Marmaduke. Flora Annie Webster Steel
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as if uncertain which way to seek its grave. So while men held their breath it stood arrested, defiant; then with a roar and a rush, a swish of sweeping branches, a surging of green leaves, it sank like the tumultuous onrush of some mighty wave, to fall a confused tumbling heap of shade and shine upon the kindly earth exactly where the wit of man had destined it to lie.
A noisy clapping of hands and a high-pitched feminine laugh rose from about the bath-chair; but, ere the applause ceased, a young accusing figure positively flaming with wrath had sprung forward, leaped upon the sawn root of the fallen tree, and so framed as with a halo by the new-cut bole--which measured over seven feet in diameter--bawled out in a voice quivering with sheer passion:
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! Go home to bed, you miserable old gouty cripple; you've done enough mischief for one day!"
Marmaduke was given to being dramatic, but he had never been more effective than at that moment. He stood his ground like a young avenging angel, secretly elated at having done the business thoroughly well and defied his father, despite Marrion Paul's advice. He almost smiled at the thought of her dismay. Meanwhile, the face of the old man in the bath-chair had grown positively purple with anger, and the colour did not improve the heavy contours of chin, double chin, treble chin, which melted over the high white stock. Yet, barring this exuberant fleshiness, the face was not a bad face. It had indeed its measure of good looks, being not unlike Marmaduke's own. The bald head, if a trifle small, was well shaped, the blue eyes clear, if a trifle cold, and the lips, cruel enough in their heavy curves, had evidently done a deal of laughing in their day to judge by the lines about them. Altogether a strong, sensible face; but arrogant, intolerant to a degree, especially now when its owner was listening to the defiance of his son--a son dependent on him for every farthing beyond his miserable pay as a captain in His Majesty's forces--a son who----
For a moment Baron Drummuir looked as if he must have a fit; then he laughed--a great rude, rough guffaw.
"'Pon my soul," he chuckled, "it's as good as a play! So it's you, is it, you young fool? How the deuce did you get here at this time of day? We didn't expect you for another two hours, so I decided business first"--he waved carelessly to the fallen tree--"and pleasure--that's you, jackanapes--afterwards. Eh, what! Hey!"
This calm reception of his insults completely took the starch out of them and poor Marmaduke, who, standing on his pedestal, could think of nothing further to say save to mumble something about the short cut by the old ferry road.
The baron, as he loved to be called, chuckled again.
"Good boy--anxious as all that to see his poor old dad. And came in the nick of time to see me kill my fatted calf"--he waved to the fallen tree again. "I've killed it nicely, haven't I? And"--here a flicker of pure hatred passed across the fleshy face--"the devil take the man who made me do it!"
His father's expression re-aroused Marmaduke's anger.
"You curse yourself by saying that, sir," he burst out; "for God knows you always do what you want--nobody makes you."
Once again the old man took the starch out of the young one.
"Smart!" he said coolly. "Demned smart, my dear boy! I wonder you don't get on better in life than you do, judging by your constant but fruitless appeals to my cash-box. But get down off your high horse, there's a good lad--you look like some damned play-acting fool up there--and give your old dad a paw; the left one, young ass, the left! Can't you see my right is all bandaged up with the most infernal fit of my old enemy I've had since last Christmas? All that Périgord-pie old Hare sent me. I'll baste his fat liver for him when he comes to-morrow. Lordy lord! Puts me in mind, Marmaduke, of the old days when your mother--she was the best of the three--used to say to you, a little lad, 'The right hand, my dearie. The right hand, my lovie.' And you never could remember. You were a bit of a dullard, but fine and strong and handsome. Not like that cursed skunk, Master Pitt--but there, don't let's mar the harmony of the occasion, eh, Jack?" He turned to a small man with somewhat of a weasel face who stood beside him listening devoutly, as were all the group. "You remember Jack Jardine, don't you, Duke?"
"Slightly," smiled the young man, grasping the other's hand and shaking it violently. "One of the few pleasant reminiscences, sir, I have of Drummuir Castle." He echoed his father's reckless disregard of other folks' feelings with superb indifference and gave back the old man's critical look coolly.
The latter laughed.
"Just what I was at his age--eh, what? Lordy lord, Jack, how we smashed all the lamp-posts in Dodston and told the provost to send the policeman with the bill! Ha, ha! and old cat Carnegie sitting in the hearse with her skirts up to her knees going to the Hunt ball when we'd commandeered every other conveyance in the town. Ha, ha! how the pretty little lassies showed their sandalled ankles, bless 'em, trying to keep their dresses clear of coffins. But I am forgetting. Sandalled ankles reminds me--eh, Fantine? Come here, my dear. I must present you to my second son, Captain--he wants to be a major, I'm told--Marmaduke Muir. Marmaduke, make your due respects to Mdlle. Fantine Le Grand, your future stepmother!"
The dainty little figure, which till then had been standing with one tiny, much-beringed hand resting on the back of the bath-chair, its inquisitive, almost colourless grey eyes taking in the minutest detail of the scene, took a step forward and prepared to make a full-flounced curtsey. But Marmaduke was too quick, too prompt in his perceptions. He grasped the situation and the little lady in a second. The general pinkness of complexion and furbelows, the jimpness of the long trim waist, the uncompromising bands of black velvet, the showers of fair ringlets. His hat was off with a flourish, he also took a step forward to meet the curtsey, but, bending with a "grand air" that did him infinite credit, gave the powdered face a resounding kiss.
The recipient let loose a decorous shriek outwardly; within it was easy to see amused acquiescence. Once again old Lord Drummuir looked as though he would have a fit.
"You dashed young scoundrel," he spluttered.
Marmaduke held his head very high.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, "if I've done wrong; but you said she--I beg pardon, Mdlle. Fantine Le Grand"--his eyes flashed into hers boldly and met a smile--"was to be my stepmamma, so I thought----"
"Oh, the devil take your thoughts," growled his father, but his lips twitched suspiciously. Then suddenly he burst out once again into one of his rude, rough guffaws. "Regular chip of the old block, hey, Jack? Well, Fan, I dare say you don't mind. Haven't too long, you know, of such gay young sparks, for as soon as I'm about again he shall dance at your wedding. Now, for heaven's sake, don't let's stop chattering here! I've got to see my daughters and I want to talk to my son. No, no, you jackanapes, keep away just now! My gout's cursed, the road is cursed, and my temper will be cursed too; so I should likely disinherit you before we got on to the lawn. Fan shall stop by me. I won't have you gallivanting with my son, d'ye hear? He's a good-looking chap, confound him, but you've got to pay for the title, my lady! Have a care, blockhead! Didn't you see that stone? Don't let it hurt your pretty little feet, Fan."
Marmaduke, dropping behind with Jack Jardine, gave a fierce sigh as he watched the little cavalcade move off amid this running fire of curses and kindliness.
"Is it all just as it used to be, Jack?" he asked helplessly.
The little man cleared his throat.
"A little worse perhaps. Your father is a very remarkable man, Marmaduke--a very remarkable man!"
CHAPTER III
Anyone who had seen Lord Drummuir ten minutes after Jack Jardine's remark must have echoed it, for a more complete volte face of manner, speech, and apparently temperament than that which overtook the baron in the dower house could not be imagined. Still in his bath-chair, which Marmaduke had dutifully pushed in through the French windows on to the green-grounded, cabbage-rosed drawing-room carpet, he beamed