Her Ladyship's Elephant

  Produced by Annie McGuire, from scans obtained from GooglePrint project.

  Her Ladyship's

  Elephant

  By

  D. D. Wells

  LondonWilliam Heinemann1912

  FIRST EDITION, 3s. 6d., _May1898_. NEW IMPRESSIONS, _August1898_; _November 1899_; _September1905_. HEINEMANN'S SEVENPENNYNOVELS, _July 1912_.

  "He sat down hurriedly on the breakfast table"]

  HEINEMANN'S

  Sevenpenny Novels

  By Hall Caine

  The Bondman The Scapegoat

  By R. L. Stevenson

  The Ebb-Tide (With LLOYD OSBOURNE)

  By Jack London

  The Call of the Wild

  By H. G. Wells

  The War of the Worlds

  By Robert S. Hichens

  Flames

  By R. Harding Davis

  Soldiers of Fortune

  By E. L. Voynich

  The Gadfly

  By Maxwell Gray

  The Last Sentence

  By D. D. Wells

  Her Ladyship's Elephant

  _A WORD TO THE WISE_

  _A well-known English novelist once told me that of all his publishedworks--and their name is legion--one only had been founded on fact, andthat one his critics united in condemning as impossible and unnatural.In the case of my own little book, I venture to forestall such criticismby stating that while the characters which appear in its pages are atthe most only composite photographs, the one "impossible" and"unnatural" figure, the elephant, had his foundation in actual fact; andthe history of its acquirement by the Consul, as hereinafter set forth,is the truthful narration of an actual experience, one of many episodes,stranger than fiction, which went to form the warp and woof of mydiplomatic experience._

  _DAVID DWIGHT WELLS._

  CHAPTER I

  IN WHICH THE SAME QUESTION IS ANSWERED IN TWO WAYS

  Harold Stanley Malcolm St. Hubart Scarsdale, Esq., of "The Towers,"Sussex, sat uncomfortably on a very comfortable chair. Hispatent-leather boots were manifestly new, his trousers fresh from thepresser, his waistcoat immaculate, while his frock coat with its whitegardenia, and his delicate grey suede gloves, completed an admirabletoilet. He was, in short, got up for the occasion, a thoroughly healthy,muscular, well-groomed animal; good-natured too, fond in his big-heartedboyish way of most other animals, and enough of a sportsman to find nopleasure in winging tame or driven grouse and pheasants. He waspossessed, moreover, of sufficient brains to pass with credit anexamination which gave him a post in the War Office, and had recentlybecome, owing to the interposition of Providence and a restive mare, theeldest son.

  In spite of all this, he was very much out of his depth as he sat there;for he was face to face with a crisis in his life, and that crisis wasembodied in a woman. And such a woman!--quite unlike anything hisconservative British brain had ever seen or imagined before the presentLondon season: a mixture of Parisian daintiness and coquetry, nicelytempered by Anglo-Saxon breeding and common sense--in a word, anAmerican.

  He had come to propose to her, or rather she had sent for him, to whatend he hardly knew. Of this only was he certain, that she had turned hisworld topsy-turvy; cast down his conventional gods; admired him for whathe considered his fallings-off from the established order of things;laughed at his great coups; cared not a whit for his most valuedpossessions; and become, in short, the most incomprehensible,bewitching, lovable woman on earth.

  He had talked to her about the weather, the opera, the Court Ball, andnow--now he must speak to her of his love, unless, blessed reprieve! shespoke first--which she did.

  "Now, Mr. Scarsdale," she remarked, "I have not sent for you to talkamiable society nonsense: I want an explanation."

  "Yes, Miss Vernon," he replied, nerving himself for the ordeal.

  "Why did you propose to Aunt Eliza at the Andersons' crush last night?"

  "Because----" he faltered. "Well, really, you see she is your onlyrelative in England--your chaperon--and it is customary here to addressoffers of marriage to the head of the family."

