Tony Butler

"Set him down! What do you mean?"

"He was talking somewhat big of 'cross-country riding, and I asked him about his stable, and if his cattle ran more on bone than blood."

"Oh, Mark, you did not do that?" cried Bella, anxiously.

"Yes; and when I saw his confusion, I said, 'You must let me walk over some morning, and have a look at your nags; for I know from the way you speak of horseflesh I shall see something spicy.'"

"And what answer did he make?" asked Bella, with an eager look.

"He got very red, crimson, indeed, and stammered out, 'You may spare yourself the walk, sir; for the only quadruped I have is a spaniel, and she is blind from age, and stupid.'"

"Who was the sn.o.b there, Mark?" said Mrs. Trafford, angrily.

"Alice!" said he, raising his eyebrows, and looking at her with a cold astonishment.

"I beg pardon in all humility, Mark," said she, hastily. "I am very sorry to have offended you; but I forgot myself. I fancied you had been unjust to one we all value very highly, and my tongue outran me."

"These sort of fellows," continued he, as if unheeding her excuses, "only get a footing in houses where there are no men, or at least none of their own age; and thus they are deemed Admirable Crichtons because they can row, or swim, or kill a salmon. Now, when a gentleman does these things, and fifty more of the same sort, n.o.body knows it. You'll see in a day or two here a friend of mine, a certain Norman Maitland, that will beat your young savage at everything,--ride, row, walk, shoot or single-stick him for whatever he pleases; and yet I 'll wager you 'll never know from Maitland's manner or conversation that he ever took the lock of a ca.n.a.l in a leap, or shot a jaguar single-handed."

"Is your phoenix really coming here?" asked Mrs. Trafford, only too glad to get another channel for the conversation.

"Yes; here is what he writes;" and he took a note from his pocket.

"'I forget, my dear Lyle, whether your chateau be beside the lakes of Killarney, the groves of Blarney, or what other picturesque celebrity your island claims; but I have vowed you a visit of two days,--three, if you insist,--but not another if you die for it.' Is n't he droll?"

"He is insufferably impudent. There is 'a sn.o.b' if there ever was one,"

cried Alice, exultingly.

"Norman Maitland, Norman Maitland a sn.o.b! Why, my dear sister, what will you say next? Ask the world its opinion of Norman Maitland, for he is just as well known in St. Petersburg as Piccadilly, and the ring of his rifle is as familiar on the Himalayas as on a Scotch mountain. There is not a gathering for pleasure, nor a country-house party in the kingdom, would not deem themselves thrice fortunate to secure a pa.s.sing visit from him, and he is going to give us three days."

"Has he been long in your regiment, Mark?" asked Mrs. Trafford.

"Maitland has never served with us; he joined us in Simla as a member of our mess, and we call him 'of ours' because he never would dine with the 9th or the 50th. Maitland would n't take the command of a division to have the bore and worry of soldiering,--and why should he?"

It was not without astonishment Mark's sisters saw their brother, usually cold and apathetic in his tone, so warmly enthusiastic about his friend Maitland, of whom he continued to talk with rapture, recalling innumerable traits of character and temper, but which unhappily only testified to the success with which he had practised towards the world an amount of impertinence and presumption that seemed scarcely credible.

"If he only be like your portrait, I call him downright detestable,"

said Mrs. Trafford.

"Yes, but you are dying to see him all the same, and so is Bella."

"Let me answer for myself, Mark," said Isabella, "and a.s.sure you that, so far from curiosity, I feel an actual repugnance to the thought of meeting him. I don't really know whether the condescending politeness of such a man, or his cool impertinence, is the greater insult."

"Poor Maitland, how will you encounter what is prepared for you?" said be, mockingly; "but courage, girls, I think he 'll survive it,--only I beg no unnecessary cruelty,--no harshness beyond what his own transgressions may call down upon him; and don't condemn him merely, and for no other reason, than because he is the friend of your brother." And with this speech he turned short round and ascended a steep path at his side, and was lost to their view in a minute.

"Isn't he changed, Alice? Did you ever see any one so altered?"

"Not a bit changed, Bella; he is exactly what he was at the grammar-school, at Harrow, and at Sandhurst,--very intolerant to the whole world, as a compensation for the tyranny some one, boy or man as it may be, exercises over him. All his good qualities lie under this veil, and so it was ever with him."

"I wish his friend was not coming."

"And I wish that

"Here's a strange piece of news for you, girls," said Sir Arthur, coming towards them. "Tony Butler left for Liverpool in the packet this morning. Barnes, who was seeing his brother off, saw him mount the side of the steamer with his portmanteau in his hand. Is it not singular he should have said nothing about this last night?"

The sisters looked with a certain secret intelligence at each other, but did not speak. "Except, perhaps, he may have told you girls." added he quickly, and catching the glance that pa.s.sed between them.

"No, papa," said Alice, "he said nothing of his intention to us; indeed, he was to have ridden over with me this morning to Mount-Leslie, and ask about those private theatricals that have been concerted there for the last two years, but of which all the performers either marry or die off during the rehearsals."

"Perhaps this all-accomplished friend of Mark's who comes here by the end of the week, will give the project his a.s.sistance. If the half of what Mark says of him be true, we shall have for our guest one of the wonders of Europe."

"I wish the Leslies would take me on a visit till he goes," said Alice.

"And I," said Bella, "have serious thoughts of a sore throat that will confine me to my room. Brummelism--and I hate it--it is just Brummelism--is somewhat out of vogue at this time of day. It wants the prestige of originality, and it wants the high patronage that once covered it; but there is no sacrifice of self-respect in being amused by it, so let us at least enjoy a hearty laugh, which is more than the adorers of the great Beau himself ever acquired at his expense."

