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Among the company which came to visit the two officers was an old acquaintance of Harry Esmond; that gentleman of the Guards, namely, who had been so kind to Harry when Captain Westbury's troop had been quartered at Castlewood more than seven years before.
But when we looked up and found that mushroom poison does not begin to destroy for several hours, we fell to discussing other matters, and did not remember our slight inconvenience until long after we should have been dead, by the book limitation. There was a gap in the stone wall where we passed from our land into Westbury's, and beyond it an open place that was a mushroom-garden.
A visiting friend of Scotch ancestry was moved to exclaim, "Ah, the bonny cow!" Then there was the matter of milk she certainly justified Westbury's reputation in that respect.
I told Dinky-Dunk I'd sat in every corner of that old house, up in the sky-parlor with the Italian barbers, in press-seats in the second gallery with dear old Fanny-Rain-in-the-Face, and in the Westbury's box with the First Lady of the Land and a Spanish Princess with extremely dirty nails. It seemed so far away, another life and another world!
The captains had their dinner served in my lord's tapestry parlor, and poor little Harry thought his duty was to wait upon Captain Westbury's chair, as his custom had been to serve his lord when he sat there.
Westbury with the years had become a prosperous contractor, for Brook Ridge was no longer an abandoned land, but a place of new and beautiful homes. Westbury's prosperity, however, had not made him proud not too proud to offer us old-time Christmas hospitality at his glowing fireside. Was it the spirit of our garden? Summer found us back in the old house, almost as if we had not left it.
I never knew, of course, just what it would be like, and had no way of knowing. I remembered Chinkie's little love of a farm in Sussex, and I'd been a week at the Westbury's place out on Long Island, with its terraced lawns and gardens and greenhouses and macadamized roads.
Somewhere about half-past twelve he rose to wind up the debate, and the House was treated to an unparalleled sensation. He began with his critics, notably the unfortunate Simpson, and, pretty much in Westbury's language to the herald, called them silly old men who did not understand their silly old business. But it was the reasons he gave for this abuse which left his followers aghast.
To ward it off an entire change of conduct would be necessary; and at the present time we have no one strong enough to guide our policy in the right direction. To Mrs. Parker Foxholes, December 18th. If anyone is to write Lord Westbury's Life, yours is the pen to do it. Nobody expects a daughter to be impartial, or wishes it.
Ye gods and little fishes, what a luxury! There was a time, not so long ago, when I was rather inclined to sniff at the Westbury's electric player-piano and its cabinet of neatly canned classics! How life humbles us! And how blind all women are in their ideals and their search for happiness! The sea-stones that lie so bright on the shores of youth can dry so dull in the hand of experience!
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