All But Lost: A Novel. Vol. 2 of 3

“TEDDY DRAKE.

Prescott laughed over the letter.

“I suppose you mean to go, Frank?”

“Of course,” Frank said. “This is quite an excitement. A country wedding will be a relief indeed after these solemn London parties. Well, I have no time to lose, and must go and get gloves and things for the festive occasion. Keep your eye on Buttons, Prescott, and make him useful.”

It was nearly six o'clock, and already dark, when Frank arrived at the dingy little station of Stoke-on-Trent. Teddy Drake was upon the platform to meet him, and was perfectly uproarious in his greeting.

“And so am I to see you, Drake, very glad. You are not a bit altered.”

“You are, Frank, tremendously. I should hardly have known you with those big whiskers. Is that portmanteau all you have? That is right. Here, porter, just put this portmanteau in my dog-cart.”

“This Trent valley of yours, Drake, is rather alarming to a weak-minded man. All these flaming forges and kilns certainly give one the idea that the crust of the earth must be of unusual thinness hereabouts, and the hot regions unpleasantly near. I do not feel singed yet, certainly, still one can't but think that facilis descensus averni. The question is, ‘shall I hence unscathed go?’”

Teddy laughed.

“To another man I should have said that the bright eyes of the Staffordshire girls were more dangerous than their fathers' fires; but you, who have seen the beauties of Spain, Italy, and the East, are not likely to be scorched by our lesser luminaries.”

“You see more pretty faces in a week in England than in a year abroad, Teddy. How far is your place?”

“Only another hundred yards or so. There, you can see the lights among the trees. Now, we are turning in at the gate. Mind your face, Frank: some of these shrubs want cutting. Here we are.”

The front-door was opened as the dog-cart drove up, and the bright light streamed cheerfully out into the damp evening. Mr. Drake was in the hall.

“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Maynard. We have heard so much of you from Teddy that we all feel as if you were quite an old friend.”

“Come along, Frank; I will show you your room. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, so you had better go up at once, and then I can introduce you to the womankind.”

The room was a small one, for which Teddy apologised.

“You must put up with a small room, Frank, for to-morrow we shall have no end of people here,—bridesmaids and aunts, and that sort of thing.”

“You need not apologise, Teddy. After knocking about Europe and the East for the last two years I am not likely to quarrel with such a room as this. Now, you go off and dress while I am unpacking, and come in again as soon as you can, and talk to me.”

Teddy was not long absent.

“Now, Teddy, sit down while I am dressing, and tell me about every one; give me the consigne, as it were.”

“The present occupants of the house,” Teddy Drake said, “are, first, my father, whom you have seen—a dacent man, though I say it myself—acting partner in the great house of Painter & Co., porcelain manufacturers; an Englishman, quiet and matter of fact; has not a keen appreciation of a joke. My mother is Irish to the backbone, and we all take after her. Indeed, we spend a good deal of our time over there with her relations, and the brogue comes natural to us. I always use it myself, especially when I am talking with ladies; one can venture upon a tinder sentiment in the brogue which one could never hazard in Saxon. The only son of the above-mentioned couple——”

“Spare me that, Teddy,” Frank laughed; “I know more of him than is to his advantage already.”

“Now I call that unkind, Frank; I was about to have said some neat things about Edward Drake, Esq. My elder sister Margaret is to be married in two days, so you won't see much of her, and I need not bother you with a description. She is quiet, and takes after her father. Sarah is one of the jolliest girls you will meet in a day's journey, and Katie's a darling.”

“I remember your speaking of your two elder sisters at Cambridge, Teddy, but I do not think I heard you mention the youngest.”

“Oh, Katie is not a sister at all, Frank. She is a cousin—a downright Irish girl. She has lost her father and mother, and has been living with us for the last two years. Now, Frank, make haste with your dressing, and draw it as mild as you conveniently can, for the girls' sake. It is not fair, Frank; upon my life, it is not. I told them that you were really a good fellow, and they are prepared to like you upon my recommendation; but I said that, as far as looks went, you were nothing to speak of—in fact, rather the contrary—and now they'll think I've been humbugging them entirely.”

“I am very much obliged to you for your recommendation, Teddy,” Frank said, laughing.

“It's as true as the piper, Frank. You know you were not a bit good-looking—too thin and whipcordy; but now you have got so much broader, and those whiskers of yours alter your face altogether. Do you know, Frank,” Teddy said, critically, “you are really an uncommonly good-looking fellow.”

“Have you got any boxing-gloves in the house, Teddy?” Frank asked, laughing; “because, if so, we will put them on after breakfast to-morrow.”

