Beaujeu

In the narrow passage to the stage Jack Dane ran against a sturdy fellow in crimson silks:

"Zounds, Sherborne, for your value you take up a devilish lot of space," he cried.

"Much like to your brains, sir," said my Lord Sherborne bowing.

"Poor things, but mine own-as Buckingham said of your lady."

"And worthy of you-as your sire is, Mr Dane."

How am I to take that, my lord?" cried Jack Dane, and M. de Beaujeu's hand fell swiftly on his rising arm.

"With your abundant discretion," said my Lord Sherborne sweetly, and Beaujeu's hand gripped harder. But after a moment Jack Dane said:

"Observe it, Sherborne!" and stepped swiftly aside and tapped at a door.

"No fighting here!” cried a gay voice.

"Have you room for a grave, Rose?" Jack asked, putting his head in.

"For you or my Lord Sherborne, sir?"

Begad, for him! He's a man of peace. Sherborne would not hurt a fly."

"Oh, but if it were a little fly, sir!" cried Mistress Charlbury. She flung the door wide on those who waited, she dropped a saucy curtsey. "And here is the great sight, gentlemen!" she cried, and laughed at them as they entered bowing. Mr Wharton contrived to place M. de Beaujeu in front, and tapping monsieur's great shoulders:

"This is not Goliath, Rose," says he.

"Nor, indeed, is this a wit, Rose," says Jack Dane, tapping Wharton.

"La, sir, I know what he's not. Can you tell me what he is?"

"God knows, ma'am," said Jack laughing.

Who had little to do with it!" That came in my Lord Sherborne's voice from the background. Rose Rose gave him a little mocking smile, and he scowled at her.

M. de Beaujeu turned to him: "The gentleman looks very ill," said he in a very French accent. Mr Wharton glancing at Beaujeu sideways saw that he had shaken the black curls of his periwig far forward. His face was in deep shadow.

Mistress Rose," said Mr Wharton, "I present M. le Chevalier de Beaujeu, who has come all the way from-Timbuctoo was it?-to see you play Lyndaraxa-oh, pardon!Almahide." M. de Beaujeu bowed over Rose's hand and his face was hidden. Upon her face Mr Wharton had surprised a spasm of pain.

"Ah, mademoiselle "-Beaujeu clung to the shadow and the French accent-"ah, mademoiselle, but of your splendour the half has not been told me.'

"Go hark to Mr Dane, monsieur," cried Rose. "He'll tell you double."

Begad, language could not do it!" cried Jack. "But I was forgetting. Rose, have you ever played Lyndaraxa?"

"Indeed no!" she cried sharply and flushed.

Why, so said I! But M. de Beaujeu here would have it that he had seen you." Rose

turned upon Beaujeu a strange intent gaze: her eyes were very dark, her white bosom still. There was silence. Mr Healy and Mr Wharton watched watched curiously. But M. de Beaujeu met her eyes frankly and made a French gesture.

"Mademoiselle," said he, "I am ashamed. I must have confused another with you. It is unpardonable. But in London, in '80, I saw a lady

'Oh, I was a country girl then, monsieur." Then, mademoiselle, was the country happy," said Beaujeu bowing.

'Tis the fact, Beaujeu,” said Mr Healy with a grin, "you have a mighty bad memory."

"Alas!" cried Beaujeu, and flung up his hands. "You forgive it, mademoiselle? Unless you forgive it I cannot console myself."

"La, monsieur, spare your tears!" cried Rose laughing.

"Tis so tender a heart," said Mr Healy with a wave of his hand to Beaujeu.

"Then, mademoiselle, I may thank Mr Wharton for bringing me to see the miracle of beauty-of graceful art!"

"Now for the first time," Mr Wharton drawled watching him.

Ah, but, mademoiselle, but not the last?" cried Beaujeu amorously. Something inarticulate came from my Lord Sherborne.

"The gentleman is surely unwell? said Mr Healy.

"No. "Tis his nature merely," said Jack Dane. "The porcine strain, you perceive."

"Whose manners Mr Dane studies faithfully," said my Lord Sherborne.

'My good lord, he has finished his lesson. You may go!" Mr Dane flung wide the door. My Lord Sherborne laughed, crossed his legs and settled himself more easily.

"You are really a pleasant juvenile, Mr Dane," said he. "Pray, Mistress Charlbury, shall we chastise the child?"

Jack Dane flushed and started forward. Mr. Healy and Mr Wharton closed on him.

"I think I have let you bear with him long enough, Rose," said my lord carelessly.

But Rose's cheeks were white, and her eyes aflame. "Let!"" she cried. There is a frowardness of old age, my lord, and I like it less than a boy's. Mr Dane, may I beg your arm? Gentlemen, I have been honoured!" With a stately curtsey she was gone on Jack Dane's gratified arm.

My Lord Sherborne, crimson as his clothes, started up to follow. Mr Wharton obtruded

a shoulder, and as my lord recoiled from it, Clumsy, always clumsy," Mr

muttered pensively.

"Sir!" cried my lord.

Wharton

Always your servant, my lord, always-at all places," said Mr Wharton.

by without a word.

My lord thrust

"Sure, a courageous gentleman," says Mr Healy.

"Why," said Mr Wharton modestly, who had never fought a losing fight, "I am thought deadly."

Outside the playhouse they saw my Lord Sherborne staring after a coach. Jack Dane was gone home with his flame, and my lord's venomous air was not soothed by the triple laugh, the mock reverences of Mr Wharton, and his friends.

"Te-hee," says Mr Wharton, "We mislike trespassers.

"Who is he, then?"

"Why, ask the lady's butcher and baker and candlestickmaker; for, damme, he pays them

all."

Beaujeu laughed: "A "A fortunate nymph, egad."

"D' you know, you've a nasty tongue with you, Mr Wharton?" said Healy.

Beaujeu laughed again: ""Tis an idealist this, Wharton," he said, nodding at Healy.

"Damme, I envy him. We all were once in our youth in the country-eh, Beaujeu? Mr Wharton's eyes were keen upon him. "Even the incomparable Charlbury was once, may be. What? And still she keeps an ideal

tenderness for-Danes."

Beaujeu found both of them looking at him. "I admire my name of Beaujeu," said he quietly.

"Tis damnable apt to you," said Wharton, and found another topic.

Come home, Mr Healy, having filled his pipe and lit it, referred to the lady:

"So you've found a friend," says he.

"Of the dearest," said Beaujeu, and his eyes glittered through the smoke.

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