Caroline, but from Fenella and her mysterious establishment.

"Well," said Andrew, "what is your answer, Mademoiselle St. Martin?"

"I ... I don't know. I want time to think of it."

"Of course, of course. I have been rash. I have spoken too soon."

She smiled at him. He would never be rash; he would never speak too soon. From his point of view at least, she knew there would be no doubt. She was not surprised. Young as she was she had been much admired.

"How long would you like to consider this ?" he asked eagerly.

"Oh ... a few days. . . . Perhaps a week."

"Then you will give me your answer not later than a week from to-day?"

"Yes, but there are things you should know about me."

"Nothing could change my feelings about you."

"You are very good, Mr. Beddoes," she said. "I shall always remember how good."

He kissed her hand and left her; and she decided then that she would be very foolish if she did not accept his offer of marriage.

Fenella sent for her. Fenella was well satisfied. She lay on her chaise longue and held out her hand. Taking Melisande's she patted it. "Dear child, Mr. Beddoes has spoken to me. You know of what." "I can guess."

"He is a good man, my dear." "I know he is." "And you will agree to marry him?"

"I have not yet made up my mind. He has given me a week to decide."

"I hope," said Fenella, picking up the ivory fan which was within her reach, "that you will decide to be wise."

"Sometimes that which appears to be wise turns out unwise."

"Not with a man like Andrew Beddoes, my dear. He knows where he's going. He will be a successful lawyer in a few years' time. Doubtless he will make a fine name for himself. He might get a knighthood. That wouldn't surprise me at all."

"Is it easier to live with people who have titles than those without?"

"Ha! It is an easier matter to live with a successful man than a failure. Don't be deceived by ideas about bread and cheese and kisses. They don't work after the first few weeks, and we want to see you settled for life. I won't deny I hoped you might marry into the peerage. A girl with looks like yours might have done so twenty years ago. But now, my dear, society is changing. The men who could offer you a grander marriage than this one wouldn't offer you marriage at all."

"Is it not a question of affection ?"

"That comes into it. But you are fond of him?"

"I admire him."

"Admiration is as good a basis as love. We seek to turn those we love into the perfect beings of our imagination. Those whom we admire we emulate. Yes, mutual admiration is a very good basis for marriage."

"Madam, I am rather bewildered. Why did my father send me to you? Why did he say I was to be apprenticed to a dressmaker when . . ."

"He could not have explained me nor my establishment to you, dear. Nobody could. I hope you have been happy here. Perhaps you have seen certain things which it was not good for you to see. Here each lives her own life. What is good for one may be bad for another. The chief quality we have is tolerance. You can't go far wrong in being tolerant, dear. Then you don't condemn; you don't blame. You say simply: 'That way is not the way I wish to go.' No more than that. Nobody is unhappy here. That is how I weigh the good and the bad. Happiness is good; sorrow is bad. If I give happiness, that is good enough for me."

"I see. And you would be happy if I accepted Mr. Beddoes ?"

"It is the best thing that could happen to you. I should be pleased; your father would be pleased."

"My father!"

"He wishes to see you happily settled, of course."

"Does he . . . care then?"

"Care! Of course he cares! He writes regularly asking me of your progress."

"I did not know."

"He cannot write to you. It is not in his nature to do so. He is a man of pride, of fixed conventions. You were* the result of an indiscretion which he feels would disgrace him if it were known. You may call him a coward. But be tolerant, Melisande. Always try to look through the eyes of others; that breeds the best things the world has to offer: kindness, tolerance, understanding and love."

Melisande knelt down and kissed Fenella's hand.

"I think," she said "that I will marry Mr. Beddoes."

After that night and the day which followed it, Melisande often thought that if only one had time to prepare for shocks, so much that was tragic might be averted.

The French maid was dressing her, Clotilde and Genevra.

Genevra was chatting with abandon in front of the maid, since the latter certainly could not understand Cenevra's English.

Genevra was laced and standing in her petticoats waiting for her dress of silk and lace to be slipped over her head. Clotilde lay back languorously in her chair. Melisande was standing before the mirror while Elise laced her corset. She was laughing as she gripped the back of a chair while Elise pulled tighter and tighter.

