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Malcolm, and Burnaby, that remarkable young man, sat down to the piano and for perhaps an hour made the chords sob to a strange music, mostly his own. "That's Bewsher!" he said when he was through, and had sat back on his stool, and was sipping a long-neglected cordial. "Br-r-r-!" shivered Mrs. Selden from her place by the fire. "How unpleasant you are!" Sir John looked troubled.
His few belongings, which threw no light on his identity, were gathered up to await his appearance. It was suggested, to Clyde's indignation, that he was an accomplice of the robbers, but in what manner was not clear. And so Clyde Burnaby went on to the coast with ten dollars which she did not in the least need.
"My arm My bracelet! I I'm so sorry!" She looked swiftly about her, and then at Burnaby. "Oh, no! I'm not cut, thanks!" Her eyes held a pained embarrassment. He caught the look, and her eyelids flickered and fell before his gaze, and then, as the footman repaired the damage, she sank back once more into the half-light beyond the radiance of the candles. "How shy she is!" thought Burnaby.
We were headed for Lower Post on the Francis, and it was all very lovely until, one day, we ran into a rapid, a devil of a thing, and my Indian got drowned." "How dreadful!" murmured Lady Masters. "It was," agreed Burnaby; "but it might have been worse for me, that is. It couldn't have been much worse for the poor devil of an Indian, could it?
Yet he had been in half a dozen balloon ascents, and had posted up from his native town on hearing that a balloon was going up from the Crystal Palace. As for Burnaby, it was borne in upon me, even at this casual meeting, that it did not matter to him what enterprise he embarked upon, so that it were spiced with danger and promised adventure.
"I'll see you to your car," he stammered. She turned to Burnaby. "Good night!" she said. Her voice was lifeless, disinterested; her eyes met his for an instant and were withdrawn. "Good night," he said. Mrs. Ennis stood by the door for a moment before she walked slowly back to the fireplace.
"Bewsher," said Burnaby "Geoffrey Boisselier Bewsher. Quite a name, isn't it? He was in the cavalry. His family are rather swells in an old-fashioned way. He is the fifth son or seventh, or whatever it is of a baronet and, Terhune says, was very much in evidence about London twenty-odd years ago. Terhune used to see him in clubs, and every now and then dining out.
"You have changed," she observed, "or else you're not saying but half of what you really think and part of it you don't think at all." "Oh, yes," laughed Burnaby, "you misunderstand me." He picked up a fork and tapped the table-cloth with it thoughtfully; then he raised his head. "I was thinking of a story I might tell you," he said, "but on second thoughts I don't think I will."
But he found himself to be absolutely ignored and put out of court by his own counsel. They were gentlemen with whom professionally he had had no intercourse, as he had practised at the Chancery, and they at the Common Law Bar. But he had been Solicitor-General, and was a bencher of his Inn, whereas Serjeant Burnaby was only a Serjeant, and Jacky Joram still wore a stuff gown.
I couldn't let a man like that get the upper hand of me." "Of course you couldn't, dear. I'd sit on him if I were you, and sit on him hard. I'd knock him flat and let Delia Rodman and Clorinda Clay go to the deuce." She looked at him wonderingly. "Let who go to the deuce?" "I said Delia Rodman and Clorinda Clay. I might have included Fanny Burnaby and the Brown girls. I meant them, of course.
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