LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 231, 6 March 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

COLLARED,

By Albany de Fonblanque, Author of “A Tangled Skein,” &c,

( Continued.')

* And I six hundred, pay and] all! It’s heavy odds, Percy.’ ‘ Grease against blood ! I’ll back the red, Charley ; that is, if the girl—, * Don’t; please don’t. Leave her out of this part of the talk. It’s awful to think that she could be bought for money. ’ ‘What about her being won by something else, whilst you stand by shillyshallying ?’ ‘ They’ll say I want her fortune.’ * Let them, so that you get her. ’ ‘ I must think about it. ‘ He has made up his mind. Did you notice how he brightened up when he thought you were not going to the ball ?’ ‘Not!.’ ‘ If he does not propose to-night, call me a duffer,’ said the Bird. ‘Look here, Percy,’ said Ashleigh; ‘l’m not a conceited man, but, hang it, if I could feel that it was only a question of who spoke first, much as I—well, your horsey talk is catching ; I shouldn’t care to win by a neck. I want to distance the field.’ ‘Fond youth,’ said the Bird, relapsing into his usual chaffy manner, ‘in these practical days young ladies are provided, amongst other useful objects, with papas, who, for the most part, entertain unromantic views with regard to matrimonial contracts, and have frequent opportunities of impressing them upon their daughters’ minds. Those charmers have also been known to possess a feeling called pique, which has led them to smile upon Mr Wrongman when Mr Rightboy does not cut in when he ought. Don’t you give papa time to talk, and don’t you give papa’s daughter cause to doubt. Go in and win, if you can—never mind about by how much. Win, and the moment your number’s up, the second horse is under the daisies—the beautiful, beautiful daises !’ This conversation proved so interesting that Ashleigh forgot all about the dogcollar, which remained firmly clasped by its patent lock around his neck. They had a little more talk, and then went up to dress. ‘ I say, Percy !’ shouted Ashleigh from his room about ten minutes after they had retired. ‘Well?’ ‘ You are not larking, are you ?’ ‘ I am wrestling with a recalcitrant stud at present.’ ‘ But you’ve got the key.’ ‘ What key ?’ ‘ Why, the key of this confounded collar. ’ ‘ No, I haven’t.’ ‘ There were two in the pai’cel when you opened it.’ ‘ Well, I left them on the table.’ ‘ 1 can’t find either. ’ * Ask the Marquis.’ * He’s gone.’ ‘Gone!’ ‘Yes, dressed and started without a word. Took the dog cart, too, when we settled that I should have it.’ ‘ Cool! Hold on, and I’ll come and help you look for the keys. They’re on the floor, or under the rug, or somewhere,’ cried the Bird. They were not on the floor, or under the rug, or anywhere. That famous search for the lost ring of the ‘ Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims’ was a brief and superficial inquest in comparison to that in which those keys were sought, and sought in vain. There was no conceivable lurking-place that was not examined, turned out, and felt ovex*. At last the truth flashed on them both at once. It was a practical joke of the Marquis ! It was a trick to keep his rival away from the ball ! What was to be done ? File the chain ? There was not a file in the house. Break it? It was made of the toxighest steel. Press it down and button his shirt over it ? Couldn’t be done. Push it up high on the neck, and wear it so ? ‘ By Jove,’ cried the Bird, ‘ do it, and turn the laugh on him. ’ ‘ But his friend shook his head. ‘ People don’t always laugh with the right side,’ he said ; ‘ and I must not risk their laughing on the wrong. No, Percy ; I must stay behind, but —’ He ground his teeth, and a look came into his eyes which boded no pleasure to Mr Fitzwalter-Smith out of their next interview. * I have it!’ shouted Percy. ‘ Quick, old man ; dress all but your linen collar and tie, and bring them along with you.’ ‘ Where ?’ ‘Never mind. Thei’e’s not a moment to lose. Do as I tell you, and trust to xne.’ ‘ We’re going to the Ridge,’ he explained, when they started, ‘ Old Balfoure’s got a turning lathe and all sorts of tools. He’s no end of a (mechanic. If we can only catch him, he’ll have that thing off in a brace of shakes. Drive, “ as the wolves of Apennine were howling on thy track. ’ ’ ‘ Beg your pardon, sir ?’ said the man, pulling xxp. ‘ 0, bother! Don’t stop to ask questions. Drive like blazes! ’ This was understood. They just did catch Mr Balfoure, and no more. As they turned in one gate of the

Ridge his carriage lamps flashed out of the other; but he was brought to by a shout from the Bird. Would he come back to the house, as a great favour, for two minutes? ‘ls anything wrong!’ inquired Fanny eagerly, and turning very pale. ‘ 0 dear no, nothing; only a little service Captain Ashleigh requires.’ * 0, is he hurt? ’ ‘Not in the least.’ This was said through the carriagewindow, as Percy followed it back to the porch; ‘old’ Balfcure’s reply to the first question having been—Why, of course he would. Now, when a young lady is thus unceremoniously stopped on her way to a ball, she may be excused if she evince some curiosity as to the cause of her detention. When she beholds that cause discussed in mysterious whispers between her father and a gentleman in whom she takes a lively interest, such curiosity is not diminished; and when, with a vague fear that something dreadful has happened, she follows those conspirators to her parent’s tool room, and discovers him busy with two pairs of most formidablelooking pincers upon that gentleman’s throat, it must, I think, be admitted that she is entitled to some sort of an explanation.

