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Updated: June 4, 2025
'I came down in the coach, quite accidental, with this gentleman, said Mrs. Wishaw, fanning a cheek and nodding at Mr. Goren. 'I'm an old flame of dear Mel's. I knew him when he was an apprentice in London. Now, wasn't it odd? Your mother I suppose I must call you "my lady"? The Countess breathed a tender 'Spare me, with a smile that added, 'among friends! Mrs.
George told the 'Bath' story, and episodes in Mel's career as Marquis; and while he held the ear of the table, Rose, who had not spoken a word, and had scarcely eaten a morsel during dinner, studied the sisters with serious eyes. Only when she turned them from the Countess to Mrs. Strike, they were softened by a shadowy drooping of the eyelids, as if for some reason she deeply pitied that lady.
"I've got to go back to work.... But I'll think and we can talk it over. I still live where you used to come as a boy.... How strange life is!... Good day, Lane." Lane felt more than satisfied with the result of that interview. Joshua Iden would go home and tell Mel's mother, and that would surely make the victory easier.
Dandy turned away to perform her bidding, and Mrs. Mel ascended to the drawing-room to sit with Mrs. Wishaw, who was, as she told all who chose to hear, an old flame of Mel's, and was besides, what Mrs. Mel thought more of, the wife of Mel's principal creditor, a wholesale dealer in cloth, resident in London. The conviviality of the mourners did not disturb the house.
Cogglesby. Old Tom saw his farce reviving, and encouraged the Countess to patronize him. She did so to an extent that called on her Mrs. Mel's reprobation, which was so cutting and pertinent, that Harriet was compelled to defend her sister, remarking that perhaps her mother would soon learn that Louisa was justified in not permitting herself and family to be classed too low.
Lane knew that he moved, but he seemed not to have any feeling in his legs. The cabman put a hand back to open the door. "Mel, here he is," called out Iden, cheerfully. Lane felt himself being pushed into the cab. His knees failed and he sank forward, even as he saw Mel's face. "Daren!" she cried, and caught him. Then all went black.
And then Lane realized this was no nightmare. He began to shake. "Sit up?" he echoed, vaguely. "Sure I can.... You're Mel's father?" "Yes," replied the other. "Come, get out of this.... Well, you haven't much dressing to do. And that's good.... Steady there." As he rose, Lane would have fallen but for a quick move of Iden's. "Only shoes and coat," said Lane, fumbling around. "They're somewhere."
The old conviction thrust itself upon him. He had been marked by fate, life, war, death! He knew it; he had only forgotten. "Daren! Daren!" Mel's voice broke the spell. Lane made a savage gesture, as if he were in the act of striking. Thought of Mel recalled the stingingly sweet and bitter fact of his love, and of life that called so imperiously.
She heard black names cast at him and the whole of the great Mel's brood, and incapable of quite disbelieving them merited, unable to challenge and rebut them, she dropped into her recent state of self-contempt: into her lately-instilled doubt whether it really was in Nature's power, unaided by family-portraits, coats-of-arms, ball-room practice, and at least one small phial of Essence of Society, to make a Gentleman.
George was a dull one, she was, after the test she had put him to, justified in hoping that Mel's progeny might pass unchallenged anywhere out of Lymport. So, with Mr. George facing her at table, the Countess sat down, determined to eat and be happy.
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