Not Practical

By

HAD never been nearer doing it in all my life. In fact, I was just about to do it when young Stevenage hove in sight.

"I rather like Lord Stevenage, don't you?" said Lady Amy.

"He's not a bad chap," said I.

"Only," observed Lady Amy, "he's so poor, poor boy."

"So what?" I cried.

"I don't suppose," said she, impressively, "that what with the fall of rents and so on, he can have more than five thousand a year."

I looked at Lady Amy. Then I remarked, with a touch of satire:

"Unhappy devil!"

The satire did not reach Lady Amy.

"Yes," said she, "it's horrid for him; but he may get a little bit more when his aunt dies."

There was a thoughtful, speculative look in Lady Amy's eye. That look is familiar to me.

"My aunt is dead," said I, proudly. "And she left me"

"But it won't be more than two or three thousand," pursued Lady Amy, sadly.

"Not a bit more," said I. (It was two or three hundred really.)

"Still it would just help," said Lady Amy; and she bowed most graciously to Stevenage.

Matters standing thus, I thought I would do it after all. It would relieve my feelings (for she was looking atrociously pretty); it might also be healthy for Lady Amy.

"One mustn't think of money," said I.

"Of course, one oughtn't to think too much of it," agreed Lady Amy.

"If I loved a girl," said I, "the fact of her only having a thousand or two a year would not stop me."

"Wouldn't it indeed, Mr. Vansittart?"

"Not it," said I. "We must think of the heart, Amy." "Mr. Vansittart!"

"I said, we must think of the heart."

"But you—you—you"

"Oh, I meant it," said I, quickly.

"But you called me"

"By the sweetest name in the world!" I cried. "My name is Dick."

"I don't care a bit what your name is," said Lady Amy.

"Nor I what yours is," said I. "Names, forsooth! I once knew a perfectly charming girl named"

"What has that got to do with it, Mr. Vansittart?"

It had nothing to do with it. I resumed my declaration.

"I've loved you for years, Amy," said I. "But I have toiled in silence till I have amassed—thanks to the death of my aunt—a suitable sum"

"I think you're very curious to-night, Mr. Vansittart."

"Of upwards of three hundred a year. It shall all be yours—every farthing."

"Three hundred a year?" and Lady Amy began to laugh.

"And," I added, "a love such as"

"Please, Mr. Vansittart! Surely you must see that—Oh, it's absurd, it really is! Oh, what are you doing?"

"I was taking your hand," said I.

"Well, but you mustn't; because it's quite impossible, and absurd, and—there, you've held it quite long enough now. I'm very sorry, really I am, Mr. Vansittart, but"

"Sorry? What are you sorry for, Amy?"

"Now you mustn't call me"

"I do believe," I cried, "that you're going to refuse me!" "Certainly I am," said Lady Amy.

"I never heard of such a thing in my life," said I, indignantly.

Lady Amy looked at me. I had never quite known how much (or how little) I loved Lady Amy. The question, you see, was really not a practical one; but I think I looked as if I loved her a good deal, for she said, with a perplexed little laugh:

"How silly you are! Because we were such good friends, Mr. Vansittart."

"Your heart is softening," I observed. "You like me very much, really."

"I should really just like to hear what mamma would say!" said Lady Amy.

"You shall enjoy the pleasure in ten minutes," I promised her, preparing to rise.

"Oh, Mr. Vansittart, please! Oh, no, please! Oh, please, sit still I—I didn't mean anything of the kind. It is absolutely out of the question. Besides, I don't—don't care for you, you know."

"That's a mere afterthought," said I, severely.

"And even if I did"

"And even though you do?"

"Oh, dear me, what's the use of talking about it? If I liked you ever so much, it would be"

"Only half as much as I like you," said I. I was quite interested in the thing by now.

"Oh, Mr. Vansittart, this is most painful"

"Painful?" I cried.

"Why, of course. When I like you so much as a!" "Well, I suppose it is painful in a way," I conceded, reluctantly.

"But I shall always like to remember that you paid me the"

"You oughtn't to like to remember it, you know."

"I suppose I oughtn't, but Sometimes I think it's a horrid world, don't you, Mr. Vansittart? Oh, be careful! There's Lord—I mean, there's somebody coming."

"It's nothing to me who's coming," said I. "I am only being refused—and if I don't mind, why should you?"

Then Lady Amy said in a curious tone—quite low, you know, and not quite steady, and—oh, hang it, I can't describe it—

"You mustn't be unkind to me, Mr. Vansittart."

