CHAPTER XVIII
IN WHICH THE CONSEQUENCES ARE DAMNED
WITH NO UNCERTAINTY
MUFFINS and Chayney Tea in Grandmamma’s withdrawing-room were not out of place, because the afternoon had been really so strenuous; moreover, Grandmamma herself did not appear to view the guilty pair with the eye of disfavor. But that was breeding, doubtless. Not that Mr. Philip entered into any exhaustive inquiry. When you are in the seventh heaven, even the eye of Edward Bean’s goddaughter may be bereft of some of its terrors.
“We had such a lovely lunch at Pagani’s, Granny dear.”
“Had you, my dear? How interesting!”
Did Granny mean it was interesting, or did she mean it wasn’t? You see, you never quite know—do you?—when the elocution of old ladies who have kept pretty good company for about eighty-four summers is so very clear-cut.
“And what do you think, Granny? I have been with Phil-ipp to take a perfectly lovely little flat on a three years’ lease in Knightsbridge, overlooking the park.”
“With whom have you been, my dear?”
Now we do think that was just a little unkind of Granny, don’t you?
Mary’s elocution, though, in the opinion of Mr. Hollins—and he’s an authority—was worth two hundred a week to the Lane; so it came in very useful just now, and showed that she was not going to be put out of court as easily as all that.
“With Phil-ipp, Granny dear.”
“Mr. Shelmerdine, I presume, my dear.”
Granny’s presumption was correct; and a few more muffins were indicated, Mary seemed to think, for all that her lunch at Pagani’s had been so terrific.
All this was merely brushing the ice; it was not really breaking it; and who was going to break it was the problem that now was exercising the manly bosom of Philip. However, they would await that further relay of muffins before they ventured on the pickaxe act.
Muffins with a little salt sprinkled upon ’em do splendidly with Chayney tea, even after a toppin’ little lunch at Pagani’s. Sometimes, that is. Rather depends, you know, on what quarter the moon is in, and whether Mars and Venus are in conjunction, and Jupiter is in the First House, and the Sun is in Aries, and so on. But given that all these signs and portents are favorable, there is really no reason why muffins and salt and Chayney tea should not be perfectly delectable in Granny’s withdrawing-room at twenty minutes past four, even after a champagne luncheon at Pagani’s at a quarter to two.
The planetary bodies have been behaving quite nicely this afternoon, so far. Let us hope they will continue to do so.
Jupiter was in the First House, you must please remember; and it was not less than he, as of course the discerning reader has known from the first, who ruled the destinies of this daughter of good fortune who had been endowed with every grace. Therefore it need surprise no one that Mary received a special message by wireless with her second cup of Chayney tea.
“Take Granny into your confidence now, my dear,” ran the message. “She has had quite a nice nap; her rheumatism has scarcely troubled her at all to-day; she can’t help liking your Phil-ipp, although she has tried her hardest not to; and she is rather inclined to think that it may do no harm to teach—”
Yes, it is doubtless right to keep that part of the message off the records at present.
Mary flung her arms round the neck of Granny, in perilous contiguity to the real-lace-of-Siddons.
“What would you say if Phil-ipp and I were to get married, Granny—quite soon—and we had a sort of a little honeymoon at Brighton with you?”
This was the pickaxe with a vengeance, Miss Mary. Jupiter was very much in the First House this afternoon.
Granny did not say anything immediately. Still, having had a good nap, she sustained the inquiry with admirable composure.
“Very precipitate, my dear, and very unwise, I fear. Have you given sufficient consideration to the Step?”
“We’ve both thought it over, ma’am,” said Mr. Philip, who really felt he was walking on air just now.
“The Step seems singularly unwise to me, Mr. Shelmerdine.”
“Why does it, Granny?”
“The reasons, my dear, are many and hardly such as to call for enumeration. In the first place, I understand that Mr. Shelmerdine’s family is much opposed to the Match.”
“They are bound to come round, ma’am if we give them time,” said Mr. Philip.
Grandmamma was not so optimistic.
“Not, of course, Mr. Shelmerdine, if you will permit me to say so, that in the circumstances one regards the sanction of your parents as a sine quâ non.”
The young man concurred with Grandmamma, more explicitly perhaps than he ought to have done.
“And then there is the question of your vocation, Mr. Shelmerdine. You have none at present, I understand.”
“I’m goin’ to see about Parliament at once, ma’am.”
Grandmamma was bound to admit that the State of Things was not wholly satisfactory to her, but she had had a good nap, and Jupiter was in the First House, and it would really do no harm to Mary to retire from Pantomime and marry a nice young man—which this young man appeared to be, in spite of his mother. Moreover, Grandmamma, being an old lady of spirit, was not altogether averse from teaching some people a lesson. So if she didn’t say Yes with any degree of enthusiasm, she didn’t say No with any measure of conviction. She belonged to a bygone age which looked at things rather differently from the present one; but if young people wanted very much to marry, old people should not interfere more than was really necessary. All of which goes to show that when Grandmamma had had a good nap and Jupiter was in the First House, she could be as wise and broad-minded as any other old lady.
