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Lord Barham snatched it and attempted to stick it on top of his night-cap, damned the night-cap, and, plucking it off, flung it to the man. "I happened to be sitting up late, my lord, over the Aeolus papers," said Mr. Secretary Tylney. "Ha?" Then, to the valet, "The dressing-gown there! Don't fumble! . . . So this is Captain " "Lieutenant, sir: Lapenotiere, commanding the Pickle schooner."
"The braces, my lord your Lordship has them forepart behind, if I may suggest " "Damn the braces!" swore the old gentleman. "Where is he? Hi, Tylney!" as he caught sight of the Secretary. "Where are we to go? My room, I suppose?" "The fire is out there, my lord. . . . 'Tis past three in the morning.
There were accounts of 'a grand garden-party, whereto Lady Belper, on March the twenty-eighth, invited a host of fashionable persons. The names of Mr. Coates and of 'Sir James Tylney Long and his daughter' were duly recorded in the lists. But that was all. I turned at length to a tiny file, consisting of five copies only, Bladud's Courier.
Soon they saw that Emma, sole daughter of Sir James Tylney Long, that wealthy baronet, had cast a magic net about the warm Antiguan heart. In the wake of her chair, by night and day, Mr. Coates was obsequious. When she cried that she would not drink the water without some delicacy to banish the iron taste, it was he who stood by with a box of vanilla-rusks.
Among his other writings may be mentioned Tylney Hall, a novel which had little success, and Up the Rhine, in which he satirised the English tourist.
As he became rich he bought a solid mansion at Clapham or Wimbledon, and, if he made a fortune, might become lord of manors in the country. He could not as yet aspire to become himself a peer, but he might be the ancestor of peers. The son of Josiah Child, the great merchant of the seventeenth century, became Earl Tylney, and built at Wanstead one of the noblest mansions in England.
I set to elucidating the reference to the fete-champetre. As I retraced my footsteps to the little bookshop, I wondered if I should find any excuse for the cruel faithlessness of Emma Tylney Long. The bookseller was greatly excited when I told him I had re-created the letter. He was very eager to see it. I did not pander to his curiosity. He even offered to buy the article back at cost price.
Lord Barham had gone, and the Secretary hard by was speaking to the night-porter, who bent over the fire, raking it with a poker. The hands of the Queen Anne clock indicated a quarter to six. "The First Lord would like to talk with you . . . later in the day," said Mr. Tylney gravely, smiling a little these last words. He himself was white and haggard.
But after sending word to awake you, I hunted round and by good luck found a plenty of promising embers in the Board Room grate. On top of these I've piled what remained of my own fire, and Dobson has set a lamp there " "You've been devilish quick, Tylney. Dressed like a buck you are, too!" "Your Lordship's wig," suggested the valet. "Damn the wig!"
Aphrodite, who has care of lovers, did not spare Miss Tylney Long. She made her love, a few months after, one who married her for her fortune and broke her heart. In years of misery the wayward girl worked out the penance of her unpardonable sin, dying, at length, in poverty and despair.
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