I looked at Lady Amy. My cousin Flo never allows that she was pretty. Well, I don't know.

"It is rather a beast of a world," said I.

"I just shouldn't dare," said Lady Amy.

"I was an infernal brute ever to"

"Oh, no, you weren't. I—I didn't mind it—much, you know. But you must have known it was absurd, mustn't you?"

"I knew it," said I, gloomily, "till half-way through."

"Then you forgot it." she asked, lifting her lashes for an instant.

"Yes—clean," said I.

A pause followed. Then Lady Amy gave another little laugh, and said: "Heigho! I—I nearly forgot it too. Shall we go back to the room " (We had been upon the stairs.)

"I suppose we'd better," said I, rising.

"In a minute," said Lady Amy; and she took a little lace spider's web, and delicately "Am I all right now?" she asked.

"No one would ever suspect it," said I, giving her my arm.

She took it, and we set out. Just as we reached the door of the room, I felt a sudden little pressure on my arm, and a sudden grip of slim fingers; and a voice said in my ear:

"It was rather dear of you to forget, Dick."

And before I could answer—for just at first I couldn't answer—Lady Amy was gone, and I drifted alone across the room till I found myself opposite the Marchioness.

"Oh, Mr. Vansittart, have you seen my daughter? I've been looking for her everywhere, and Lord Stevenage has been helping me, but we can't find her."

"I lost sight of her only a minute ago," said I.

"What can she have been doing?" asked the Marchioness.

"Oh, she's been all right," said I, reassuringly.

"I want to introduce Mr. Br. Oh, why, there she is now With Mr. Brampton. Thank you, Mr. Vansittart;" and the Marchioness, having no more need of me, moved on.

I looked and beheld her with Mr. Brampton. She sat down with Mr. Brampton. Brampton is a decent enough fellow, and he is supposed to have five hundred pounds a day. After I had looked (from round a corner) as long as I wanted, I went and got my coat. It chanced that Stevenage was getting his coat, and we walked off together, smoking our cigars. Suddenly Stevenage observed:

"Thought Lady Amy looking well to-night, didn't you?"

"Deuced," said I, licking the stump of my cigar. "I say, who's that chap Brampton?"

"Oh, he's got a pile," said I.

Stevenage stopped short in the middle of the pavement.

"Hang the fellow!" said he—and walked on again.

"He's just as good a fellow as most," said I.

"Oh, it's all very well for you," he broke out. "Look here, Vansittart, you're a good sort. I don't mind telling you. I wish I wasn't so confoundedly poor." I took Lord Stevenage's arm. I felt very friendly towards him.

"That's what's the matter, is it?" I asked.

"Of course the old lady—well, you know the old lady! I was well enough till Brampton came along, don't you know?" I pressed his arm sympathetically.

"And I tell you what, Van, I believe that if it wasn't for the beastly money, Lady Amy would have"

"Upon my word," I cried suddenly. "I believe she would!"

"You noticed something in her manner?" he said, eagerly.

"Rather—a lot," said I.

"Isn't it infernal?" he asked.

"It's as infernal as they make it," I agreed.

It happened that at this point we came opposite my club. I took Stevenage in and we had some brandy and soda-water. Stevenage drank his at a gulp, and observed:

"The poor girl daren't do as she likes, you see."

"No; if she did" said I, gazing at the smoke-rings.

"If she did" said Stevenage, leaning forward.

"Upon my honour, I believe she would have" But I stopped abruptly.

Yet something caught Stevenage's eye, for he said:

"By the way, you had a good long sitting with her on those stairs."

"Oh, that was nothing," said I, modestly.

"You seemed to find a lot to say, though," he remarked.

I leant forward in my turn, and laid my hand on Stevenage's knee.

"I was only," said I, "asking her to marry me."

Stevenage started most violently.

"What!" he cried.

"I was only," I repeated, "offering my hand to her."

"You were offering your hand to Lady Amy?"

"Well, my dear fellow, haven't I told you so twice already? Oh, don't be uneasy. You can fight it out with Brampton. She refused me."

But Stevenage finished his brandy and soda-water, threw away his cigar, rose, put on his hat, buttoned up his coat, and, thus equipped, stood staring at me for a minute.

"Well, that is a good 'un," said he.

I believe he still tells the story—as an example of impudence—but he doesn't tell it all; and he still thinks himself very ill-used by Lady Amy Brampton. Ah, well, she was a charming girl.