"Well that scullery girl is very ill to-day,"--replied Morris; "I expect she'll have to leave. She has what she calls the 'jumps' and none of us dare tell her how she got them. No sir, believe me or not as you like, there's something very queer about that Amiel. And another thing I want to know is this--what does he do with the other servants?"

"What does he do with the other servants?" I repeated bewilderedly--"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well sir, the prince has a _chef_ of his own hasn't he?" said Morris enumerating on his fingers--"And two personal attendants besides Amiel,--quiet fellows enough who help in the waiting. Then he has a coachman and groom. That makes six servants altogether. Now none of these except Amiel are ever seen in the hotel kitchens. The _chef_ sends all the meals in from somewhere, in a heated receptacle--and the two other fellows are never seen except when waiting at table, and they don't live in their own rooms all day, though they _may_ sleep there,--and n.o.body knows where the carriage and horses are put up, or where the coachman and groom lodge. Certain it is that both they and the _chef_ board out. It seems to me very mysterious."

I began to feel quite unreasonably irritated.

"Look here, Morris," I said--"There's nothing more useless or more harmful than the habit of inquiring into other people's affairs. The prince has a right to live as he likes, and do as he pleases with his servants--I am sure he pays royally for his privileges. And whether his cook lives in or out, up in the skies or down in a cellar is no matter of mine. He has been a great traveller and no doubt has his peculiarities; and probably his notions concerning food are very particular and fastidious. But I don't want to know anything about his menage. If you dislike Amiel, it's easy to avoid him, but for goodness sake don't go making mysteries where none exist."

Morris looked up, then down, and folded one of my coats with special care. I saw I had effectually checked his flow of confidence.

"Very well, sir,"--he observed, and said no more.

I was rather diverted than otherwise at my servant's solemn account of Amiel's peculiarities as exhibited among his own cla.s.s,--and when we were driving to Lord Elton's that evening I told something of the story to Lucio. He laughed.

"Amiel's spirits are often too much for him,"--he said--"He is a perfect imp of mischief and cannot always control himself."

"Why, what a wrong estimate I have formed of him!" I said--"I thought he had a peculiarly grave and somewhat sullen disposition."

"You know the trite saying--appearances are deceptive?" went on my companion lightly--"It's extremely true. The professed humourist is nearly always a disagreeable and heavy man personally. As for Amiel, he is like me in the respect of not being at all what he seems. His only fault is a tendency to break the bounds of discipline, but otherwise he serves me well, and I do not inquire further. Is Morris disgusted or alarmed?"

"Neither I think," I responded laughing--"He merely presents himself to me as an example of outraged respectability."

"Ah then, you may be sure that when the scullery-maid was dancing, he observed her steps with the closest nicety;" said Lucio--"Very respectable men are always particular of inspection into these matters!

Soothe his ruffled feelings, my dear Geoffrey, and tell him that Amiel is the very soul of virtue! I have had him in my service for a long time, and can urge nothing against his character as a man. He does not pretend to be an angel. His tricks of speech and behaviour are the result of a too constant repression of his natural hilarity, but he is really an excellent fellow. He dabbled in hypnotic science when he was with me in India; I have often warned him of the danger there is in practising this force on the uninitiated. But--a scullery-maid!--heavens!--there are so many scullery-maids! One more or less with the 'jumps' will not matter. This is Lord Elton's."

The carriage stopped before a handsome house situated a little back from Park Lane. We were admitted by a man-servant gorgeous in red plush, white silk hose and powdered wig, who pa.s.sed us on majestically to his twin-brother in height and appearance, though perhaps a trifle more disdainful in bearing, and he in his turn ushered us upstairs with the air of one who should say "See to what ignominious degradation a cruel fate reduces so great a man!" In the drawing-room we found Lord Elton, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and directly opposite him in a low arm chair, reclined an elegantly attired young lady with very small feet. I mention the feet, because as I entered they were the most prominent part of her person, being well stretched out from beneath the would-be concealment of sundry flounced petticoats towards the warmth of the fire which the Earl rather inconsiderately screened from view. There was another lady in the room sitting bolt upright with hands neatly folded on her lap, and to her we were first of all introduced when Lord Elton's own effusive greetings were over.

"Charlotte, allow me,--my friends, Prince Lucio Rimanez--Mr Geoffrey Tempest; gentlemen, my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Fitzroy."

