A Bride from the Bush. Hornung Ernest William

Чтение книги онлайн.

      What would she be like? What could she be like?

      CHAPTER II

      HOME IN STYLE

      ‘He must be mad!’ said Granville, flourishing a telegram in his hand.

      ‘He must be very fond of her,’ Lady Bligh replied, simply.

      Granville held the telegram at arm’s length, and slowly focussed it with his eyeglass. He had already declaimed it twice, once with horror in his voice, once with a running accompaniment of agreeable raillery. His third reading was purely compassionate, in accordance with his latest theory regarding the mental condition of the sender.

      ‘“Arrived both well. Chartered launch take us Gravesend Twickenham; show her river. Join us if possible Westminster Bridge 3 o’clock. – Alfred.”’

      Granville sighed.

      ‘Do you comprehend it, dear mother? I think I do, at last, though the prepositions are left to the imagination. He has saved at least twopence over those prepositions – which, of course, is an item, even in a ten-pound job.’

      ‘You don’t mean to say it will cost him ten pounds?’

      ‘Every penny of it: it would cost you or me, or any ordinary person, at least a fiver. I am allowing for Alfred’s being let in rather further than any one else would be.’

      ‘At all events,’ said Lady Bligh, ‘you will do what he asks you; you will be at Westminster at the time he mentions?’

      Granville shrugged his shoulders. ‘Certainly, if you wish it.’

      ‘I think it would be kind.’

      ‘Then I will go, by all means.’

      ‘Thank you – and Granville! I do wish you would give up sneering at your brother’s peculiarities. He does do odd and impulsive things, we know; and there is no denying the extravagance of steaming up the river all the way from Gravesend. But, after all, he has money, and no doubt he wants to show his wife the Thames, and to bring her home in a pleasant fashion, full of pleasant impressions; and upon my word,’ said Lady Bligh, ‘I never heard of a prettier plan in my life! So go, my dear boy, and meet them, and make them happier still. If that is possible, no one could do it more gracefully than you, Gran!’

      Granville acknowledged the compliment, and promised; and punctually at three he was at Westminster Bridge, watching with considerable interest the rapid approach of a large launch – a ridiculously large one for the small number of people on board. She had, in fact, only two passengers, though there was room for fifty. One of the two was Alfred, whose lanky figure was unmistakable at any distance; and the dark, straight, strapping young woman at his side was, of course, Alfred’s wife.

      The meeting between the brothers was hearty enough, but it might have been more entirely cordial had there been a little less effusiveness on one side – not Granville’s. But Alfred – who was dressed in rough tweed clothes of indeterminate cut, and had disfigured himself with a beard – was so demonstrative in his greeting that the younger brother could not help glancing anxiously round to assure himself that there was no one about who knew him. It was a relief to him to be released and introduced to the Bride.

      ‘Gladys, this is Gran come to meet us – as I knew he would – like the brick he is, and always was!’

      Gran was conscious of being scrutinised keenly by the finest dark eyes he had ever encountered in his life; but the next moment he was shaking his sister-in-law’s hand, and felt that it was a large hand – a trifling discovery that filled Granville with a subtile sense of satisfaction. But the Bride was yet to open her lips.

      ‘How do you do?’ she said, the olive tint of her cheek deepening slightly. ‘It was awfully nice of you to come; I am glad to see you – I have heard such lots about you, you know!’

      It was said so glibly that the little speech was not, perhaps, exactly extempore: and it was spoken – every word of it – with a twang that, to sensitive ears like Granville’s, was simply lacerating. Granville winced, and involuntarily dropped his eyeglass; but otherwise he kept a courteous countenance, and made a sufficiently civil reply.

      As for Alfred, he, of course, noticed nothing unusual in his wife’s accents; he was used to them; and, indeed, it seemed to Granville that Alfred spoke with a regrettable drawl himself.

      ‘You’ve got to play showman, Gran,’ said he, when some natural questions had been hurriedly put and tersely answered (by which time they were opposite Lambeth Palace). ‘I’ve been trying, but I’m a poor hand at it; indeed, I’m a poor Londoner, and always was: below Blackfriars I was quite at sea, and from here to Richmond I’m as ignorant as a brush.’

      ‘No; he’s no good at all,’ chimed in the Bride, pleasantly.

      ‘Well, I’m not well up in it, either,’ said Gran, warily.

      This was untrue, however. Granville knew his Thames better than most men – it was one of the things he did know. But he had a scholar’s reverence for classic ground; and in a young man who revered so very little, this was remarkable, if it was not affectation. Granville would have suffered tortures rather than gravely point out historic spots to a person whose ideas of history probably went no farther back than the old Colonial digging days; he would have poured sovereigns into the sea as readily as the coin of sacred associations into Gothic ears. At least, so he afterwards said, when defending his objection to interpreting the Thames for his sister-in-law’s benefit.

      ‘What nonsense!’ cried Alfred, good-humouredly. ‘You know all about it – at all events, you used to. There – we’ve gone and let her miss Lambeth Palace! Look, dear, quick, while it’s still in sight – that’s where the Archbishop of Canterbury hangs out.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Gladys, ‘I’ve heard of him.’

      ‘And isn’t that Cheyne Walk, or some such place, that we’re coming to on the right there?’ said Alfred.

      ‘Yes,’ said Granville, briefly; ‘that’s Cheyne Walk.’

      Luckily the Bride asked no questions – indeed, she was inclined to be silent – for of all localities impossible to discuss with an uneducated person, Granville felt that Chelsea and Cheyne Walk were the most completely out of the question. And that the Bride was a sadly uneducated person was sufficiently clear, if only from her manner of speaking. Granville accepted the fact with creditable equanimity – he had prophesied as much – and sat down to smoke a cigarette and to diagnose, if he could, this new and wonderful dialect of his sister-in-law. It was neither Cockney nor Yankee, but a nasal blend of both: it was a lingo that declined to let the vowels run alone, but trotted them out in ill-matched couples, with discordant and awful consequences; in a word, it was Australasiatic of the worst description. Nor was the speech of Alfred free from the taint – Alfred, whose pronunciation at least had been correct before he went out; while the common colloquialisms of the pair made Granville shudder.

      ‘If I did not hope for such surprisingly good looks,’ said he to himself, ‘yet even I was not prepared for quite so much vulgarity! Poor dear Alfred!’

      And Granville sighed, complacently.

      Yet, as she leant upon the rail in the summer sunlight, silent and pensive, there was certainly no suggestion of vulgarity in her attitude; it was rather СКАЧАТЬ