‘ Put it on in fun, and can’t get off,’ said Balfoure, in answer to her look of wonder and appeal. ‘ Mind your dress, my love, against the lathe—it’s oily.’ * That fellow Smith stole the key to keep him away from the ball,’ whispered Percy, as she turned to guard her train. The two big pairs of pincers were not to be denied. The rings which held the chain to to the name-plate were what I believe are called ‘jump’ rings, and opened at the wellapplied force brought to bear upon them, without causing the wearer any pain. But those useful implements were greasy—as well-kept tools should be—and Mr Balfoure had to run away and wash his hands, leaving word with Fanny to ring and have Captain Ashleigh shown to a room where he could complete his toilette. Percy (who knew his business) ran away too, and then there was some delay about ringing that bell, ‘ Did it hurt much ?’ Fanny asked, after a pause. ‘ Not at all; your father was so very careful.’ * Dear papa! He looked so like a dentist with those pincer things.’ Then they had a quiet little laugh. ‘ I hope you and Mr Fitzwalter-Smith will not quarrel about this—won’t quarrel dreadfully, I mean,’ Fanny went on, fidgeting with the dog-collar as she spoke. * There is no duelling nowadays, if that is what you mean, Miss Balfoure,’ Ashleigh replied a little dryly. ‘lf there were, I fancy there would be fewer practical joke* played. You need be under no apprehension about Mr Fitzwalter-Smith.’ ‘ I wasn’t thinking of him,’ she mused, half to herself, but he caught the words. The smallest spark will explode the biggest powder-magazine. A very little look, a slight change in the tone of a voice, the turn of a head, a sigh, will also cause a mighty convulsion when two young people, brimful of love for each other, stand up vis-a-vis at a work-bench, and are both busy with a chain which only measures fifteen and a half inches. She had let out her secret, and she knew he knew it. When she raised her eyes again it was all out and over. * * * * ‘ May I have this ?’ she asked, touching the collar. ‘ What will you say for it ?’ ‘ Something pretty, of course.’ ‘ Go on.’ ‘ Please. ’ ‘ Please, what ?’ ‘ Please give me the collar.’ ‘ Please, who ?’ ‘ Please, Captain Ashleigh,’ * 0, that won’t do at all. ’ ‘Well, please, d-dear Captain Ashleigh,’ she said, with a little gasp over the ‘ dear.’ ‘ Better, but not up to the mark yet. ’ ‘ What must I say ? Teach me. ’ ‘ Say ‘ please, dear Charley. ’ ’ ‘ Please, dear Charley ’ So she got it. *My dear Fanny,’ cried her father, as he bustled back into the sanctum, ‘ how very inconsiderate of you not to send Captain Ashleigh to a room, as I told you. Pray ex cuse her. These girls think of nothing but their balls. I’m afraid you’ll be very late. You won’t get any partners if you don’t make haste. ’

‘ Thank yon, sir,’ he replied; * I shall do. I’m rather deeply engaged already. ’

Then the process of packing the carriage was repeated. Mr Balfoure entered, and made himself as small as possible in the farthest corner, so as to give room for his daughter. First, there appeared two white spangles on the steps—those were her feet. Next came a rush of perfume, pearls, and curls —that was her head. Lastly an avalanch (which had devastated a lace manufactory and a flower garden)—that was her dress. It surged over her parent, and overwhelmed him up to his spectacles. It tried hard to force its way out of the window, and was only repulsed by a successful flank movement of the maid. Behind a pair of three-parts thoroughbred horses it arrived at the ball, and assumed its proper form around the graceful figure of its wearer, a full half-hour before the ‘ construction on wheels’ which carried the Bird and Captain Ashleigh came lipety-lop into the courtyard. The ball was given by one of the members of the county to celebrate the coming of age of his eldest son. It was to be a grand, gay, and whole-hearted affair. People were to come early and stay late. There was to be nonsense about it. No lounging in doorways, and Loudon laziness. An ambuscade, formidable in point of numbers, but undisciplined, burst upon the belle as she tripped down from the ladies’ dressing-room, and clamoured for about five and-twenty dances more than any mortal programme could hold. Foremost of the baud was Mr FitzwalterSmith, whom she greeted with one of her brightest smiles. He thought he was desperately in love with her. He was only in love with the eclat which might surround him as her ac ■ cepted suitor. He would have been in love also with the glory of seeing so graceful a creature at the head of his table, and doing the honours of his house; but inside her beauty was a grace which he never could have appreciated, which refined her charms of face and figure, and would outlive them. Of course he was in love, in a way, with those charms, but it was not in the way that Fanny Balfoure deserved to be won. (To be continued.)