The Baron, who
was carver, asked Bobby twice if he would take some roast beef, and
received no answer, which immediately aroused the indignation of the
Baroness. “Do you ’ear what your father is saying to you, Bobby?” she cried,
shrilly. “Answer ’im at once or I’ll send you out of the room! Will you
’ave some beef?”

But still there was no reply. “My lady! I think that he is ill,” said Miss Wynward in alarm. “Ill! Rubbish!” exclaimed the Baroness. Being so coarse-fibred and
robust a woman herself, she never had any sympathy with delicacy or
illness, and generally declared all invalids to be humbugs, shamming in
order to attract the more attention. She now jumped up from her seat,
and going round to her son’s chair, shook him violently by the shoulder. “’Ere, wake up! what are you about?” she exclaimed, “if you don’t sit
up at once and answer your father’s question, I’ll lay my stick about
your back!”

She was going to put her argument into effect, when Harriet prevented
her. “Stop! stop! Madame Gobelli!” she exclaimed; “can’t you see, he has
fainted!”

It was really true! Bobby had fainted dead away in his chair, where he
lay white as a sheet, with closed eyes, and limp body. Miss Wynward
flew to her pupil’s assistance. “Poor dear boy! I was sure he was not well directly he entered the
house,” she said. “Not well!” replied the Baroness, “nonsense! what should ail ’im? ’Is
father was one of the strongest men on God’s earth! He never ’ad a
day’s illness in ’is life. ’Ow should the boy, a great ’ulking fellow
like ’im, ’ave got ill?”

She spoke roughly, but there was a tremor in her voice as she uttered
the words, and she looked at Bobby as though she were afraid of him. But as he gradually revived under Miss Wynward’s treatment, she
approached nearer, and said with some tenderness in her tones,

“Well! Bobby, lad, and ’ow do you feel now?”

“Better, Mamma, thank you! only my head keeps going round!”

“Had I not better help him up to his bed, my lady?” asked Miss Wynward. “O! yes! but I ’ope ’e isn’t going to make a fool of ’imself like this
again, for I don’t ’old with boys fainting like hysterical gals!”

“I couldn’t help it, Mamma!” said Bobby faintly. “O! yes! you could, if you ’ad any pluck! You never saw _me_ faint. Nor
Gustave either! It’s all ’abit! Trundle ’im off to bed, Miss Wynward. The sooner ’e’s there, the better!”

“And I may give him a little stimulant,” suggested Miss Wynward
timidly, recalling the scene of the evening before, “a little champagne
or brandy and water--I think he requires it, my lady!”

“O! yes! Coddle ’im to your ’eart’s content, only don’t let me ’ear of
it! I ’ate a fuss! Good-night, Bobby! Mind you’re well by to-morrow
morning!”

And she brushed the lad’s cheek with her bristly chin. “Good-night!” replied Bobby, “good-night to all!” as he was supported
from the room on the arm of Miss Wynward. The Baroness did not make any further remarks concerning her son, but
Harriet noticed that her appetite disappeared with him, and declaring
that she had tired herself too much to eat, she sat unoccupied and
almost silent for the remainder of the meal. CHAPTER XI. Mr. Alexander Milliken arrived punctually upon the morrow. He was a tall, gaunt, weak-kneed man, with a prominent nose and eyes
that required the constant use of glasses. Harriet Brandt could not at
first determine his relationship to the Baroness, who received him with
one of the rough kisses she was wont to bestow on Bobby and herself. He established himself in the Red House as if he had been a member
of the family, and Harriet frequently surprised him engaged in
confidential talk with their hostess, which was immediately stopped on
her arrival. She perceived that Miss Wynward had an evident dislike for
the new-comer, and never addressed him but in the most formal manner
and when it was strictly necessary. The Baroness did not go so often to
the manufactory after Mr. Milliken’s arrival, but often shut herself
up with him in a room with locked doors, after which Mr. Milliken
would be much occupied with secretarial work, writing letters with his
short-sighted eyes held close to the paper. He was a source of much
curiosity to Harriet Brandt, but he need not have been. He was only
that very common and unclean animal--the jackal to Madame Gobelli’s
lion. He was poor and she was rich, so he did all the dirty work which
she was unable, or afraid, to do for herself. Mr. Milliken called
himself an author and an actor, but he was neither. On account of his
accidental likeness to a popular actor, he had once been engaged to
play the part of his double at a West-end theatre, but with the waning
of the piece, Mr. Milliken’s fame evaporated, and he had never obtained
an engagement since. His assumed authorship was built on the same
scale. He had occasionally penned anonymous articles for newspapers,
which had been inserted without pay, but no one in the literary or
any other world knew him by name or by fame. Of late he had attached
himself to Madame Gobelli, writing her letters for her (of doing which
she was almost incapable), and occasionally dabbling in dirtier work,
which she was too cunning to do for herself. Miss Wynward could have
told tales of abusive epistles which had been sent through his hand to
people, whom the Baroness considered had offended her--of anonymous
letters also, which if traced would have landed them both in the County
Court. But Mr. Milliken was out at elbows. He found it very convenient
to hang about the Red House for weeks together, to the saving of his
pocket--receiving douceurs sometimes in actual coin of the realm at
the hands of his benefactress, and making himself useful to her in any
way in return. Lately, notwithstanding her grand promises to Harriet
Brandt of introductions to lords, and princes, the Baroness had thought
it would be a very good thing for her favourite jackal if the young
heiress took a fancy for him, and gave him full leave in consequence
to go in and conquer if he could. She would praise his appearance and
his qualities to the girl, before his very face--calling attention
to the fact of what a clever creature he was, and what a fine figure
he possessed, and how well he was connected, and advising her in her
coarse fashion to cultivate his acquaintance better. She even descended
to having visions in the broad daylight, and prophesying the future,
for them both. “’Arriet!” she would suddenly exclaim, “I see a man standing be’ind
you!”

“O! gracious!” the girl would reply, jumping in her seat, “I wish you
would not say such things, Madame!”

“Rubbish! Why shouldn’t I say ’em, if they’re there? Stop a bit! Let me
see ’im plainly! ’E’s got dark ’air, slightly sprinkled with grey--a
fine nose--deep-set eyes, with bushy eyebrows--no ’air on ’is face--a
tall figure, and long ’ands and feet! ’E’s living in this world too!