  "I really don't see why you want to marry her," continued his tormentor."She is over sixty. Oh, you needn't be shocked; Aunt Eliza is notsensitive about her age, and it is well to look these things fairly inthe face. You can't honestly call her handsome, though she is a deargood old soul, but, I fear, too inured to Chicago to assimilate readilywith English society. Of course her private means are enormous----"

  "Good heavens! Miss Vernon," he exclaimed, "there has been some dreadfulmistake! I entertain the highest respect for your aunt, Miss Cogbill,but I don't wish to marry her; I wish to marry--somebody else----"

  "Really! Why don't you propose to Miss Somebody Else in person, then?"

  "It is usual----" he began, but she cut him short, exclaiming:

  "Oh, bother! Excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude, but really, you know,any girl who was old enough to marry would be quite capable of givingyou your--answer." The last word, after a pause for consideration, wasaccompanied by a bewitching, if ambiguous, smile.

  "I--I hope you are not offended," he floundered on, in desperate straitsby this time.

  "Oh dear, no," she returned serenely, "I'm only grieved for Aunt Eliza.You shouldn't have done it, really; it must have upset her dreadfully;she's too old for that sort of thing. Do tell me what she said to you."

  "She said I must propose on my own account," he blurted out, "and thatshe could not pretend to advise me."

  "Clever Aunt Eliza!" murmured Miss Vernon.

  "So you see," continued her lover, determined to have it over and knowthe worst, "I came to you."

  "For more advice?" she queried, and, receiving no answer, continueddemurely: "Of course I haven't the remotest idea whom you mean tohonour, but it does seem to me that the wives of Englishmen allowthemselves to be treated shamefully, and I once made out a list ofobjections which I always said I would present to any Englishman whoproposed to me. Of course," she hastened to add, "you will probablymarry an English girl, who won't mind."

  "I haven't said so!" he interjected.

  "No," she said meditatively, "you haven't. I'll tell you what they areif you wish."

  "Do," he begged.

  "Well, in the first place," she continued, "I should refuse to be a'chattel.'"

  "Oh I say----" he began. But she went on, unheeding his expostulation:

  "Then my husband couldn't beat me, not even once, though the law allowsit."

  "What do you take us for?" he exclaimed.

  "Then," she proceeded, "he would have to love me better than his horsesand his dogs."

  "Oh I say! Mabel," he burst out, teased beyond all limits of endurance,"don't chaff me; I'm awfully in earnest, you know, and if you willaccept what little I have to offer--three thousand a year, and 'TheTowers,' now poor Bob's gone----" He paused, but she made no answer,only he noticed that all of a sudden she had become very serious.

  "Lady Mary, my mother, you know, would of course leave the place to youat once, but there's no title; my father was only a knight. I'msorry----"

  "Oh," she replied, "I wouldn't have married you if you had had one;quite enough of my countrywomen have made fools of themselves on thataccount."

  "Then you will marry me!" he cried, and sprang towards her.

  She saw her slip and tried to correct it.

  "I haven't said----" she began, but the sentence was never finished; forHarold Stanley Malcolm St. Hubart Scarsdale, of "The Towers," Sussex,closed the argument and the lips of Miss Mabel Vernon, of Chicago,Illinois, U.S.A., at one and the same time.

  * * * * *

  Robert Allingford, United States Consul at Christchurch, Engl
and, andMarion, youngest daughter of Sir Peter and Lady Steele, were seated onthe balcony of the Hyde Park Club one hot afternoon. Everybody had gonedown to the races at Goodwood, and the season was drawing its last gasp.The "Row," which they overlooked, was almost deserted, save for anoccasional depressed brougham, while the stretches of the Park beyondwere given over to nursemaids and their attendant "Tommies" and"Bobbies."

  Mamma was there, of course. One must be conventional in London, even inJuly; but she was talking to the other man, Jack Carrington, who hadbeen invited especially for that purpose, and was doing his duty nobly.

  The afternoon tea had been cleared away, and the balcony was deserted.In another week Marion would go into the country, and he would return tohis consulate. He might never have such another chance. Opportunitiesfor a proposal are so rare in London that it does not do to miss them. Aball affords almost the only opening, and when one remembers the offersto which one has been a third party, on the other side of a thin paperscreen--well, it makes a man cautious.