"That's enough," said Genevra. "Assez, assez! You'll make the poor girl faint into the arms of Mr. Beddoes. But I'll wager another gentleman would be there first to catch her."

"Is it true," asked Clotilde, "that you will marry this Mr. Beddoes, Melisande?"

"It is not yet decided."

"It is a mistake," said Clotilde. "I see it in your eyes. A great mistake."

"How can you be sure of that?" demanded Genevra. "One man's meat is another's poison. One girl's pleasure another's pain."

"Mademoiselle is ready?" asked Elise.

Melisande said she was, and the ivory velvet gown was slipped over her many petticoats.

"Ah," said Elise, "c'est charmante. Mademoiselle will be the belle of the soirSe."

"Traitress!" cried Genevra. "What of little Genevra!"

"Is charming also," said Elise. "But Mademoiselle Melisande . . . ah, parfaitel"

"I have the prettier dress to-night," said Melisande.

"Is it fair?" cried Genevra. "Your prey is trapped. I have yet mine to win. Do you know Teddy's family are trying to force him into marriage with a lady?"

"He'll not be forced," said Melisande. "You'll see to that."

"Poor Teddy!" sighed Genevra.

Clotilde said: "You are in love, Melisande, and it is not with the lawyer."

"I think," said Melisande, "and everyone thinks, it would be a good marriage."

"But a good marriage is not necessarily a happy one."

"Love!" said Elise. "V amour > ma chirie ... it is the best in the world and the . . . how do you say . . . the droit de naissance of Mademoiselle."

"Love, love, love!" cried Genevra. "Can you live on love? Can you eat love? Does it make a roof over your head?"

"Nothing else matters," said Clotilde.

"Agreed," said Genevra. "//"you already have the food and the roof. What if you have not?"

"All is well lost for love," said Clotilde.

"All is well lost for a crust of bread if you're starving. You, my dear Clo, have never starved. That's quite clear to me. You have never seen the inside of a factory, have you? I have. I say: 'Give me the food, give me a roof, give me freedom from earning a living, and then ... if there's anything more to be handed out . . . give me love.' I say to Melly: 'Marry your lawyer. Play my game.' It's the same, you know, only I'm playing for higher stakes. I'll be 'my lady' one of these days. I started lower but I'm going farther up; but it's the same old ladder we're climbing. Fermor Holland has* charm. I don't deny he's a temptation. But don't be foolish, my child. It wouldn't last, and then what would happen? The best would be that you'd be passed on like an old dress. First for the use of the lady, then my lady's maid, then the parlourmaid, then the housemaid . . . then the old slut who mops the kitchen floor . . . and after that the dust bin. No, dears, I know too much. I've seen too much. Don't let yourself get passed down. Marriage is enduring; love passes. Don't be deceived by the sugar and spice. The lawyer is a sensible man. Would he marry you but for the fact that your father's making it worth his while?"

"My father!" cried Melisande.

"Of course, ducky. You're one of the lucky ones. You're like our Lucie. Her father bought her a nice promising lawyer; your father's doing the same. It's only the poor like myself who have to fend for

236 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

themselves. That's why I'm fighting for Teddy. Teddy don't want a dowry, so all he's got to want is Genevra. It's hard, but it's been done before, and what others can do so can I."

"A dowry ..." Melisande was repeating.

"I listen. I keep my eyes open."

"Your manners are shocking," said Clotilde. "Nothing will improve them, I fear. Even when you become a peeress you'll be listening at keyholes."

"They say listeners never hear any good of themselves," said Genevra with a grimace. "Who cares? It's as well to know what people say of you—good or bad. And whoever says good of anyone behind their backs? My little habits have helped me along. That's why I know what a kind papa our Melisande has got. You're a lucky girl, Melly dear. He's a very fond papa. Madam told Polly that he's gone thoroughly into the history of your Mr. Beddoes and has satisfied himself that the young man is a suitable husband for his little ewe lamb. On the day you become Mrs. Beddoes a substantial sum will be handed to the lawyer and much good business will be put in his way. I'd say he was getting a double bargain. Dear little Melly and a fortune! I'd say he's coming off slightly better than Lucie's Francis. Why, what's the matter, dear?"