



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Lady Maude's Mania, by George Manville Fenn.

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LADY MAUDE'S MANIA, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

A HIGH FAMILY.

"Con-found those organs!" said the Earl of Barmouth.

"And frustrate their grinders," cried Viscount Diphoos.

"They are such a nuisance, my boy."

"True, oh sire," replied the viscount, who had the heels of his patent
leather shoes on the library chimney-piece of the town mansion in
Portland Place.  He had reached that spot with difficulty, and was
smoking a cigar, to calm his nerves for what he called the operation.

"Tom, my boy."

"Yes, gov'nor."

"If her ladyship faints--"

"If what?" cried the viscount, bringing his heels into the fender with a
crash.

"If--if--don't speak so sharply, my dear Tom; it jars my back, and sets
that confounded gout jigging and tearing at me all up my leg.  I say, if
her ladyship faints when we come back from the church, will you be ready
to catch her.  I'm afraid if I tried I should let her down, and it would
look so bad before the servants."

"Be too heavy for you, eh, gov'nor?" said Tom, grinning, as he mentally
conjured up the scene.

"Yes, my boy, yes.  She has grown so much stouter and heavier, and I
have grown thinner and lighter since--since the happy day twenty-six
years ago when I married her, Tom--when I married her.  Yes, much
stouter since I married her.  How well I remember it all.  Yes: it was
an easterly wind, I recollect, and your poor dear mamma--her ladyship,
Tom--had the toothache very badly.  It made her face swell out on one
side as we went across to Paris, and I had a deal of bother to get the
waiter and chamber-maid to understand what a linseed-meal poultice was.
Very objectionable thing a linseed-meal poultice; I never did like the
smell."

"I should think not," said the son, watching his father seriously, the
old man having a worn look, as if he had been engaged in a severe
struggle with time.

"Peculiarly faint odour about them.  Seems only last night, and now one
girl going to be married--her ladyship looking out for a rich husband
for the other.  Er--er--does my wig look all right, Tom?" he continued,
patting his head as he turned towards a mirror.

The speaker, who was a very thin, highly-dilapidated old gentleman of
sixty-five, heaved a deep sigh, and then bent down to softly rub his
right leg.

"Spiff," replied Viscount Diphoos, a dapper little boyish fellow of
four-and-twenty, most carefully dressed, and looking as if, as really
was the case, he had just been shampooned, scented, and washed by
Monsieur Launay, the French barber.  "I say, gov'nor, that tremendous
sigh don't sound complimentary to your son and heir."

"My dear boy--my dear Tom," said the old man affectionately, as he
toddled up to the back of his son's chair, and stood there patting his
shoulders.  "It isn't that--it isn't that.  I'm very, very proud of my
children.  Bless you, my dear Tom; bless you, my dear boy!  You're a
very good son to me, but I'm--I'm a bit weak this morning about Diana;
and that confounded fellow with his organ playing those melancholy tunes
quite upset me."

"But he has gone now, governor," said Tom.

"Yes, my boy, but--but he'll come back again, he always does.  Grind,
grind, grind, till he seems to me to be grinding me; and I do not like
to swear, Tom, it's setting you such a bad example; but at times I feel
as if I must say damn, or something inside me would go wrong."

"Say it then, gov'nor, I'll forgive you.  There, I have granted you my
indulgence."

"Thank you, Tom; thank you, Diphoos."

"No, no, gov'nor.  Tom!--don't Diphoos me.  I wish that confounded old
wet sponge of a Welsh mountain had been `diffoosed' before it gave me my
name."

"Ye-es, it is ugly, Tom.  But they are family names, you see, Barmouth--
Diphoos.  Very old family the Diphooses.  And now this wedding--but
there, I'm all right now."

"To be sure you are, gov'nor."

"Yes, yes, yes; you are very good to me, Tom.  Bless you, my boy, bless
you."

The weak tears stood in the old man's eyes, and his voice shook as he
spoke.

"Nonsense, gov'nor, nonsense," said Tom, taking one of the thin withered
hands.  "I'm not much good to you; I think more of cigars and billiards
than anything else.  Have a cigar, guv'nor?"

"No, my boy, no thank you; it would make me smell so, and her ladyship
might notice it.  But, my boy, I see everything, though I'm getting a
little old and weak, and don't speak.  You stand between her ladyship
and me very often, Tom, and make matters more easy.  But don't you take
any notice of me, my boy, and don't you think I sighed because I was
unhappy, for--for I'm very proud of you, Tom, I'm deuced proud of you,
my boy; but it does upset me a bit about Diana going.  India's a long
way off, Tom."

"Yes, gov'nor, but old Goole isn't a bad sort.  The old lady wanted a
rich husband for Di, and she has got him.  Di will be quite a Begum out
in India."

"Ye-es, Tom; and I suppose all the female Diphooses marry elderly
husbands and marry well.  I am a bit anxious about Maude, now."

"No good to be.  The old girl will settle all that.  But I say, gov'nor,
what a set of studs!  Come here; one of them's unfastened.  You'll lose
it."

"I hope not, my boy--I hope not," said the old man, anxiously as his son
busied himself over the shirt-front.  "Her ladyship would be so vexed.
She has taken care of them these ten years, and said I had better wear
them to-day."

"Did she?" said Tom, gruffly.  "There: that will do.  Why, you look
quite a buck this morning.  That wig's a regular fizzer.  Old Launay has
touched you up."

"I'm glad I look well, Tom, deuced glad," said the old man, brightening
up with pleasure.  "And you think Goole's a nice fellow?"

"Ye-es," said Tom, "only, hang it all, gov'nor, there's no romance about
it.  They are both so confoundedly cool and matter-of-fact.  Why if I
were going to be married, I should feel all fire and excitement."

"No, my boy, no--oh, no," said the old man sadly; and he shook his head,
glancing nervously at the glass the next moment to see if his wig was
awry.  "You read about that sort of thing in books, but it doesn't often
come off in fashionable life.  I--I--I remember when--when I married her
ladyship, it was all very matter-of-fact and quiet.  And there was that
poultice.  But you will stand by and catch her if she faints, Tom?"

"Oh, she won't faint, gov'nor," said Tom, curling up his lip.

"I--I--I don't know, my boy, I don't know.  She said that very likely
she should.  Mammas do faint, you know, when they are losing their
children.  I feel very faint myself, Tom: this affair upsets me.  I
should like just one glass of port."

"No, no, don't have it, gov'nor; it will go right down into your toe.
Have a brandy and seltzer."

"Thank you, Tom, my boy, I will," said the old man, rubbing his hands,
"I will--I will.  Ring for it, will you, Tom, and let Robbins think it's
for you."

"Why, gov'nor?" cried Tom, staring, as he rang the bell.

"Well,