  Robert Allingford had planned and worked up this tea with patience andsuccess. Jack was to be best man, in consideration of his devotion tomamma--provided, of course, that the services of a best man should berequired. On this point Allingford was doubtful. He was sure that LadySteele understood; he knew that Sir Peter had smiled on him indulgentlyfor the past fortnight; his friends chaffed him about it openly atdinners and at the club; but Marion--he was very far from certain if shecomprehended the state of affairs in the slightest degree.

  He had given her river-parties, box-parties, dinners, flowers, candy--inshort, paid her every possible attention; but then she expectedAmericans to do so; it was "just their way," and "didn't mean anything."

  He greatly feared that his proposal would be a shock to her, and Englishgirls, he had been told, did not like shocks. He wondered if it wouldhave been better to ask Lady Steele for her daughter's hand, but this hefelt was beyond him. Proposing was bad enough anyway, but to attempt adeclaration in cold blood--he simply couldn't. Moreover he felt that itmust be now or never. Jack had been giving him the field for fiveminutes already, and he had not even made a beginning. He would go inand get it over.

  "You are leaving town next week," he said. "I shall miss you."

  "You have been very good to me," she replied simply.

  "Good to myself, you mean. It is the greatest pleasure I have in life togive you pleasure, Marion."

  "Mr. Allingford!" she said, half rising. He had used her Christian namefor the first time.

  "Forgive me if I call you Marion," he went on, noting with relief thather ladyship was talking charity bazaar to Jack, and so assuring himfrom interruption.

  "I mean, give me the right to do so. You see I'm awfully in love withyou; I can't help loving the sweetest girl I know. You must have seenhow I cared."

  "Lately, yes--I have suspected it," she answered in a low voice.

  "Do you mind? I can't help it if you do. I'll love you anyway, but Iwant you to be my wife, to care for me just a little; I don't askmore."

  "I think you must speak to mamma."

  "But I don't wish--I mean, can't you give me something to go on--someassurance?"

  She blushed and looked down, repeating the phrase, "I think you mustspeak to mamma."

  "Is that equivalent----" he began; then he saw that it was, and added,"My darling!"

  Her head sank lower, he had her hand in a moment, and wondered if hemight venture to kiss her, screened as they both were by her sunshade,but hesitated to do so because of the ominous silence at the other endof the balcony.

  "If you have nothing better to do this evening," said Lady Steele'svoice to him, "come to us. Sir Peter and I are dining at home, and ifyou will partake of a family dinner with us we shall be delighted."

  He bowed his acceptance.

  "Come, Marion," her ladyship continued. "We have spent a charmingafternoon, Mr. Allingford, thanks to your hospitality. We are at home onThursdays after September; Mr. Carrington, you must come and hear moreabout my bazaar." And they were gone.

  Jack stepped to the bell. "Well, Bob," he said to Allingford, "is itbrandy and soda or champagne?"

  "Champagne," replied that gentleman.

  "Then," remarked Carrington, after ordering a bottle of '80"Perrier"--"then, Bob, my boy, let me congratulate you."

  "I think I deserve it," he replied, as he wrung his friend's hand; "forI believe I have won for my wife the most charming girl in London."

  "I am awfully glad for you," said Carrington, "and I consider her a verylucky young woman."

  "I don't know about that," returned Allingford, "and I'm sure I don'tsee what she can find to care for in me. Why, we hardly know each other.I've only met her in public, and not over a couple of dozen times atthat."

  "Oh, you will find it much more fun becoming acquainted after you areengaged. Our English conventions are beautifully Chinese in somerespects."

  Allingford laughed, saying: "I don't know that I'm going to be engaged.I can't imagine why her family should approve of the match; I haven't atitle and never can have, and I'm only in consular service. Now if I hadbeen a diplomat----"

  "My dear fellow," said Carrington, "you seem to forget that you have afew dozen copper-mines at your disposal, and a larger income than youcan conveniently spend. Her people haven't forgotten it, however, asI'll venture to prophesy that you'll find out before to-morrow morning.As for your being an American and a Consul, that doesn't count. Justmake the settlements sufficiently large, and as long as you don't eatwith your knife or drink out of your finger-bowl they will pardon therest as amiable eccentricities."

