Before she could carry out this act of domestic virtue, her attention was drawn to a strife of tongues in the hall. She opened the folding-doors, and there was a fine gentleman obstructing the entrance of a somber, rusty figure, with a portfolio and a manuscript under each arm.
The fine gentleman was Colander. The seedy personage was the eternal Triplet, come to make hay with his five-foot rule while the sun shone.
Colander had opened the door to him, and he had shot into the hall. The major-domo obstructed the farther entrance of such a coat.
"I tell you my master is not at home," remonstrated the major-domo.
"How can you say so," cried Mrs. Vane, in surprise, "when you know he is in the garden?"
"Simpleton!" thought Colander.
"Show the gentleman in."
"Gentleman!" muttered Colander.
Triplet thanked her for her condescension; he would wait for Mr. Vane in the hall. "I came by appointment, madam; this is the only excuse for the importunity you have just witnessed."
Hearing this, Mrs. Vane dismissed Colander to inform his master. Colander bowed loftily, and walked into the servants' hall without deigning to take the last proposition into consideration.
"Come in here, sir," said Mabel; "Mr. Vane will come as soon as he can leave his company." Triplet entered in a series of obsequious jerks. "Sit down and rest you, sir." And Mrs. Vane seated herself at the table, and motioned with her white hand to Triplet to sit beside her.
Triplet bowed, and sat on the edge of a chair, and smirked and dropped his portfolio, and instantly begged Mrs. Vane's pardon; in taking it up, he let fall his manuscript, and was again confused; but in the middle of some superfluous and absurd excuse his eye fell on the haunch; it straightway dilated to an enormous size, and he became suddenly silent and absorbed in contemplation.
"You look sadly tired, sir."
"Why, yes, madam. It is a long way from Lambeth Walk, and it is passing hot, madam." He took his handkerchief out, and was about to wipe his brow, but returned it hastily to his pocket. "I beg your pardon, madam," said Triplet, whose ideas of breeding, though speculative, were severe, "I forgot myself."
Mabel looked at him, and colored, and slightly hesitated. At last she said: "I'll be bound you came in such a hurry you forgot--you mustn't be angry with me--to have your dinner first!"
For Triplet looked like an absurd wolf-- all benevolence and starvation!
"What divine intelligence!" thought Trip. "How strange, madam," cried he, "you have hit it! This accounts, at once, for a craving I feel. Now you remind me, I recollect carving for others, I did forget to remember myself. Not that I need have forgot it to-day, madam; but, being used to forget it, I did not remember not to forget it to-day, madam, that was all." And the author of this intelligent account smiled very, very, very absurdly.
She poured him out a glass of wine. He rose and bowed; but peremptorily refused it, with his tongue--his eye drank it.
"But you must," persisted this hospitable lady.
"But, madam, consider I am not entitled to-- Nectar, as I am a man!"
The white hand was filling his plate with partridge pie: "But, madam, you don't consider how you overwhelm me with your-- Ambrosia, as I am a poet!"
"I am sorry Mr. Vane should keep you waiting."
"By no means, madam; it is fortunate--I mean, it procures me the pleasure of" (here articulation became obstructed) "your society, madam. Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting. What we are not used to is"
(here the white hand filled his glass) "being waited upon by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honor "--(Deglutition).
"A poet!" cried Mabel; "oh! I am so glad! Little did I think ever to see a living poet! Dear heart! I should not have known, if you had not told me. Sir, I love poetry!"
"It is in your face, madam." Triplet instantly whipped out his manuscript, put a plate on one corner of it, and a decanter on the other, and begged her opinion of this trifle, composed, said he, "in honor of a lady Mr. Vane entertains to-day."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Vane, and colored with pleasure. How ungrateful she had been! Here was an attention!--For, of course, she never doubted that the verses were in honor of her arrival.
"'Bright being--'" sang out Triplet.
"Nay, sir," said Mabel; "I think I know the lady, and it would be hardly proper of me--"
"Oh, madam!" said Triplet, solemnly; "strictly correct, madam!" And he spread his hand out over his bosom. "Strictly!-- 'Blunderbuss' (my poetical name, madam) never stooped to the taste of the town.
'Bright being, thou--'"
"But you must have another glass of wine first, and a slice of the haunch."
"With alacrity, madam." He laid in a fresh stock of provisions.
Strange it was to see them side by side! _he,_ a Don Quixote, with cordage instead of lines in his mahogany face, and clothes hanging upon him; _she,_ smooth, duck-like, delicious, and bright as an opening rose fresh with dew!
She watched him kindly, archly and demurely; and still plied him, countrywise, with every mortal thing on the table.
But the poet was not a boa-constrictor, and even a boa-constrictor has an end. Hunger satisfied, his next strongest feeling, simple vanity, remained to be contented. As the last morsel went in out came:
"'Bright being, thou whose ra--'"
"No! no!" said she, who fancied herself (and not without reason) the bright being. "Mr. Vane intended them for a surprise."
"As you please, madam;" and the disappointed bore sighed. "But you would have liked them, for the theme inspired me. The kindest, the most generous of women! Don't you agree with me, madam?"
Mabel Vane opened her eyes. "Hardly, sir," laughed she.
"If you knew her as I do."
"I ought to know her better, sir."
"Ay, indeed! Well, madam, now her kindness to me, for instance--a poor devil like me. The expression, I trust, is not disagreeable to you, madam? If so, forgive me, and consider it withdrawn."
"La, sir! civility is so cheap, if you go to that."
