Vizard, having nothing better to do, fell to thinking of Ina Klosking, and that was not good for him. Solitude and _ennui_ fed his mania, and at last it took the form of action. He rang, and ordered up his man Harris, a close, discreet personage, and directed him to go over to Homburg, and bring back all the information he could about the new singer; her address in Homburg, married or single, prude or coquette. Should information be withheld, Harris was to fee the porter at the opera-house, the waiter at her hotel, and all the human commodities that knew anything about her.
Having dismissed Harris, he lighted his seventh cigar, and said to himself, "It is all Ned Severne's fault. I wanted to leave for England to-day."The day had been overcast for some time and now a few big drops fell, by way of warning. Then it turned cool: then came a light drizzling rain, and, in the middle of this, Fanny Dover appeared, almost flying home.
Vizard went and tapped at Miss Maitland's door. She came out.
"Here's Miss Dover coming, but she is alone."The next moment Fanny bounced into the room, and started a little at the picture of the pair ready to receive her. She did not wait to be taken to task, but proceeded to avert censure by volubility and self-praise.
"Aunt, I went down to the river, where I left them, and looked all along it, and they were not in sight. Then I went to the cathedral, because that seemed the next likeliest place. Oh, I have had such a race!""Why did you come back before you had found them?""Aunt, it was going to rain; and it is raining now, hard."_"She_ does not mind that."
"Zoe? Oh, she has got nothing on!"
"Bless me!" cried Vizard. "Godiva _rediviva."_"Now, Harrington, don't! Of course, I mean nothing to spoil; only her purple alpaca, and that is two years old. But my blue silk, I can't afford to ruin _it._ Nobody would give me another, _I_ know.""What a heartless world!" said Vizard dryly.
"It is past a jest, the whole thing," objected Miss Maitland; "and, now we are together, please tell me, if you can, either of you, who is this man? What are his means? I know 'The Peerage,' 'The Baronetage,' and 'The Landed Gentry,' but not Severne. That is a river, not a family.""Oh," said Vizard, "family names taken from rivers are never _parvenues._But we can't all be down in Burke. Ned is of a good stock, the old English yeoman, the country's pride.""Yeoman!" said the Maitland, with sovereign contempt.
Vizard resisted. "Is this the place to sneer at an English yeoman, where you see an unprincely prince living by a gambling-table? What says the old stave?
"'A German prince, a marquis of France, And a laird o' the North Countrie; A yeoman o' Kent, with his yearly rent, Would ding 'em out, all three."'
"Then," said Misander, with a good deal of malicious, intent, "you are quite sure your yeoman is not a--_pauper--_an _adventurer--"_"Positive."
"And a _gambler."_
"No; I am not at all sure of that. But nobody is all-wise. I am not, for one. He is a fine fellow; as good as gold; as true as steel. Always polite, always genial; and never speaks ill of any of you behind your backs."Miss Maitland bridled at that. "What I have said is not out of dislike to the young man. I am warning a brother to take a little more care of his sister, that is all. However, after your sneer, I shall say no more behind Mr. Severne's back, but to his face--that is, if we ever see his face again, or Zoe's either.""Oh, aunt!" said Fanny, reproachfully. "It is only the rain. La! poor things, they will be wet to the skin. Just see how it is pouring!""That it is: and let me tell you there is nothing so dangerous as a _te'te-'a-te'te_ in the rain.""A thunder-storm is worse, aunt," said Fanny, eagerly; "because then she is frightened to death, and clings to him--_if he is nice."_Having galloped into this revelation, through speaking first and thinking afterward, Fanny pulled up short the moment the words were out, and turned red, and looked askant, under her pale lashes at Vizard. Observing several twinkles in his eyes, she got up hastily and said she really must go and dry her gown.
"Yes," said Miss Maitland; "come into my room, dear."Fanny complied, with rather a rueful face, not doubting that the public "dear" was to get it rather hot in private.