Lovers' Vows Read Free Page B

Homberly.
    After another moment, Dewar went to the door and called his valet. While he made a careful toilette, taking quite ten minutes to tie his cravat to his liking, and another two or three to select from amongst his blue jackets, Homberly read on silently, his lips forming each syllable, stopping only to sip from time to time. The dressing and drinking were concluded simultaneously.
    “Next time you mean to honour me by coming for breakfast you must let me know, Rex, and I shall provide you gammon and eggs, or a nice beefsteak if you prefer,” his cousin said.
    “That’d be dandy, Dewar. Just dandy. The coffee was good, but I prefer more sugar, and a lot of cream—at least half a cup. Foxey is such a jokesmith, he says I take a little coffee in my cream.”
    “A dangerous man with his tongue, Foxey.”
    “So he is. Think I could handle a second cup all the same,” Rex said magnanimously, and reached for the pot.
    “Help yourself. And, when you are finished, we shall discuss what brought you here. There was talk of a great hurry.”
    “So there was, by Jove. Slipped my mind. Got to reading about that woman that cleaved her man’s head open with an axe. They say there was brains spilt on the floor. Ain’t that an awful thing for a woman to do. You ever seen brains, Dew?”
    “As a matter of fact I have, but I cannot ever recall seeing any evidence of them when I am with you, Rex,” he answered in a kindly tone. “About that hurry...”
    “Have to let Roper know what to pack for the visit. Thing is, only wanted to ask you if there’s anything in particular I’ll be needing. Outside of horses and clothes, I mean. Got any rigs running is what I’m asking you.”
    “You want to know the nature of the diversions planned to amuse you?” Dewar asked.
    “That’s it. Know you often make your guests take part in a play or a pageant or whatnot. Got a dandy horse’s outfit at home. Me and Foxey wore it to a masquerade party at Wilmot’s last night. Had a jolly time. Mind if we go as a horse again, I mean to be the front end, for it’s not only hot as Jehoshaphat at the rear—it puts a crick in your back, bending over so long.”
    “I try to avoid the obvious, so shan’t say a word about the suitability of your outfit. I see no need for the costume at the Abbey, Rex. Thoughtful of you to ask.”
    “Not at all. Very happy to help you out any way I can. Thought your mama might enjoy it. Just what is on then? Mean to say, when Dewar takes a party off to St. Alton’s Abbey for a month at the beginning of the little season, folks wonder what you’re up to. Can’t be just Alicia’s getting buckled to old Smith-Daiches, for you had the visit planned before that. Was yourself pushed Daiches at her head, as far as that goes. You ain’t taking any ladies, so it don’t look like one of your famous dramatical presentations. Wish you’d asked me to take a part in the last one, with all the devils and stuff in it.”
    “I have no drama planned this trip. Some hunting, riding, a few routs, a ball perhaps....”
    “Sure you ain’t going to make us write?” Homberly asked, with a suspicious eye. “I remember the time you locked all your guests up and made us each write a one-act play. Ain’t going to write no silly play, Dewar.”
    “You have already done that. One silly play from you is more than enough. And if you will recall, Cousin, I did not invite you on that literary sojourn held at the Abbey. A bunch of us—Leigh Hunt it was, Byron, Tom Moore, and a couple of blue ladies—wanted to compare how different writers would tackle the idea of a modern morality play. It was Byron’s idea. It was not a success, however. Byron claimed none of us knew enough about the subject to do it justice.”
    “Don’t intend to sit around painting pictures either. Didn’t invite myself the week-end you had us to your hunting box and made us all paint each other as some famous painting. You invited me. Didn’t know