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"Won't you sit farther forward?" he begged her earnestly; "so that I can see your beautiful golden hair?" He heard but dimly the spasmodic uproar that followed. "Laugh on!" he repeated with a swoop of his arm. "I don't care! Don't you care either, Mrs. Mount-Rhyswicke. Please sit where I can see your beautiful golden hair. Don't be afraid I'll kiss you again. I wouldn't do it for the whole world.
"If Lady Mount-Rhyswicke sat at my table," returned Mellin dashingly, "I should wish all the light in the world to shine upon so happy an event." "Hear the man!" she drawled. "He's proposing to me. Thinks I'm a widow." There was a chorus of laughter, over which rose the bellow of Mr. Pedlow. "'He's game! she says and ain't he?"
Lady Mount-Rhyswicke maintained silence for a time, while her companion waited, his heart pounding with dreadful apprehensions. Finally she gave a short, hard laugh and said: "I saw your face by the corner light. Been havin' a hard day of it?" The fear of breaking down kept him from answering. He gulped painfully once or twice, and turned his face away from her.
This also pleased both of them, though each would have preferred to be her only wicked boy a preference which, perhaps, had something to do with the later events of the evening. "Aha! I know you both; before twenty minute' you will be makin' love to Lady Mount-Rhyswicke. Behol' those two already! An' they are only ole frien's." She pointed to Pedlow and Sneyd.
The Countess, reiterating for the hundredth time that Cooley was a "wicked one," sweetly constituted herself his cup-bearer; kept his glass full and brought him fresh cigars. Mellin dealt her furious glances, and filled his own glass, for Lady Mount-Rhyswicke plainly had no conception of herself in the role of a Hebe. The hospitable Pedlow, observing this neglect, was moved to chide her.
"Is is this is it Lady Mount-Rhyswicke?" he stammered pitifully. She opened the door. "Yes. Will you get in? We'll just drive round the block if you don't mind. I'll bring you back here in ten minutes." And when he had tremulously complied, "Avanti, cocchiere," she called to the driver, and the tired little cab-horse began to draw them slowly along the deserted street.
Already Mellin was forming sentences for his next letter to the Cranston Telegraph: "Lady Mount-Rhyswicke said to me the other evening, while discussing the foreign policy of Great Britain, in Comtesse de Vaurigard's salon..." "An English peeress of pronounced literary acumen has been giving me rather confidentially her opinion of our American poets..."
I'll have six separate candlesticks like this, not a candelabrum, and that will be the only light in the room. And I'll never have anything but orchids on my table " "For my part," Lady Mount-Rhyswicke interrupted in the loud, tired monotone which seemed to be her only manner of speaking, "I like more light. I like all the light that's goin'."
He got out dazedly, and the driver cracked his whip over the little horse; but Mellin lifted a detaining hand. "A spet," called Lady Mount-Rhyswicke to the driver. "What is it, Mr. Mellin?" "I can't I can't look you in the face," he stammered, his attitude perfectly corroborative of his words. "I would oh, I would kneel in the dust here before you " "Some of the poetry you told me you write?"
The seventh person proved to be the Italian, Corni, who had surrendered his seat in Madame de Vaurigard's victoria to Mellin on the Pincio. He presently made his appearance followed by a waiter bearing a tray of glasses filled with a pink liquid, while the Countess led her two wicked boys across the room to present them to Lady Mount-Rhyswicke.
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