We bowed; the lady gave us a dignified bend of the head. She was an imposing looking spinster, with a curious expression on her features which was difficult to construe. It was pious and prim, but it also suggested the idea that she must have seen something excessively improper once in her life and had never been able to forget it. The pursed-up mouth, the round pale-coloured eyes and the chronic air of insulted virtue which seemed to pervade her from head to foot all helped to deepen this impression. One could not look at Miss Charlotte long without beginning to wonder irreverently what it was that had in her long past youth so outraged the cleanly proprieties of her nature as to leave such indelible traces on her countenance. But I have since seen many English women look so, especially among the particularly 'high bred,' old and plain-featured of the "upper ten." Very different was the saucy and bright physiognomy of the younger lady to whom we were next presented, and who, raising herself languidly from her reclining position, smiled at us with encouraging familiarity as we made our salutations.

"Miss Diana Chesney,"--said the Earl glibly--"You perhaps know her father, prince,--you must have heard of him at any rate--the famous Nicodemus Chesney, one of the great railway-kings."

"Of course I know him"--responded Lucio warmly--"Who does not! I have met him often. A charming man, gifted with most remarkable humour and vitality--I remember him perfectly. We saw a good deal of each other in Washington."

"Did you though?" said Miss Chesney with a somewhat indifferent interest,--"He's a queer sort of man to my thinking; rather a cross between the ticket-collector and custom-house officer combined, you know! I never see him but what I feel I must start on a journey directly--railways seem to be written all over him. I tell him so. I say 'Pa, if you didn't carry railway-tracks in your face you'd be better looking.' And you found him humorous, did you?"

Laughing at the novel and free way in which this young person criticised her parent, Lucio protested that he did.

"Well I don't,"--confessed Miss Chesney--"But that may be because I've heard all his stories over and over again, and I've read most of them in books besides,--so they're not much account to me. He tells some of them to the Prince of Wales whenever he can get a chance,--but he don't try them off on me any more. He's a real clever man too; he's made his pile quicker than most. And you're quite right about his vitality,--my!--his laugh takes you into the middle of next week!"

Her bright eyes flashed merrily as she took a comprehensive survey of our amused faces.

"Think I'm irreverent, don't you?" she went on--"But you know Pa's not a 'stage parent' all dressed out in lovely white hair and benedictions,--he's just an accommodating railway-track, and he wouldn't like to be reverenced. Do sit down, won't you?"--then turning her pretty head coquettishly towards her host--"Make them sit down, Lord Elton,--I hate to see men standing. The superior s.e.x, you know! Besides you're so tall," she added, glancing with unconcealed admiration at Lucio's handsome face and figure, "that it's like peering up an apple-tree at the moon to look at you!"

Lucio laughed heartily, and seated himself near her--I followed his example; the old Earl still kept his position, legs a-straddle, on the hearth-rug, and beamed benevolence upon us all. Certainly Diana Chesney was a captivating creature; one of those surface-clever American women who distinctly divert men's minds without in the least rousing their pa.s.sions.

"So you're the famous Mr Tempest?" she said, surveying me critically--"Why, it's simply splendid for you isn't it? I always say it's no use having a heap of money unless you're young,--if you're old, you only want it to fill your doctor's pockets while he tries to mend your poor tuckered-out const.i.tution. I once knew an old lady who was left a legacy of a hundred thousand pounds when she was ninety-five.

Poor old dear, she cried over it. She just had sense enough to understand what a good time she couldn't have. She lived in bed, and her only luxury was a halfpenny bun dipped in milk for her tea. It was all she cared for."

"A hundred thousand pounds would go a long way in buns!" I said smiling.

"Wouldn't it just!" and the fair Diana laughed--"But I guess _you'll_ want something a little more substantial for your cash Mr Tempest! A fortune in the prime of life is worth having. I suppose you're one of the richest men about just now, aren't you?"

She put the question in a perfectly nave frank manner and seemed to be unconscious of any undue inquisitiveness in it.

"I may be one of the richest,"--I replied, and as I spoke the thought flashed suddenly across me how recently I had been one of the poorest!--"But my friend here, the prince, is far richer than I."

"Is that so!" and she stared straight at Lucio, who met her gaze with an indulgent, half satirical smile--"Well now! I guess Pa's no better than a sort of pauper after all! Why, you must have the world at your feet!"