“No, thank you, Frank, I know you of old; and at any rate no boxing for me till after the wedding. There, now you are ready; let's go downstairs. Dinner will be ready in three or four minutes.”

As Frank Maynard crossed the drawing-room, he came to the rapid conclusion that Teddy's sister Sarah was a tall, handsome girl, with good features, and a happy, good-natured expression like that of her brother. Katie was short and rather plump, with large eyes, which Frank noticed, with amusement, opened a little wider in surprise as he entered. Teddy had evidently drawn his portrait in most unflattering colours, for the introduction over, Sarah's first remark was,—

“I should not have known you in the least, Mr. Maynard, by Teddy's description. You are not one bit like it; is he, Katie?”

“No,” Katie said; “not in one bit. Teddy, what did you take us in that way at all for?”

“'Pon my life, Katie, it's as true as could be. It's the whiskers have made the difference to him.”

“Nonsense, Teddy. Don't believe him, Miss Drake; he has been making fun of you on purpose. Teddy was always great at romancing.”

“Don't you mind what these young people say, Mr. Maynard; they are very rude,” Mrs. Drake said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Drake, I am pretty well able to take care of myself, and I know Teddy of old.”

When they were fairly seated at dinner, Frank had time to examine his new acquaintances more accurately. Miss Drake was something like her sister Sarah in appearance, but was more quiet and subdued. Sarah, he thought, was really very pretty, and seemed as full of spirits and fun as her brother. Kate O'Byrne was, as has been said, short and rather plump. Her hair was jet black, and her head set gracefully on to her neck. Her features were not particularly good, but her eyes were beautiful; large eyes of uncertain colour, now hazel, now grey, generally very soft and trusting in their expression, but frequently lighting up with an arch ripple of fun, and when indignant flashing out defiantly; eyes which in repose, shaded by the long black eyelashes, were soft and thoughtful, but which looked up so earnestly and straight for an answer, that he would have been a bold man who would have ventured upon an untruth to their owner. A soft, plump cheek, lips slightly parted, a pretty chin with a little double roll beneath it, a soft and very musical voice, a very small, well-shaped hand, and, as Frank afterwards noticed, tiny feet. Katie O'Byrne was not nearly so pretty, so far as prettiness went, as her cousin Sarah: hers was one of those faces which do not strike greatly at first sight, but grow gradually upon one. A face with a good deal of character and firmness; altogether, as Frank said to himself at the end of the evening, “a very loveable face.”

The conversation at dinner was sustained with unflagging spirit, principally by Frank, Teddy Drake, and his sister Sarah. Miss O'Byrne did not talk much, and indeed, Frank found afterwards that she seldom took much share in general conversation.

Frank did not sit long over his wine, but soon joined the ladies in the drawing-room, and was speedily engaged in an animated skirmish with the two girls. Then they had some music, and Miss O'Byrne sang some Irish melodies in a pure, rich, contralto voice, which had been thoroughly trained, and with a feeling and expression which delighted Frank. The ladies retired early, as the next was to be a fatiguing day, and Frank and Teddy sat up smoking and talking of college days, until a very late hour indeed.

The next day the house filled with guests, and great were the preparations for the event of the day following. Frank and Teddy were in great request, and found full occupation in assisting the bridesmaids to fill the vases, &c., with flowers. Furniture, too, had to be moved, and many arrangements improvised, for the ball in the evening. Very gay was the wedding, and the whole town of Stoke made holiday. The wedding festivities were followed by much general gaiety,—dinners, small dances, and balls. The Drakes' house continued full of guests, and Frank had great opportunities in the midst of all these gaieties to indulge in a very extensive amount of flirtation. After his long absence on the Continent, there was a great charm in the unrestrained and familiar intercourse with a number of young English girls as lively, innocent, and fearless as young fawns. But if he flirted, he flirted generally, dividing his attentions with perfect impartiality among the bridesmaids, and, with the assistance of Teddy Drake, keeping up a perpetual state of fun and laughter with them. Miss Drake and himself were great allies. After the first few days they had, by mutual consent, taken to call each other Frank and Sarah. With her cousin Frank never attempted a similar step, but addressed her as Miss O'Byrne, in a formal manner, and took excessive pleasure in teazing her in that and other small matters, especially in respect of her brogue, to her no small indignation. For Katie was a staid little person in her way, and stood rather on her dignity, and she chafed not a little under the feeling that even when Frank was professing the utmost deference to her opinion, he was really quietly bantering her. One evening, when Frank had been there nearly three weeks, and was talking of leaving in a few days, he had been specially teazing. Katie had fought hard as usual, but had been conscious of being worsted, and when she went upstairs for the night, she said to her cousin,—