  "You are a cynic, Carrington, and I don't believe it," said Allingford,rising to go. "Anyway, what do you know about marriage?"

  "Nothing, and I am not likely to," rejoined his friend, "but I've livedin London."

  The dinner that night at Belgrave Square did not serve to put the Consulat his ease. True, he sat by Marion, but no word was spoken of what hadpassed that afternoon, and he could not help feeling that he was in ananomalous position. He had on his company manners, and was not at hisbest in consequence. He felt he was being watched and would becriticised in the drawing-room after dinner, which made him nervous. SirPeter had several married daughters, one of whom was present, andAllingford wondered how their husbands had behaved under similarcircumstances. He gave Lady Steele, at whose right he sat, ampleopportunity to question him concerning his family history and futureplans and prospects--a chance of which she was not slow to availherself.

  When the ladies had departed and had left the two gentlemen to theircoffee and cigars, Sir Peter lost no time in opening the question, andsaid, somewhat bluntly:

  "So I hear that you wish to marry my daughter."

  The Consul signified that such was the case.

  "I'm sure I don't know why," resumed her father, with true Britishcandour. "I become so used to my children that I sometimes wonder whatother people can see in them. Marion is a good little girl, however,I'll say that for her--a good little girl and not extravagant."

  Sir Peter's manner was reassuring, and Allingford hastened to say thathe was sensible of the great honour Miss Steele had done him inconsidering his suit, and that he should strive to prove himself worthyof her.

  "I don't doubt it, my dear fellow, I don't doubt it." And the baronetpaused, smiling so amiably that the Consul was disconcerted, and beganto fear an unpleasant surprise.

  "I trust," he returned, "that you are not averse to me as a son-in-law?"

  "Personally much the reverse; but I always ask the man who comes to meas you have done one question, and on his answer I base my approval ordisapproval of his suit."

  "And that question is?"

  "Can you support a wife, Mr. Allingford?"

  "As a gentleman I could not have asked her hand if such were not thecase."

  "Ah," replied Sir Peter, "that is quite right."

  "As for my position----" continued the young man.

 
"You hold a public office in the service of your country. I considerthat sufficient guarantee of your position, both moral and social."

  Allingford, who knew something of American practical politics, thoughtthis by no means followed, but forbore to say so, and Sir Petercontinued:

  "Have you any family?"

  "No relations in the world except my younger brother, Dick, who managesthe property at home, while I play at politics abroad."

  "I see," said his host. "One question more and I have done. I disliketalking business after dinner--it should be left to the lawyers; but,seeing that you are an American and do not understand such things, Ithought----"

  The Consul stopped him by a gesture. "You are referring to thesettlements, Sir Peter," he said. "Set your mind at rest on that score.I'll do the proper thing."

  "Of course, my dear fellow, of course; I don't doubt that for a moment.But--er--you won't think me mercenary if I ask you to be--in short--moredefinite. I speak most disinterestedly, purely out of consideration formy daughter's future."

  Allingford frowned slightly as Carrington's prophecy came back to him.His prospective father-in-law was quite within his rights in speaking ashe did, but why couldn't he have left it at least till to-morrow?

  "Would a copper-mine do?" he said, looking up. "I'd give her acopper-mine."

  "Really, I don't know what to say," replied Sir Peter, in someperplexity. "I'm quite ignorant of such matters. Are--er--copper-minesvaluable?"

  "The one I'm thinking of has been worth a quarter of a million since itstarted, and we have only begun to work it," replied the Consul.

  "Bless my soul!" ejaculated his host. "You don't say so! Do you go inmuch for that sort of thing?"

  "Yes, I've quite a number."

  "Dear me!" said Sir Peter dreamily, "a quarter of a million." Thenwaking up he added: "But I'm forgetting the time. My dearAllingford--er--your Christian name escapes me."

  "Robert, Sir Peter."

  "Thanks. I was going to say, my dear Robert, that you must go upstairsand see mamma."