OUR NOVELLETTE.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 163, 3 November 1883, Page 10

OUR NOVELLETTE.

ADOLPHUS BEOWNE'S LITTLE JOKE.

Maeion Cabthew was a widow. Her husband had died two years after their marriage, leaving j lier mistress of a comfortable income, and a neatly ; furnished house in South Kensington. She j mourned his loss in the conventional manner, and for 'the conventional period, retiring from the world and spending her time in the most pious ! and orthodox way. From this chrysalis state she \ gradually emerged, first laying aside her weeds, then her tasty little crape adornments, then insinuating a few scraps of mauve here and there in her attire, and so on until, in course of time, she became her own butterfly self again. Of course there were some ill-natured persons whose propriety was shocked at seeing Mrs Carthew enjoying herself, when poor dear Mr Oartliew was alone in his grave ; but Marion seldom troubled herself about her enemies, a certain number of which any pretty and fascinating woman is bound to have. She had sacrificed herself to Mrs GSrundy for many months, while mourning for a husband, between whom and herself there had been but little love ; and now she felt entitled to some of the world's enjoyment, such as it is. When she was nob visiting her friends, she lived all alone in her large house, attended by one or two under-servants and her maid, one Martha Crump, a very good servant in her way, but a great retailer of gossip, and incorrigibly addicted to the " Penny Fiction." Marion Carthew was still a young woman, when she was tempted to promise another trial of matrimony, falling in love, by the way, for the first time in her life. The happy individual who had won hey hand was a certain Cuthbert Prendergast, a retired Indian Major, who, extraordinary to relate, had returned to his native land with a full purse and unimpaired digestion. He was a man still in the prime of life, and as young in heart as the veriest sub. that has just scraped through Sandhurst, and, if the truth were known, perhaps a trifle younger. He had seen some service during the Mutiny, when he had received a great sabre ■wound across his forehead. This scar, combined with his huge grizzled moustache, rendered him much fiercer to look upon than he really was. For the Major, although a trifle choleric at times, •was the most good-natured and the best of men. He was Btanding one day in the bay-window of his club in St. James's-street, idly watching the passera-by, when Mr Adolphus Browne, a casual acquaintance of his, came up and entered into conversation. Mr Browne was a placid, middle-aged man, with a pink and white complexion, and a vacuous expression of countenance. He was a victim to a strange hallucination that he waa a marvellous humourist, and consequently delighted in many eccentricities that an ordinary schoolboy, not to mention Macaulay*3 New. 2ea- . lander, would be heartily ashamed of. The worthy man imagined himself a second Theodore Hook, and indeed was somewhat inclined to the belief, that they had been co&vals. Hook would hare sunk into utter insignifiance when face to face with Mr Adolphus Browne. From the more than ordinary vacuity on this gentleman's face, the Major concluded that some exquisite piece of drollery waa in progress. Browne was a popular man in the club, to nearly all the menabers of which his little idiosyncrasios were well known. -_ • " Weil, Browne, you look funny this afternoon ; what's th© joke ? " " My dear follow, never had such a spree in my life !" replied the humourist, touching the Major'B •waistcoat, swan-fashion, "with tho tips of his fingers. " One of yours little jokes again, eh?" " Little jokes, my dear sir? You should never joke when a lady's in the case. There's a lady in the case, sir ! young, handsome, lovely, and accomplished ; and I have never seen hor in my life." " Well, where does tho spree come in ? " asked the Major. " Can't you guess ? Oh, Prondergast, you prosaic creature ! " Here ho cocked his hat to one side and settled his features into an insaner expression than ever. " There, my boy ! " he exclaimed, producing a newspaper from his coat tail pocket, " Did you ever come across this periodical before ? " " Gracious goodness I" cried the Major aghast, *• you don't mean to say that you patronise this tomfoolery ? " It waa a copy of a matrimonial paper. " Tomfoolery ? Well, if you go in for it seriously it may be so : but — ah, my dear boy I must show you her photograph ; " . " Hullo, Browne, you sly dog ! what is that I hear about photographs ? " exclaimed a mutual acquaintance, coming up to the window. Browne smiled inanely, " a matrimonial paper, sir," he explained, " bought a copy for fun last ygUjteek, saw an advertismont, fair and voluptuous <[ female wanting a husband ; young, no incumbrances ; apply— well (winking facetiously) that's tellings, you know I " " And Browne, in his funny way, answered it," - remarked the Major. " Bather ; I answered it — a grand description of Adolphus Browne — young, wealthy, an Adonis in bags and waistcoat — " " Strait waistcoat," muttered the Major. «Eh, what?" "Only mentioned the cut of waistcoat ; go on, Browne, you amusing man." " Well, what was I saying ? Oh, yes ! Grave a flattering description of myself, and wound up by asking for photograph. And here it is, 'to ■witness if I lie.' Why, what's the matter, Major ? Is she a friend o£ yours ?" Prendergast waa regarding the vignette with simple amazement. With a great effort he summoned up a smile. *"sHnnk I have seen her somewhere ; but are you joking, or did she really send ifc ?" "Of cours&> she sent it. You don't suppose I'd be such an idiot as to make up a story like this? Sweec creature!" he continued, theatrically, apostrophising the photo., lX I wonder what your name-is? What can M.C. stand for ?" " What's the matter with Prendergast ?" asked the man who had Joined them. " There he goes, tugging at that moustache of hia, and with that

