Mannering's town house, none too large at any time, was transformed into a little hive of industry. Two hurriedly appointed secretaries were at work in the dining-room, and Hester was busy typing in her own little sanctum.
Mannering sat in his study before a table covered with papers, and for the first time during the day was alone for a few moments.
His servant brought in a card. Mannering glanced at it and frowned.
"The gentleman said that he would not keep you for more than a moment, sir," the servant announced quietly, mindful of the half-sovereign which had been slipped into his hand.
Mannering still looked at the card doubtfully.
"You can show him up," he said at last.
"Very good, sir!"
The man withdrew, and reappeared to usher in Sir Leslie Borrowdean. Mannering greeted him without offering his hand.
"You wished to see me, Sir Leslie?" he asked.
Borrowdean came slowly into the room. He closed the door behind him.
"I hope," he said, "that you will not consider my presence an intrusion!"
"You have business with me, I presume," Mannering answered, coldly. "Pray sit down."
Borrowdean ignored the chair, towards which Mannering had motioned. He came and stood by the side of the table.
"Unless your memory, Mannering," he said, with a hard little laugh, "is as short as the proverbial politician's, you can scarcely be surprised at my visit."
Mannering raised his eyebrows, and said nothing.
"I must confess," Borrowdean continued, "that I scarcely expected to find it necessary for me to come here and remind you that it was I who am responsible for your reappearance in politics."
"I am not likely," Mannering said, slowly, "to forget your good offices in that respect."
"I felt sure that you would not," Borrowdean answered. "Yet you must not altogether blame me for my coming! I understand that the list of your proposed Cabinet is to be completed to-morrow afternoon, and as yet I have heard nothing from you."
"Your information," Mannering said, "is quite correct. In fact, my list is complete already. If your visit here is one of curiosity, I have no objection to gratify it. Here is a list of the names I have selected."
He handed a sheet of paper to Borrowdean, who glanced it eagerly down. Afterwards he looked up and met Mannering's calm gaze. There was an absolute silence for several seconds.
"My name," Borrowdean said, hoarsely, "is not amongst these!"
"It really never occurred to me for a single second to place it there," Mannering answered.
Borrowdean drew a little breath. He was deathly pale.
"You include Redford," he said. "He is a more violent partizan than I have ever been. I have heard you say a dozen times that you disapprove of turning a man out of office directly he has got into the swing of it. Has any one any fault to find with me? I have done my duty, and done it thoroughly. I don't know what your programme may be, but if Redford can accept it I am sure that I can."
"Possibly," Mannering answered. "I have this peculiarity, though. Call it a whim, if you like. I desire to see my Cabinet composed of honourable men."
Borrowdean started back as though he had received a blow.
"Am I to accept that as a statement of your opinion of me?" he demanded.
"It seems fairly obvious," Mannering answered, "that such was my intention."
"You owe your place in public life to me," Borrowdean exclaimed.
"If I do," Mannering answered, "do you imagine that I consider myself your debtor? I tell you that to-day, at this moment, I have no political ambitions. Before you appeared at Blakely and commenced your underhand scheming, I was a contented, almost a happy man. You imagined that my reappearance in political life would be beneficial to you, and with that in view, and that only, you set yourself to get me back. You succeeded! We won't say how! If you are disappointed with the result what concern is that of mine? You have called yourself my friend. I have not for some time considered you as such. I owe you nothing. I have no feeling for you save one of contempt. To me you figure as the modern political adventurer, living on his wits and the credulity of other people. Better see how it will pay you in opposition."
Borrowdean, a cold-blooded and calculating man, knew for the first time in his life what it was to let his passions govern him. Every word which this man had spoken was truth, and therefore all the more bitter to hear. He saw himself beaten and humiliated, outwitted by the man whom he had sought to make his tool. A slow paroxysm of anger held him rigid. He was white to the lips. His nerves and senses were all tingling. There was red fire before his eyes.
"If your business with me is ended," Mannering said, waving his hand towards the door, "you will forgive me if I remind you that I am much occupied."
Borrowdean snatched up the square glass paper cutter from the table, and without a second's warning he struck Mannering with it full upon the temple.
"Damn you!" he said.
Mannering tried to struggle to his feet, but collapsed, and fell upon the floor. Borrowdean kicked his prostrate body.
"Now go and form your Cabinet," he muttered. "May you wake in hell!"
Borrowdean, who left the study a madman, was a sane person the moment he began to descend the stairs and found himself face to face with a tall, heavily cloaked woman. The flash of familiar jewels in her hair, something, perhaps, in the quiet stateliness of her movements, betrayed her identity to him. His heart gave a quick jump. A sickening fear stole over him. He barred the way.
