Fanny Meredith was right in saying that the Joscelyns watched Aimée and every man who approached her like dragons. And fromtheir point of view, this was natural enough. Had not Aimée’s fortune lifted them out of poverty and the embarrassments resulting therefrom, to a condition of affluence where all things became easy and agreeable? And could they be expected to surrender the advantages of this fortune without a struggle? It was true that they had enjoyed these advantages for five or six years, in which time Major Joscelyn, through whose hands the income passed, had made not a few excellent investments on his own account; and that Aimée, as soon as she attained her majority, had settled an independence on her mother. Yet these things did not make them one whit more inclined to surrender any part of the heritage which they had grown to consider their own. Since it was, however, undeniable that Aimée, although the most gentle and yielding of human beings, had certain rights in her own property which the law would secure to her, and which a husband, should she marry, might be brutal enough to claim in her behalf, it became necessary that she should marry some one who could be trustedto consider the Joscelyn interest of primary importance; and this could only be one of the Joscelyns themselves. It was therefore early decreed in the family councils that Percy Joscelyn should in time marry the young heiress. There had been considerable consternation when he returned with her from St. Augustine and reported a mysterious lover already on the horizon; especially since inquiries drew no information concerning this person from Aimée. “He was a gentleman whom I knew,” she said, and not even her mother could obtain from her anything more.
Then Major Joscelyn solemnly announced that any such thing as a probable or possible love affair must be promptly nipped in the bud, and that the quickest and most complete way to accomplish this was to take the girl abroad. Her education, which up to this time had been of the most desultory order, furnished a good plea, and the entire Joscelyn family conveyed themselves at once to foreign fields. They had never returned to America. Nothing would have been easier than to place Aimée in a French or German school, whereshe would not have required the attention of her entire family; but that would not have given an excuse for a residence in Paris, which they all found very agreeable. So a handsome establishment was mounted, and after its expenses were paid, besides the investments on the major’s account already mentioned, there was not a great deal to spare for Aimée’s education. Expensive masters, therefore, she never had; but very good though not fashionable teachers can be obtained in Paris for low prices, and it was not in Aimée’s nature to make any demands for herself. She took eager advantage of the scant opportunities allowed her, and accomplished an education for which she had little to thank her guardians.
There was some uneasiness in the family mind when the time of her majority approached; but it passed quietly, and, whether through indifference, or ignorance of the full extent of her power, she made no attempt to take the control of her income from Major Joscelyn’s hands. So things had gone on as usual, and the family were hoping that beforevery long Percy might come into possession of the much-coveted fortune, when who should appear on the scene but Fanny Meredith! At once the Joscelyns felt that the time had come when they would have to fight for Aimée. They no longer had legal control of her movements; and although she still yielded submission to the wishes of her mother (which meant the wishes of Major Joscelyn), they instinctively felt that it would not do to try this submissiveness too far. So, when Mrs. Meredith proposed that Aimée should join her husband and herself in a tour through Italy, the Joscelyns held a council of war, and decided that, while it was impossible to allow her to go, it was equally unadvisable to strain obedience too far. The brilliant mind of Major Joscelyn again found the remedy. “We willallgo,” he said. “It is not—ahem!—what one would desire, to wander about Italian cities for several months; but Aimée can not be trusted with this flighty woman, who would not only introduce all manner of—hum—dangerous acquaintances to her, but who would delight to undermine ourinfluence. Neither will it do to positively refuse to let her go; so we must sacrifice ourselves and accompany her.”
The sacrifice, therefore, to Fanny Meredith’s great disgust, was made. The family picked themselves up, and in solid phalanx accompanied their heiress to Italy, keeping vigilant watch and ward over her and over every possible dangerous acquaintance whom she made. But they were little prepared for the unkind stroke of Fate which brought Lennox Kyrle across their path. That his appearance in Venice was an accident they did not believe for an instant. They strongly suspected that Fanny Meredith had, together with him, planned this appearance to take place when Aimée should have been removed from her family environment. They congratulated themselves that so much, at least, had been frustrated by their foreseeing vigilance, but they had not the least doubt that Kyrle had come with the determination to secure her hand and fortune, if that desirable end could be attained by unholy arts and incredible audacity. What was to be done to frustrate and check this audacity?Such was the question the family met in solemn conclave to consider on the day after the undesirable intruder had appeared.
“He is not to be shaken off easily,” said Percy Joscelyn, “for Mrs. Meredith encourages him in every way. Last night she not only invited him to join us as we sat outside Florian’s, but she proposed going out in a gondola, took him along, and made him sing. He sings uncommonly well—confound him!—and almost made love to Aimée before my eyes.”