Still, Grandmamma was afraid that things had altered strangely since her time; but this was a nice young man, in spite of his unfilial attitude; and if a girl really felt she had to marry, there can be nothing so very wrong in marrying a nice young man. But things had altered since her time, thought Granny. Nice young men hardly behaved in this way in 1851, the Exhibition year; which rather goes to show, we are afraid, that the wisest of old ladies are as prone to misread the signs and portents as the lesser mortals.
Mary and Philip, however, kept their exuberance for a crowded and glorious five minutes in the Private Piggery, wherein the lucky young dog inveigled himself for the purpose of putting on the coat with the astrachan collar.
“We must get it all fixed up at once, old girl, and we’ll waste no time about it. We’ll do it in style, at a church, don’t you think? Not of course that I don’t prefer the other way, like any other chap if he had his choice, but that’s a bit rough on the girl, isn’t it?”
Mary thought he was rather a dear to think of the Girl’s side; and he thought that she was rather a dear to think that he could be a dear for thinking of his obvious duty. And there they were, you see. Now please don’t be cynical, you young ladies of Newnham and Girton; it will be your turn presently, and when it comes, my dears, take the advice of your Uncle John, and behave as much as you can like Philip and Mary. But see that the door of the Private Piggery is closed when Jane is passing, otherwise it may have a tendency to put ideas in the heads of pretty young parlor-maids, and Grandmamma has found occasion to tell Miss Jane privately more than once that she has quite sufficient of Those already.
“We’ll send out invitations for anywhere you like, old girl, and we’ll get old Minnie Wingrove to collect all the brightest people in London; and the papers will make such a fuss that we shan’t half wipe the eye of Grosvenor Square, shall we?”
“Naughty Phil-ipp. You mustn’t never wipe the eye of no one.”
Still, she had rather forgotten, hadn’t she, young ladies of Newnham and Girton, that Mr. Philip was not yet an archangel in a large way of trade, although apparently that was her ambition for him. But you won’t think any the worse of her, will you? It’s all in the game, my dears, and a very nice game, too, if you play it slowly.
How long would it take her to get her trousseau?
No, you young bachelors of Cam and Isis, that was not a clever question. But one must expect this sort of thing of an amateur now and then. Philip, young friend, your inquiry should have been differently expressed.
And what was Mary’s answer to the foolish question? Why, just what yours would have been, young ladies.
Mary didn’t know how long it would take her to get her trousseau.
We agree with you, my dears, that only a perfect Silly would have been guilty of any such inquiry.
Should they go to Algiers for the honeymoon?
“Yes, Phil-ipp, but who is going to look after Granny at Brighton? She goes there every March, you know, by advice.”
“We’ll go to Brighton, then,” said Philip, “or a tour round the world, or anywhere.”
So they left it at that; and the lucky young dog proceeded on foot to the nearest of his clubs, for all that he felt like an airship really; and engaged in a game of snooker pool with two eminent criminal barristers—that is to say, two eminent members of the Common Law Bar—and was very soon the poorer by the sum of two pounds sterling.
Then the young man sat down and wrote a little line to Mary, which ran to four pages, and was absolutely superfluous, because it was really about nothing at all except to remind her that she was the dearest and best, etc. Fortunately he had the good sense to tear it up, so that not one was a penny the worse for an ill-written, and miss-spelt, and hopelessly ungrammatical effusion, and that notwithstanding that the writer had enjoyed all the advantages of a regular classical education. And then Mr. Wingrove sauntered into the Club in his magnificent mannah, and then the floodgates opened.
“I’ve done it, Min.”
The great man was almost afraid the too-familiar groundling would cast himself upon his neck.
“Done what, and why have you done it?” was the unsympathetic inquiry of one whose heart was really as ripe as his judgment.
A long and impassioned recital, of course; and Minnie must help to make it a really great occasion, in order to wipe the eye of No. 88, the corner house.
Mr. Wingrove evinced no particular enthusiasm for this operation, and that was as it should have been, because the attitude of Mr. Philip was fearfully unfilial. Do not for a moment let us pretend it wasn’t. But what was a chap to do?
In the circumstances, perhaps, thought Arminius Wingrove, it would show good feeling to be married by the Registrar.
“I’m hanged if we’ll be,” said Philip, “unless she really wants it; and of course no girl does.”
“Then it appears to me,” said Arminius Wingrove, “that you should go to church as quietly as possible in the absence of your parents.”
“That’s their look-out, though,” said this dogged Briton. “They’ll get an invitation; and if they like to come, so much the better; and if they don’t, why it’s up to us to show that we can do without ’em.”
But Arminius Wingrove was quite a man of the world, you know. If your admirable parents consent to grace this celebration, said that great man, I will exert any little influence I may possess to raise large type in the Leading Morning Journal. But if your admirable parents decide not to grace this celebration, let only the chosen few be present, because to my mind good taste requires it.
These were wise words of Arminius Wingrove. Pray ponder ’em, you young bachelors of Cam and Isis. And you young ladies of Newnham and Girton, should you ever—which we hope you’ll never—go to church in a mechanically propelled vehicle without the consent of your parents, please to remember that in the mature judgment of the arbiter elegantiarum, good taste requires that you shall be married in your traveling dress, and that you shall go in by the side entrance.