huge scar red on his forehead, looking Eke a perfect fire-eater I" The fact of the matter was, that in the Major s pocket there lay a facsimile of the vignette which Browne had shown him, and the Major was a choleric man. A quarter of an hour later, a hansom rattled to. the door of No. 81, Onslow-square, and Major Prendergast sprang out. " Mrs Carthew is in, sir," said the servant, opening the door. "If you walk into the draw-ing-room she'll be down directly, sir." So the Major, having been ushered into the drawing-room, sat d»wn and waited. By sheer force of habit he turned over the leaves of an album lying on the table. He had often vaguely wandered through the somewhat uninteresting volume before, and accordingly every page was familiar to him. To his great surprise a photograph of Marion herself had disappeared from its place. He threw the book across the table in a rage. It was true, then ! Marion had been j playing fast and loose with him ; he would never j speak to her again ; a woman in her position to scandalise herself in a matrimonial paper ! It was simply revolting. Such thoughts were chasing: each other wildly through the irate Major's brain, when Marion, all smiles and prettiness, entered the room. | " I'm sorry that our interview, Mrs Carthew, ' must be a disagreeable one," said the Major, i rising and holding his hands behind his back. | " Cuthbert !" was all she could say in her astonishment. I " After what has occurred, Mrs Carthew, I do ! not think you will blame me, if I offer to release you from your engagement." _ i "Will you have the goodness to explain your- i self, Major Prendergast ?" _ ; " I should think there could be no necessity , for that on my -Dart. Can you explain what has become of that photograph ?" j " Why, what silly stories have you been listening J to ?" asked the widow, smiling, in spite of harself , | at the Major's indignation. . " How should I j know anything of the photograph ? I suppose I have given it away, or someone has taken it." ' "Then you can't account for it ?" "' '. " No ; and, besides, why should.! be responsible i to you for my action ? You Lave been poisoned by some of Miss McG-rudley's scandal, I suppose, and until you have recovered I shall leaTe you to yourself." And Mrs Carthew left the room in a very dignified fashion. The unfortunate Major, utterly unable to tell whether he had come off victorious, or had received an inglorious defeat, drove back to his club, wishing himself in India again, or anywhere out of the vicinity of Mr Adolphus Browne and Mrs Marion Carthew. The difference between a jealous man, when he is ssuei # c of his lady's falseness, and one in the Major's position, who is racked with alternate hopes and fears, is like that between a strong man who ha 9 made a good supper, and a nervous young lady who hasn't, when both are crossing the Channel on a rough night. In the one case there is something to work upon ; in the other, little or nothing. Having vented the greater part of his spleen against the two authors of his unhappinei<9, he turned, by way of change, the remainder on to himself. First he considered himself an old fool for feeling miserable about any woman athia I time of life, and then he equally anathematised himself for rushing so quickly at conclusions. The next two days were very dull and wretched for the Major ; on the third day he could bear it no longer ; so with a penitent air, he proceeded to South Kensington. But aa Mrs Carthew was not at home, the poor Major had to retire again to his club. The first person that met his eyes as he entered tho hall was Mr Adolphus Browne, very vacuous, with a gold - rimmed eye - glass firmly wedged in the superabundant fleßh that surrounded his expressionless eye, and a huge gardenia in his button-hole. He came up to Prendergast, smiling inanely. "You don't look happy, my friend." " No," replied the Major 5 " I'm a trifle bored at present." Browne was the last person he wished to see ; but, of course, Browne could not know that. "Bored, are you ? Then here's something that'll amuse you. You remember my matrimonial paper joke ? Well, it is still going on ; I had a letter this morning asking for an interview." The Major's heart beat fast. "A letter? Would you mind showing it to me, Browne, like a good fellow ?" " Cerfcainly, my dear boy ; only don't go and cut me out, you know." And he handed Prendergast the letter. It ran as follows : — "My Darling, — We must come to some explanation. lam going to meet some friends at the theatre this evening; but as my horse is lame, I shall go by train ; so, if you like, meet me at Gloucester-road Station at a quarter to eight. — Youra ever, 81, Omlow-squarej S.W. M.C." The Major gazed at the letter like one in a dream; for it was in Marion Carfehew's handwriting. At length he folded it up mechanically, and handed it back to the humorous one. " Browne," said he, " will you do me a great favour ?" " Only too happy." "Will you let me come with you to-night to CHoucester-road ? j " Well, of course, if you have any particular I reasons," replied Browne, rather embarrassed, and not feeling at all funny. "My reasons are very particular ; mind, this is entirely enti'e nous. I believe lam engaged to the 9ame lady myself.*' For a moment there spread over Browne's face a really intelligent expression. It was one of unbounded astonishment. His glass fell from his eye, and his gold-headed cane dropped with a crash en the marbld floor, while he stood there staring at the Major. " You had better dine with me, and then we can go down together," said Prendergast, as he turned away, leaving Adolphus Browne ■still bewildered in the hall. j At «. quarter to eight they were at the rendez- , vous. It was a dajjk, gloomy evening, and were it not for the gasffghts and the common-place passers-by, there might have been something romantic in the idea of the approaching interview.