"Duchess!" he exclaimed.
She waved him aside with an impatient gesture. He could see the frown gathering upon her face.
"Sir Leslie!" she replied. "Please let me pass! I want to see Mr. Mannering before any one else goes up!"
Sir Leslie drew immediately to one side.
"Pray do not let me detain you," he said, coolly. "Between ourselves, I do not think that Mannering is in a fit state to see anybody. I have not been able to get a coherent word out of him. He walks all the time backwards and forwards like a man demented."
Berenice smiled slightly.
"You are annoyed," she declared, "because you will be in opposition once more!"
"If I go into opposition again," Borrowdean answered, "it will be my own choice. Mannering has asked me to join his Cabinet."
Berenice raised her eyebrows. Her surprise was genuine.
"You amaze me!" she declared.
"I was amazed myself," he answered.
She passed on her way, and Borrowdean descending, took a cab quietly home. Berenice, with her hand upon the door, hesitated. Hester had purposely sent her up alone. They had waited until they had heard Borrowdean leave the room. And now at the last moment she hesitated. She was a proud woman. She was departing now, for his sake, from the conventions of a lifetime. He had declined to come to her; no matter, she had come to him instead. Suppose—he should not be glad? Suppose she should fail to see in his face her justification? It was very quiet in the room. She could not even hear the scratching of his pen. Twice her fingers closed upon the knob of the door, and twice she hesitated. If it had not been for facing Hester below she would probably have gone silently away.
And then—she heard a sound. It was not at all the sort of sound for which she had been listening, but it brought her hesitation to a sudden end. She threw open the door, and a little cry of amazement broke from her trembling lips. It was indeed a groan which she had heard. Mannering was stretched upon the floor, his eyes half closed, his face ghastly white. For a moment she stood motionless, a whole torrent of arrested speech upon her quivering lips. Then she dropped on her knees by his side and lifted his cold hand.
"Oh, my love!" she murmured. "My love!"
But he made no sign. Then she stood up, and her cry of horror rang through the house.
Mannering opened his eyes lazily. His companion had stopped suddenly in his reading. He appeared to be examining a certain paragraph in the paper with much interest. Mannering stretched out his hand for a match, and relit his cigarette.
"Read it out, Richard," he said. "Don't mind me."
The young man started slightly.
"I am very sorry, sir," he said. "I thought that you were asleep!"
Mannering smiled.
"What about the paragraph?" he asked.
"It is just this," Richard answered, reading. "'The Duchess of Lenchester and Miss Clara Mannering have arrived at Claridge's from the South of Italy.'"
Mannering looked at him keenly.
"I am curious to know which part of that announcement you find so interesting," he said.
"Certainly not the latter part, sir," the young man answered. "I thought perhaps you would have noticed—I meant to speak to you as soon as you were a little stronger—I have asked Hester to be my wife!"
"Then all I can say," Mannering declared, gravely, "is, that you are a remarkably sensible young man. I am quite strong enough to bear a shock of that sort."
"I'm very glad to hear you say so, sir," Richard said. "Of course I shouldn't think of taking her away until you were quite yourself again."
"The cheek of the young man!" Mannering murmured. "She wouldn't go!"
"I don't believe she would," Richard laughed. "Of course we consider that you are very nearly well now."
"You can consider what you like," Mannering answered, "but I shall remain an invalid as long as it pleases me."
Hester appeared on the upper lawn, and Richard rose up at once.
"If you don't mind, sir," he said, "I think that I should like to go and tell Hester that I have spoken to you."
Mannering nodded. He watched the two young people stroll off together towards the rose-garden, talking earnestly. He heard the little iron gate open and close. He watched them disappear behind the hedge of laurels. A puff of breeze brought the faint odour of roses to him, and with it a sudden host of memories. His eyes grew wistful. He felt something tugging at his heartstrings. Only a few years ago life here had seemed so wonderful a thing—only a few years, but with all the passions and struggles of a lifetime crowded into them. The maelstrom was there still, but he himself had crept out of it. What was there left? Peace, haunted with memories, rest, troubled by desire. He heard the sound of their voices in the rose-garden, and he turned away with a pain in his heart of which he was ashamed. These things were for the young! If youth had passed him by, still there were compensations!
Compensations, aye—but he wanted none of them! He picked up the newspaper, and with a little difficulty, for his sight was not yet good, found a certain paragraph. Then the paper slipped again from his fingers, and he heard the sweeping of a woman's dress across the smooth-shaven lawn. He gripped the sides of his chair and set his teeth hard. He struggled to rise, but she moved swiftly up to him with a gesture of remonstrance.