"Pretty much so,"--replied Lucio composedly--"But then, my dear Miss Chesney, the world is so very easily brought to one's feet. Surely _you_ know that?"

And he emphasized the words by an expressive look of his fine eyes.

"I guess you mean compliments,"--she replied unconcernedly--"I don't like them as a rule, but I'll forgive you this once!"

"Do!" said Lucio, with one of his dazzling smiles that caused her to stop for a moment in her voluble chatter and observe him with mingled fascination and wonderment.

"And you too are young, like Mr Tempest,"--she resumed presently.

"Pardon me!" interrupted Lucio--"I am many years older."

"Really!" exclaimed Lord Elton at this juncture--"You don't look it, does he Charlotte?"

Miss Fitzroy thus appealed to, raised her elegant tortoise-sh.e.l.l-framed gla.s.ses to her eyes and peered critically at us both.

"I should imagine the prince to be slightly the senior of Mr Tempest"--she remarked in precise high-bred accents--"But only very slightly."

"Anyhow," resumed Miss Chesney "you're young enough, to enjoy your wealth aren't you?"

"Young enough, or old enough;--just as you please;"--said Lucio with a careless shrug--"But as it happens--I do _not_ enjoy it!"

Miss Chesney's whole aspect now expressed the most lively astonishment.

"What does money do for you?" went on Lucio, his eyes dilating with that strange and wistful expression which had often excited my curiosity--"The world is at your feet, perhaps; yes--but _what_ a world!

What a trumpery clod of kickable matter! Wealth acts merely as a kind of mirror to show you human nature at its worst. Men skulk and fawn about you, and lie twenty times in as many hours in the hope to propitiate you and serve their own interests; princes of the blood willingly degrade themselves and their position to borrow cash of you,--your intrinsic merit (if you have any) is thought nothing of,--your full pockets are your credentials with kings, prime ministers and councillors! You may talk like a fool, laugh like a hyena and look like a baboon, but if the c.h.i.n.k-c.h.i.n.k of your gold be only sufficiently loud, you may soon find yourself dining with the Queen if such be your ambition. If, on the contrary you happen to be truly great, brave, patient, and enduring, with a spark in you of that genius which strengthens life and makes it better worth living,--if you have thoughts which take shape in work that shall endure when kingdoms are swept away like dust before the wind, and if, with all this you are yet poor in current coin, why then,--you shall be spurned by all the crowned dummies of the world,--you shall be snubbed by the affluent starch-maker and the Croesus who lives on a patent pill,--the tradesman from whom you buy bedsteads and kitchen ware, can look down upon you with lordly scorn, for does he not by virtue of his wealth alone, drive a four-in-hand, and chat on easy and almost patronizing terms with the Prince of Wales? The wealthy denizens of Sn.o.b-land delight in ignoring Nature's elected n.o.blemen."

"But supposing" said Miss Chesney quickly, "you happen to be a Nature's n.o.bleman yourself, and have the advantage of wealth besides, surely you must fairly allow that to be rather a good thing, mustn't you?"

Lucio laughed a little--

"I will retort upon you in your own words fair lady, and say 'I guess you mean compliments.' What I venture to imply however, is that even when wealth does fall to the lot of one of these 'Nature's n.o.blemen,' it is not _because_ of his innate n.o.bility that he wins social distinction.

It is simply because he is rich. That is what vexes me. I for example, have endless friends who are not my friends so much as the friends of my income. They do not trouble to inquire as to my antecedents,--what I am or where I came from is of no importance. Neither are they concerned in how I live or what I do; whether I am sick or well, happy or unhappy, is equally with them a matter of indifference. If they knew more about me, it would perhaps be better in the long run. But they do not want to know,--their aims are simple and unconcealed,--they wish to make as much out of me, and secure as much advantage to themselves by their acquaintance with me as possible. And I give them their full way,--they get all they want,--and more!"

His musical voice lingered with a curiously melancholy impressiveness on the last word,--and this time, not only Miss Chesney, but we all, looked at him as though drawn by some irresistible magnetic spell, and for a moment there was silence.

"Very few people have any real friends,"--said Lord Elton presently.

"And in that respect I suppose we're none of us worse off than Socrates, who used to keep two chairs only in his house 'one for myself, and another for a friend--when I find him!' But you are a universal favourite Lucio,--a most popular fellow--and I think you're rather hard on your set. People must look after themselves you know--eh?"