Part 37 (1/2)
Next day the following paragraph appeared in one of the evening papers, which probably had more s.p.a.ce than usual at its disposal:
”SINGULAR OCCURRENCE ON A PENNY STEAMER
”A gentleman on board one of the Thames steamboats (so we are informed by an eye-witness) met with a somewhat ludicrous mishap yesterday evening. It appears that he had with him a small portmanteau, or large hand-bag, which he was supporting on the rail of the stern bulwark. Just as the vessel was opposite the Savoy Hotel he incautiously raised his hand to the brim of his hat, thereby releasing hold of the bag, which overbalanced itself and fell into the deepest part of the river, where it instantly sank. The owner (whose carelessness occasioned considerable amus.e.m.e.nt to pa.s.sengers in his immediate vicinity) appeared no little disconcerted by the oversight, and was not unnaturally reticent as to the amount of his loss, though he was understood to state that the bag contained nothing of any great value. However this may be, he has probably learnt a lesson which will render him more careful in future.”
THE EPILOGUE
On a certain evening in May Horace Ventimore dined in a private room at the Savoy, as one of the guests of Mr. Samuel Wackerbath. In fact, he might almost be said to be the guest of the evening, as the dinner was given by way of celebrating the completion of the host's new country house at Lipsfield, of which Horace was the architect, and also to congratulate him on his approaching marriage (which was fixed to take place early in the following month) with Miss Sylvia Futvoye.
”Quite a small and friendly party!” said Mr. Wackerbath, looking round on his numerous sons and daughters, as he greeted Horace in the reception-room. ”Only ourselves, you see, Miss Futvoye, a young lady with whom you are fairly well acquainted, and her people, and an old schoolfellow of mine and his wife, who are not yet arrived. He's a man of considerable eminence,” he added, with a roll of reflected importance in his voice; ”quite worth your cultivating. Sir Lawrence Pountney, his name is. I don't know if you remember him, but he discharged the onerous duties of Lord Mayor of London the year before last, and acquitted himself very creditably--in fact, he got a baronetcy for it.”
As the year before last was the year in which Horace had paid his involuntary visit to the Guildhall, he was able to reply with truth that he _did_ remember Sir Lawrence.
He was not altogether comfortable when the ex-Lord-Mayor was announced, for it would have been more than awkward if Sir Lawrence had chanced to remember _him_. Fortunately, he gave no sign that he did so, though his manner was graciousness itself. ”Delighted, my dear Mr. Ventimore,” he said pressing Horace's hand almost as warmly as he had done that October day of the dais, ”most delighted to make your acquaintance! I am always glad to meet a rising young man, and I hear that the house you have designed for my old friend here is a perfect palace--a marvel, sir!”
”I knew he was my man,” declared Mr. Wackerbath, as Horace modestly disclaimed Sir Lawrence's compliment. ”You remember, Pountney, my dear fellow, that day when we were crossing Westminster Bridge together, and I was telling you I thought of building? 'Go to one of the leading men--an R.A. and all that sort of thing,' you said, 'then you'll be sure of getting your money's worth.' But I said, 'No, I like to choose for myself; to--ah--exercise my own judgment in these matters. And there's a young fellow I have in my eye who'll beat 'em all, if he's given the chance. I'm off to see him now.' And off I went to Great Cloister Street (for he hadn't those palatial offices of his in Victoria Street at that time) without losing another instant, and dropped in on him with my little commission. Didn't I, Ventimore?”
”You did indeed,” said Horace, wondering how far these reminiscences would go.
”And,” continued Mr. Wackerbath, patting Horace on the shoulder, ”from that day to this I've never had a moment's reason to regret it. We've worked in perfect sympathy. His ideas coincided with mine. I think he found that I met him, so to speak, on all fours.”
Ventimore a.s.sented, though it struck him that a happier expression might, and would, have been employed if his client had remembered one particular interview in which he had not figured to advantage.
They went in to dinner, in a room sumptuously decorated with panels of grey-green brocade and softly shaded lamps, and screens of gilded leather; through the centre of the table rose a tall palm, its boughs hung with small electric globes like magic fruits.
”This palm,” said the Professor, who was in high good humour, ”really gives quite an Oriental look to the table. Personally, I think we might reproduce the Arabian style of decoration and arrangement generally in our homes with great advantage. I often wonder it never occurred to my future son-in-law there to turn his talents in that direction and design an Oriental interior for himself. Nothing more comfortable and luxurious--for a bachelor's purposes.”
”I'm sure,” said his wife, ”Horace managed to make himself quite comfortable enough as it was. He has the most delightful rooms in Vincent Square.” Ventimore heard her remark to Sir Lawrence: ”I shall never forget the first time we dined there, just after my daughter and he were engaged. I was quite astonished: everything was so perfect--quite simple, you know, but _so_ ingeniously arranged, and his landlady such an excellent cook, too! Still, of course, in many ways, it will be nicer for him to have a home of his own.”
”With such a beautiful and charming companion to share it with,” said Sir Lawrence, in his most florid manner, ”the--ah--poorest home would prove a Paradise indeed! And I suppose now, my dear young lady,” he added, raising his voice to address Sylvia, ”you are busy making your future abode as exquisite as taste and research can render it, ransacking all the furniture shops in London for treasures, and going about to auctions--or do you--ah--delegate that department to Mr.
Ventimore?”
”I do go about to old furniture shops, Sir Lawrence,” she said, ”but not auctions. I'm afraid I should only get just the thing I didn't want if I tried to bid.... And,” she added, in a lower voice, turning to Horace, ”I don't believe _you_ would be a bit more successful, Horace!”
”What makes you say that, Sylvia?” he asked, with a start.
”Why, do you mean to say you've forgotten how you went to that auction for papa, and came away without having managed to get a single thing?”
she said. ”What a short memory you must have!”