The Womans Way - Page 221/222

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Sidcup," he began; but

Sidcup interrupted him with a nod and a smile.

"I wanted to get you away for a moment, to tell you that it's--all

right," said Sidcup, colouring a little and looking just a trifle

embarrassed, and yet with a tone of pride in his voice. "Isabel and I

have fixed it up. Yes; we were spliced before we left South America.

It's all right, old boy! Congratulate me!"

Derrick shook his hand until Sidcup winced, and they both laughed like a

couple of boys.

"Congratulate you! I should think I do!" said Derrick. "I wish you could

have heard my wife just now, expressing her admiration for yours. She is

more beautiful than ever."

"Oh, well," said Sidcup, with a modest pride; "come to that, you've got

a beauty too. Tell you what, Green, we're both of us deuced lucky men."

"You never spoke a truer word in your life," said Derrick; "and you, at

any rate, deserve your luck."

They returned to the tent, talking as they went; and there, lo and

behold! they found the future Marchioness of Sutcombe the centre of a

laughing and talking group, the hearts of all of which she had conquered

at first sight. For, consider: she was now a future Marchioness, but not

long since she had been Celia Grant, living on a pound a week in Brown's

Buildings--as she told them. Derrick tore her away at last, leaving the

circus company ignorant of the exalted position of their guests; but,

half an hour afterwards, they were astounded beyond words to receive an

invitation to dine next night at Thexford Hall; an invitation from

Sydney Green and his wife, otherwise, Lord and Lady Heyton.

That dinner is marked with a white stone in the history of Derrick and

Celia.

* * * * * One is reluctant to strike a discordant note, a note of squalid tragedy,

in the harmony to which the lives of Celia and Derrick moved; but this

record would not be complete without an account of the ending of the man

who was known as Lord Heyton. Such an ending as his was inevitable. He

died in a drunken brawl in a Chinese doss-house in Manchuria. For months

before his death he had been a cause of trouble and anxiety to the

authorities of the district; in such a place villainy and roguery have

full scope; but poor Heyton never rose to the height of either. Small

and petty offences only were those which came within his capacity.