Campmeetings are nothing to it."
The dwelling of the respectable family alluded to was a tolerably sized house of red brick, placed in a painfully neat garden, and shut in from the high road by a tall and jealous fence of green-painted wood.
The stout widow and two stout spinster daughters, who made up the inmates, quite deserved Mrs. Vrain's epithet of "heavy."
They were aggressively healthy, with red cheeks, black hair, and staring black eyes devoid of expression; a trio of Dutch dolls would have looked more intellectual.
They were plainly and comfortably dressed; the drawing-room was plainly and comfortably furnished; and both house and inmates looked thoroughly respectable and eminently dull.
What such a hawk as Mrs. Vrain was doing in this Philistine dove-cote, Lucian could not conjecture; but he admired her tact in making friends with a family whose heavy gentility assisted to ballast her somewhat light reputation; while the three of their brains in unison could not comprehend her tricks, or the reasons for which they were played.
"At all events, these three women are too honest to speak anything but the truth," thought Lucian while undergoing the ordeal of being presented. "So I'll learn for certain if Mrs. Vrain was really here on Christmas Eve."
The Misses Pegall and their lace-capped mamma welcomed Lucian with heavy good nature and much simpering, for they also had an eye to a comely young man; but the cunning Lydia they kissed and embraced, and called "dear" with much zeal.
Mrs. Vrain, on her part, darted from one to the other like a bird, pecking the red apples of their cheeks, and cast an arch glance at Lucian to see if he admired her talent for man?uvering.
Then cake and wine, port and sherry, were produced in the style of early Victorian hospitality, from which epoch Mrs. Pegall dated, and all went merry as a marriage bell, while Lydia laid her plans to have herself exculpated in Lucian's eyes without being inculpated in those of the family.
"We have just come up from our place in Somerset," explained Mrs. Pegall, in a comfortable voice. "The girls wanted to see the sights, so I just said, 'we'll go, dears, and perhaps we'll get a glimpse of the dear Queen.'
I'm sure she has no more loyal subjects than we three."
"Are you going out much this year, dear Mrs. Vrain?" asked Beatrice Pegall, the elder and plainer of the sisters.
"No, dear," replied Lydia, with a sigh, putting a dainty handkerchief to her eyes. "You know what I have lost."
The two groaned, and Miss Cecilia Pegall, who was by way of being very religious in a Low Church way, remarked that "all flesh was grass," to which observation her excellent mamma rejoined:
"Very true, dear, very true."
And then the trio sighed again, and shook their black heads like so many mandarins.
"I should never support my grief," continued Lydia, still tearful, "if it was not that I have at least three dear friends. Ah!
I shall never forget that happy Christmas Eve!"
"Last Christmas Eve, dear Mrs. Vrain?" said Cecilia.
"When you were all so kind and good," sobbed Lydia, with a glance at Lucian, to see that he noticed the confirmation. "We played whist, didn't we?"
"Four rubbers," groaned Mrs. Pegall, "and retired to bed at ten o'clock, after prayers and a short hymn. Quite a carol that hymn was, eh, dears?"
"And your poor pa was so bad with his cough," said Beatrice, "I hope it is better.
He went away before dinner, too! Do say your pa is better!"
"Yes, dear, much better," said Lydia, and considering it was four months since Christmas Eve, Lucian thought it was time Mr. Clyne recovered.
"He enjoyed his tea, though," said Cecilia. "Mr. Clyne always says there is no tea like ours."
"And no evenings," cried Lydia, who was very glad there were not. "Poppa and I are coming soon to have a long evening—to play whist again."
"But, dear Mrs. Vrain, you are not going?"
"I must, dears," with a kiss all round. "I have such a lot to do, and Mr. Denzil is coming with me, as poppa wants to consult him about some law business.
He's a barrister, you know."
"I hope Mr. Denzil will come and see us again," said Mrs. Pegall, shaking hands with Lucian.
A fat, puffy hand she had, and damp.
"Oh, delighted! delighted!" said Denzil hurriedly.
"Cards and tea, and sensible conversation," said Beatrice seriously, "no more."
"You forget prayers at ten, dear," rejoined Cecilia in low tones.
"We are a plain family, Mr. Denzil. You must take us as we are."
"Thank you, Mrs. Pegall, I will."
"Good-bye, dears," cried Lydia again, and with a final peck all round she skipped out and into the hansom, followed by her escort.
"Damn!" said Mrs. Vrain, when the cab drove away in the direction of Bayswater. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Mr. Denzil.
I assure you I am not in the habit of swearing, but the extreme respectability of the Pegalls always makes me wish to relieve my feelings by going to the other extreme.
What do you think of them?"
"They seem very good people, and genuine."
"And very genteel and dull," retorted Lydia. "Like Washington, they can't tell a lie for a red cent; so you can believe I was there with poppa on Christmas Eve, only he went away, and I stayed all night."
"Yes, I believe it, Mrs. Vrain."
"Then I couldn't have been in Jersey Street or Geneva Square, sticking Mark with the stiletto?"
"No!
I believe you to be innocent," said Lucian gravely. "In fact, I really don't think it is necessary to find out about this cloak at Baxter & Co.'s.
I am assured you did not buy it."
"I guess I didn't, Mr. Denzil; but you want to know who did, and so do I.
Well, you need not open your eyes.