EORGE'S idea was to get home quick. There was no possible chance of a second meeting with Maud that night. They had met and had been whirled asunder. No use to struggle with fate. Best to give in and hope that another time fate would be kinder. What George wanted now was to be away from all the gay glitter and the fairylike tout ensemble and the galaxy of fair women and brave men, safe in his own easy-chair, where nothing could happen to him. A nice sense of duty would no doubt have taken him back to his post in order fully to earn the sovereign which had been paid to him for his services as temporary waiter; but the voice of duty called to him in vain. If the British aristocracy desired refreshments, let them get them for themselves—and like it! He was through.
But if George had for the time being done with the British aristocracy, the British aristocracy had not done with him. Hardly had he reached the hall when he encountered the one member of the order whom he would most gladly have avoided.
Lord Belpher was not in genial mood. Late hours always made his head ache, and he was not a dancing man; so that he was by now fully as weary of the fairylike tout ensemble as was George. But, being the center and cause of the night's proceedings, he was compelled to be present to the finish. He was in the position of captains who must be the last to leave their ships and of boys who stand on burning decks whence all but them had fled. He had spent several hours shaking hands with total strangers and receiving with a frozen smile their felicitations on the attainment of his majority; and he could not have been called upon to meet a larger horde of relations than had surged round him that night if he had been a rabbit. The Belpher connection was wide, straggling over most of England; and first cousins, second cousins, and even third and fourth cousins had debouched from practically every county on the map and marched upon the home of their ancestors. The effort of having to be civil to all of these had told upon Percy. Like the heroine of his sister Maud's favorite poem he was “aweary, aweary,” and he wanted a drink. He regarded George's appearance as exceedingly opportune,
“Get me a small bottle of champagne and bring it to the library.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two words sound innocent enough, but, wishing as he did to efface himself and avoid publicity, they were the most unfortunate which George could have chosen. If he had merely bowed acquiescence and departed, it is probable that Lord Belpher would not have taken a second look at him. Percy was in no condition to subject everyone he met to a minute scrutiny. But when you have been addressed for an entire lifetime as “your lordship,” it startles you when a waiter calls you “sir.” Lord Belpher gave George a glance in which reproof and pain were nicely mingled, emotions quickly supplanted by amazement. A gurgle escaped him.
“Stop!” he cried, as George turned away.
Percy was rattled. The crisis found him in two minds. On the one hand, he would have been prepared to take oath that this man before him was the man who had knocked off his hat in Piccadilly. The likeness had struck him like a blow the moment he had taken a good look at the fellow. On the other hand, there is nothing which is more likely to lead one astray than a resemblance. He had never forgotten the horror and humiliation of the occasion, which had happened in his fourteenth year, when a motherly woman at Paddington Station had called him “dearie” and publicly embraced him, on the erroneous supposition that he was her nephew Philip. He must proceed cautiously. A brawl with an innocent waiter, coming on the heels of that infernal episode with the policeman, would give people the impression that assailing the lower orders had become a hobby of his.
“Sir?” said George politely.
His brazen front shook Lord Belpher's confidence
“I haven't seen you here before, have I?” was all he could find to say.
“Ne, sir,” replied George smoothly. “I am only temporarily attached to the castle staff.”
“Where do you come from?”
“America, sir.”
Lord Belpher started.
“America!”
“Yes, sir. I am in England on a vacation. My cousin Albert is page boy at the castle, and he told me there were a few vacancies for extra help to-night, so I applied and was given the job.”
Lord Belpher frowned perplexedly. It all sounded entirely plausible. And, what was satisfactory, the statement could be checked by application to Keggs, the butler. And yet there was a lingering doubt. However, there seemed nothing to be gained by continuing the conversation.