"Please don't move," she exclaimed, as though her coming were the most natural thing in the world. "I am going to sit down with you, if I may!"
He murmured an expression of conventional delight. She wore a dress of some soft white material, and her figure was as wonderful as ever. He recovered himself almost at once and studied her admiringly.
"Paris?" he murmured.
"Paquin!" she answered. "I remembered that you liked me in white."
"But where on earth have you come from?" he asked.
"The Farm," she answered. "I'm going to take it for three months—if you're decent to me!"
"That rascal Richard!" he muttered. "Never told me a word! Pretended to be surprised when he heard you and Clara were back."
She nodded.
"Clara is going to marry that Frenchman next month," she said, "and I shall be looking for another companion. Do you know of one?"
"I haven't another niece," he answered.
"Even if you had," she said, "I have come to the conclusion that I want something different. Will you listen to me patiently for a moment?"
"Yes."
"Will you marry me, please?" she said. "No, don't interrupt. I want there to be no misunderstandings this time. I don't care whether you are an invalid or not. I don't care whether you are going back into politics or not. I don't care whether we live here or in any other corner of the world. You can call yourself anything, from an anarchist to a Tory—or be anything. You can have all your workingmen here to dinner in flannel shirts, if you like, and I'll play bowls with their wives on the lawn. Nothing matters but this one thing, Lawrence. Will you marry me—and try to care a little?"
"This is absolutely," Mannering declared, taking her into his arms, "the most brazen proceeding!"
"It's a good deal better than the bungle we made of it before," she murmured.
THE END
A PRINCE OF SINNERS
Thoroughly matured, brilliantly constructed, and convincingly told.—London Times.
It is rare that so much knowledge of the world, taken as a whole, is set between two covers of a novel.—Chicago Daily News.
ANNA THE ADVENTURESS
A story of London life that is at once unusual, original, consistent, and delightful.—Buffalo Express.
An entrancing story which has seldom been surpassed as a study of feminine character and sentiment.—Outlook, London.
ENOCH STRONE
In no other novel has Mr. Oppenheim created such life-like characters or handled his plot with such admirable force and restraint as in this capital story of the career of masterful Enoch Strone.
A SLEEPING MEMORY
A story in occultism, but with all its mysticism and its dealings with the unknowable the book is never dull, the thread of the human story in it is never lost sight of for a moment.—Boston Transcript.
MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN
Emphatically a good story—strong, bold, original, and admirably told.—Literature, London.
Intensely readable for the dramatic force with which the story is told, the absolute originality of the underlying creative thought, and the strength of all the men and women who fill the pages.—Pittsburgh Times.
THE YELLOW CRAYON
Containing the Further Adventures of "Mysterious Mr. Sabin"
The efforts of Mr. Sabin, one of Mr. Oppenheim's most fascinating characters, to free his wife from an entanglement with the Order of the Yellow Crayon, give the author one of his most complicated and absorbing plots. A number of the characters of "Mysterious Mr. Sabin" figure in this delightful work.
THE TRAITORS
A brilliant and engrossing story of love and adventure and Russian political intrigue. A revolution, the recall of an exiled king, the defence of his dominion against Turkish aggression, furnish a series of exciting pictures and dramatic situations.
THE BETRAYAL
In none of Mr. Oppenheim's fascinating and absorbing books has he better illustrated his remarkable faculty for holding the reader's interest to the end than in "The Betrayal." The efforts of the French Secret Service to obtain important papers relating to the Coast Defence of England are themotifof its remarkable plot.
A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY
Mr. Oppenheim has never written a better story than "A Millionaire of Yesterday." He grips the reader's attention at the start by his vivid picture of the two men in the West African bush making a grim fight for life and fortune, and he holds it to the finish. The volume is thrilling throughout, while the style is excellent.
THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM
This brilliant, nervous, and intensely dramatic tale of love, intrigue, and revolution in a South American State is so human and life-like that the reader is bewildered by the writer's evident daring, and his equal fidelity to things as they are.
THE LOST LEADER
As fascinating a story of modern life as a novelist has yet conceived and one that arrests the mind by its fine strenuousness of purpose.
THE MALEFACTOR
This amazing story of the strange revenge of Sir Wingrave Seton, who suffered imprisonment for a crime he did not commit rather than defend himself at a woman's expense, "will make the most languid alive with expectant interest," says theChicago Record-Herald.
A MAKER OF HISTORY
A story of absorbing interest turning on a complicated plot worked out with dexterous craftsmanship. A capital yarn of European secret service.—Literary Digest.
THE MASTER MUMMER
Will be found of absorbing interest to those who love a story of action and romance.—Academy, London.