“The fellow’s impudence seems to be equal to anything!” said the major. “And how did Aimée receive his—ah—advances?”
“You can never tell much about Aimée,” his son answered. “She is quiet, and she’s deep. She didn’t seem responsive, but that signifies nothing. Under ordinary circumstances I might think that he had made no impression on her; but these are not ordinary circumstances, and the trouble is that we don’t know what the extent of their first acquaintance was. Although Mrs. Berrien denied it, I shall always believe that there had been somelove-making going on between them in St. Augustine.”
“And yet Aimée was certainly not very attractive at that time,” observed Miss Joscelyn.
“There’s no accounting for tastes,” said her brother, curtly, “and facts are facts. Isawhim give her a locket—something which, you know, she always declined to explain.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Joscelyn, with a sigh, “she was very obstinate and as close as wax. But I have always had an idea that he was not a lover, because, in the first place, she said so—and Aimée always told the truth—and, in the second place, because she never seemed to have any fancy for lovers, like other girls.—You know, Lydia, how often you have remarked that Aimée was so old-fashioned in this respect.”
“Yes,” assented Lydia, “but, as Percy says, Aimée is deep, and I don’t really feel that I know very much about her. As for the matter of the locket, though,” added the speaker with a sudden gleam of intuition, “that was as likely as not one of Fanny Meredith’s tricks. She was an outrageous flirt!”
“If I thought so!” exclaimed Percy Joscelyn, with a start. His eyes flashed as he spoke. Many a score had he to pay Fanny Meredith, who in truth took a malicious pleasure in frustrating his attempts to establish a claim upon Aimée; and if it were possible to bring anything out of the past against her, how delighted he would be to use it remorselessly! “But there is not the least proof of such a thing,” he said, almost resentfully, to his sister.
“No; it was only an idea that occurred to me,” she replied; “but I know what Fanny Berrien was, and I believe that, if you could induce Aimée to speak, you would find that it was so.”
“Then, in that case,” said the major, “you don’t believe the man was Aimée’s lover at all?”
“It does not matter what she believes,” Percy somewhat rudely interposed. “Opinions, without any ground of proof, amount to nothing. I know what I saw, and I know that the fellow has eyes only for Aimée now; and that Mrs. Meredith, as I have alreadysaid, encourages him by every means in her power.”
“Then,” said the major, sharply, “one thing is certain: Aimée can not be allowed to go out with the Merediths.”
“How will you prevent it?” Percy asked. “The last thing advisable is to force her to declare her independence of us, and any ill-judged attempt at control would do this. Nothing would please Mrs. Meredith better than to prompt her to such a course. No; watchfulness is our only resource—watchfulness, and perhaps stratagem. If it were possible to leave Venice now—”
“That would be the best thing,” said the major, “only—ah—what is to prevent this objectionable person from following us?”
“If that were all,” said Percy, “I should leave at once, and trust to luck or the shortness of his purse to prevent his following. But the real objection is that we could not be certain that Aimée would consent to go; and we could neither force her to do so nor leave her with the Merediths. So, departure is not to be thought of. We must fight the thingout by watchfulness and stratagem, as I have said.”
“Watchfulness—yes,” said his father, “that is plain, and of course necessary; but what stratagem do you propose?”
“I propose, for one thing, that some person shall always take charge of Mr. Kyrle, and prevent him from devoting himself to Aimée.”
“But how is any one to take charge of Mr. Kyrle—without his consent?” asked Mrs. Joscelyn, feebly.
“A man’s consent is always taken for granted where a lady is concerned,” young Joscelyn answered. “Lydia, here, might be equal to the delicate task, I think. All that is required is that she shall quietly take possession of Mr. Kyrle on all occasions, and make it impossible for him to attach himself to Aimée.—It is a task after your own heart,” he went on, addressing his sister with more than the suspicion of a brotherly sneer in his tone “I have seen you on many occasions monopolize men very much against their will. Do you think you can manage the same thing with Kyrle?”
A flush rose to her cheek and was visible through the powder that covered it. “You are as insulting as usual,” she said.
“On the contrary, I am most flattering,” he returned, suavely—for he felt that Lydia’s assistance was essential at this juncture of affairs. “Only a woman of rare powers can do these things. A stupid woman or a clumsy woman can never succeed in them. It requires a peculiar tact to take possession of a man and keep him fastened to your side whether he likes or not.”
“I understand perfectly all that you mean to imply,” she said, coldly; “and if I do this thing it is not out of regard for you or your plans, but because I have an object of my own in it.”
“Whatever your object,” her brother replied, “onlydothe thing, and I shall be satisfied, and never doubt your powers again.”