Adolphus Browne was placidly smoking a cigarette, while the Major was tugging away at his moustache, and muttering a whole universe of inaudible maledictions. Presently a woman, dressed in black, with a neat little close-fitting bonnet and a 'veil, walked up to the door of the station, and paused there, as if undecided. "It ia she!" exclaimed the Major hoarsely, clutching Browne's arm. "I recognise the bonnet. She wore it when I first met her. Excuse me, Browne !" and ho walked up to the veiled lady. " So, madam, you cannot deny anything now !" The lady started as if she hud seen a churchyard full of apparitions. " Major Prendergast !" she exclaimed in a faltering voice, "for Heaven's sake don't tell missus ! Don't tell her, sir, or else I shall lose my place !" " G-racious heavens !" he gasped, a3 soon as his bewilderment would allow him to speak. "It's Martha Crump !" Adolphus Browne, who, despite his little eccentricities, was a gentleman at heart, had remained out of earshot up to now. Conjecturing from the Major's manner that his anticipations were only too correct, he came forward and took hold of his arm. " We had better go away now, Prendergast." "Browne," said the Major, "I don't know which of us is the greater fool — allow me to introduce you to Miss Martha Crump, lady's maid to Mrs Carthew, of 81, Onslow-square." " Good-bye," said Browne. " Here, Cabby — Cadogan Club ; " and G-loucester-road, for that evening at least, saw him no mox'e. " There are things which will yet have to be, | explained, Miss Crump," said the Major, wh.o:a J his friend had driven off. " I will call at jnce on your mistress ; is she at home ? " " Yes, sir." " Then you h«d better follow and explain as best you car.' He , found Marion, quite alone, reading very corcfortably. She looked up smiling when he made his appearance. " Have you recovered, Major Prendergast ? " she said. The Major might have been very valiant when surrounded by infuriated Hindoos, but he cut a sorry and awkward figure now, as he made the necessary apologies and explanations. " But I can't comprehend this letter," he remarked as he handed it to her. Marion glanced over it, and then looked through her portfolio. " I wrote thia letter, Cuthbort ; but it was intended for you. Your behaviour wa9 so strange the other day, that I thought wo had better coma to some understanding; ao I wrote this, but changed my mind afterwards, and did not send it. Martha must have stolen it. I will ring for her at once." Martha camo up weeping and repentant. By dint of cross- questioning, a satisfactory explanation was arrived at. She had advertised in a matrimonial newspaper, and had received, to her great surprise, an answer, in which there was a request for her photograph. Her silly brain filled with that cheap and nasty species literature, in which dukes marry their cooks, duchesses run away with their grooms, and everybody does the most idiotic and revolting things possible, was fairly turned. She stole one of her mistress's pkotos from the album and sent it to her unknown admirer, evidently having revelled in some gruesome story bearing on the case a few days before. The letter she had discovered while investigating Mrs Carthew'9 portfolio ; and not being possessed of an over-educated handwriting herself, was tempted to ÜBe it, especially a» the initials were her own. "Well," remarked Mrs Carthew, when all these facts had at length been brought to light, " I will give you a good character, Martha, for you have been a fair servant ; but you will leave my house to-morrow — good night." And Martha retired, weeping copiously. When they were alone, Marion rose and laid her hands on Cuthbert's shoulders. "No more matrimonial newspapers, Cuthbert ! " " We will never be connected with the matrimonial department of the Prea3, my dear," aaid he, putting his arm round her waist, " until our marriage is recorded in Modern Society ." # * # # # By some means or other, the story got wind, and Adolphus Browne wa3 chaffed unmercifully at the Club. Ho did not seem to mind it, however, for a fresh freak engaged hia attention, in which a cab horse and a policeman were mysteriously and un- , pleasantly mixed up. He made his appearance at the wedding, resplendent in eye-glass, goldheaded cane, and gardenia, and never looked more vacuous and self-contented in the whole course of hislife.