"At all events, girls, don't desert the field and leave me alone with the enemy; for this man is just coming when we shall have no one here, as ill-luck would have it."

"Don't say ill-luck, papa," interposed Bella; "for if he be like what we suspect, he would outrage and affront every one of our acquaintance."

"Three days are not an eternity," said he, half gayly, "and we must make the best of it."

CHAPTER III. A VERY "FINE GENTLEMAN"

One word about Mr. Norman Maitland, of whom this history will have something more to say hereafter. He was one of those men, too few in number to form a cla.s.s, but of which nearly every nation on the Continent has some examples,--men with good manners and good means, met with always in the great world,--at home in the most exclusive circles, much thought of, much caressed; but of whom, as to family, friends, or belongings, no one can tell anything. They who can recall the society of Paris some forty years back, will remember such a man in Montrond. Rich, accomplished, handsome, and with the most fascinating address, Montrond won his way into circles the barriers to which extended even to royalty; and yet all the world were asking, "Who is he?--who knows him?" Maitland was another of these. Men constantly canva.s.sed him, agreed that he was not of these "Maitlands" or of those--that n.o.body was at school with him,--none remembered him at Eton or at Rugby. He first burst upon life at Cambridge, where he rode boldly, was a first-rate cricketer, gave splendid wine-parties, wrote a prize poem, and disappeared none ever knew whence or wherefore. He was elected for a borough, but only was seen twice or thrice in the House. He entered the army, but left without joining his regiment. He was to be heard of in every city of Europe, living sumptuously, playing high,--more often a loser than a winner. His horses, his carriages, his liveries, were models; and wherever he went his track could be marked in the host of imitators he left behind him.

For some four or five years back all that was known of him was in some vague paragraph appearing from time to time that some tourist had met him in the Rocky Mountains, or that he had been seen in Circa.s.sia. An Archduke on his travels had partaken of his hospitality in the extreme north of India; and one of our naval commanders spoke of dining on board his yacht in the Southern Pacific. Those who were curious about him learned that he was beginning to show some slight touches of years,--how he had grown fatter, some said more serious and grave,--and a few censoriously hinted that his beard and moustaches were a shade darker than they used to be. Maitland, in short, was just beginning to drop out of people's minds, when he reappeared once more in England, looking in reality very little altered, save that his dark complexion seemed a little darker from travel, and he was slightly, very slightly, bald on the top of the head.

It was remarked, however, that his old pursuits, which were purely those of pleasure or dissipation, had not, to all appearance, the same hold on him as before. "He never goes down to Tattersall's," "I don't think I have seen him once at the opera," "He has given up play altogether,"

were the rumors one heard on all sides; and so it was that the young generation, who had only heard of but never seen him, were sorely disappointed in meeting the somewhat quiet, reserved-looking, haughty man, whose wild feats and eccentricities had so often amused them, but who now gave no evidence of being other than a cold, well-bred gentleman.

It was when hastily pa.s.sing through London, on his return from India, that Mark Lyle had met him, and Maitland had given him a half-careless promise to come and see him. "I want to go across to Ireland," said he, "and whenever town gets hot, I'll run over." Mark would have heard the same words from a royal duke with less pride, for he had been brought up in his Sandhurst days with great traditions of Maitland; and the favor the great man had extended to him in India, riding his horses, and once sharing his bungalow, had so redounded to his credit in the regiment that even a tyrannical major had grown bland and gentle to him.

Mark was, however, far from confident that he could rely on his promise.

It seemed too bright a prospect to be possible. Maitland, who had never been in Ireland,--whom one could, as Mark thought, no more fancy in Ireland than he could imagine a London fine lady pa.s.sing her mornings in a poorhouse, or inspecting the coa.r.s.e labors of a sewing-school,--_he_ coming over to see him! What a triumph, were it only to be true! and now the post told him it was true, and that Maitland would arrive at the Abbey on Sat.u.r.day. Now, when Mark had turned away so hastily and left his sisters, he began to regret that he had announced the approaching arrival of his friend with such a flourish of trumpets. "I ought to have said nothing whatever about him. I ought simply to have announced him as a man very well off, and much asked out, and have left the rest to fortune. All I have done by my ill-judged praise has been to awaken prejudice against him, and make them eager to detect flaws, if they can, in his manner,--at all events in his temper." The longer he thought over these things the more they distressed him; and, at last, so far from being overjoyed, as he expected, at the visit of his distinguished friend, he saw the day of his coming dawn with dismay and misgiving.

Indeed, had such a thing as putting him off been possible, it is likely he would have done it.

The long-looked-for and somewhat feared Sat.u.r.day came at last, and with it came a note of a few lines from Maitland. They were dated from a little village in Wicklow, and ran thus:--

"Dear L.,--I have come down here with a Yankee, whom I chanced upon as a travelling companion, to look at the mines,--gold, they call them; and if I am not seduced into a search after nuggets, I shall be with you some time--I cannot define the day--next week. The country is prettier and the people less barbarous than I expected; but I hear your neighborhood will compensate me for both disappointments.

"Yours,

"N. M."

"Well! are we to send the carriage into Coleraine for him, Mark?" asked Sir Arthur, as his son continued to read the letter, without lifting his eyes.

"No," said Mark, in some confusion. "This is a sort of put-off. He cannot be here for several days. Some friend or acquaintance has dragged him off in another direction;" and he crushed the note in his hand, afraid of being asked to read or to show it.