CHAPTER XXVII.
THE GLASS OF FASHION.
Doris went back to the house scarcely knowing whether she was awake or dreaming. Could it be possible that she had promised to be Percy Levant’s wife? She stood for a moment outside the door of Lady Despard’sboudoir, trying to realize all that had passed, and the step she had taken so strangely, so suddenly, and when Lady Despard called out, “Is that you, Doris?” she started like one awakening from sleep.
“Yes, it is I,” she said. “There is your bracelet.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. I am afraid you have had a hard search! Why—what is the matter?” she broke off to exclaim as Doris turned her face to the light. “Why, dear, you are as white as a ghost, and your hands”—taking them anxiously—“are burning. Doris, you have taken a chill! You foolish child, to stay out so long, and on account of this stupid bracelet. Why, it isn’t of the slightest consequence! Go to bed at once, dear. Stay, I’ll come up with you. You look dreadfully ill!”
“I am not ill,” said Doris, and she sank down on the leopard skin at Lady Despard’s feet. “I have something to tell you, Lady Despard. It was not your bracelet that kept me so long; I—I have been talking to Mr. Levant.”
“To Percy Levant! He was there still? What could he have to say? Ah! You don’t mean to tell me, Doris, that he has proposed to you?” exclaimed her ladyship, in a tone of suppressed excitement.
“Yes,” said Doris, in a low voice; “he has asked me to be his wife.”
“And—and you said ‘No,’ of course?”
“I said ‘Yes,’” replied Doris.
Her ladyship sank back, and stared at the pale, lovely face.
“You—said—‘yes’! But, good heavens, my dear Doris, have you thought? Percy Levant! Why, child, there are half-a-dozen of the best of the men here madly in love with you. I know—I know—that the Prince Romanis is only waiting an opportunity to propose to you! He hinted as much to me yesterday! And Percy Levant! Of course, I’m not surprised that he should ask you; I’ve seen that he was over head in love with you. Of course, we’ve all seen it, but never thought he would venture to tell you, least of all that he should ask you to be his wife. Why—why, he hasn’t a penny; he is as poor as a churchmouse.”
“Then he is as rich as I,” said Doris, in a low voice.
“Yes; but—but——! But, there, what is the use of talking; it’s his face and his voice, of course. And how long have you cared for him? Are you sure you love him?”
Doris’ face grew scarlet for a moment, then went pale again.
“He loves me very dearly and truly,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.
“Yes! That’s nothing wonderful; so do other men. But you, you—do you love him?”
“I shall marry him,” said Doris, gently.
Lady Despard almost groaned.
“Why, child, you must have taken leave of your senses. You have consented to marry a poor man, a man of whom one knows nothing, and you haven’t even the excuse that you love him!”
Doris leaned her head upon her hand so that her face was hidden from Lady Despard’s anxiously searching eyes.
“I respect him; I think him worthy——”
Lady Despard broke in impatiently:
“My dear, dear child, how can you tell? What experience have you had?”
Doris looked up with a swift spasm of pain.
“I have had some experience,” she said, in a low, troubled voice. “You ask me if I love him. He knows that I do not, and he is content. Lady Despard, I have had two great sorrows in my life—the loss of him who stood as a father to me was one; the other was the discovery that the man to whom I had given my heart——” She stopped. “Is it so easy to love, and lose, and forget, and love again so quickly?”
Lady Despard laid her hand upon her head with tender sympathy.
“My poor Doris!” she said, gently and pityingly. “And that is why you are so cold to them all? I might have known there was something. I am so sorry, dear! But—but why consent to marry Percy Levant?”
Doris smiled wearily.
“I—don’t be angry with me—I don’t think I can answer in set terms. Perhaps it is because I think I can make him happy; perhaps it is because he is as lonely as I am, or should be but for you, dear Lady Despard. Why should I not marry him and make his life happier and brighter? Perhaps”—her lips quivered—“I shall learn to forget the past now that I have buried it forever!”
Lady Despard looked at her with troubled apprehension.
“My dear——” she commenced, but Doris stopped her almost excitedly.
“If you are going to tell me that that is hopeless, that I shall never forget, don’t go on,” she said, in a low, hurried voice. “Right or wrong, I have given my word, and—and for the future it is of him I shall think and not of myself. I am a woman—and shall not break my promise,” she added, almost to herself, and with a touch of bitterness as she thought of the man who had broken his promise to her. “Dear Lady Despard, I have told you because I thought it right you should know, because,” with a little wince, “I will never again conceal anything—anything that should be told. And now you will accept it as something fixed and irrevocable, will you not? And you will wish me happiness?” she added, looking up at her with a smile shining through a veil of tears.
Lady Despard stooped and put her arm round the slender neck and kissed her.
“Wish you happiness? With all my heart, dear!” she said, warmly. “And now you must forgive all I have said. I was a little surprised and—yes, just a little disappointed. I was thinking of the poor prince, you must remember. But, after all, you have chosen the handsomest and nicest man of them all; and I’m sure all the women will be fit to die with envy.” Doris smiled at this characteristic touch. “And as to his being poor—why, we will see about that, my dear. They tell me I’ve no end of influence, and it will be a very hard case if we can’t find some nice place for him. Oh, you needn’t blush, dear; I know he is proud, and you, too, but it’s the duty of practical folks like me to look after such romantic young couples as you! Oh, you will see! And now I’ve got a surprise for you: Who do you think has come?”
Doris shook her head.
“I don’t think I’m equal to the feeblest kind of conundrum to-night,” she said.
“I dare say not. Well, Mr. Spenser Churchill—your guardian, as I call him—is here.”
Doris started.
“He!” she said, in a low voice, as the old feeling of mingled fear and repugnance rose within her.
“Yes! I was as surprised as you are, for he had notwritten, as you know. He is out in the grounds looking for you——”
Doris rose almost hastily.
“I—I think I will go to bed,” she said. “I am very tired, and you will excuse me.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll excuse you,” said Lady Despard, smiling. “It is only natural that you should want to run away and hide yourself to-night. And, am I to tell him, dear?”
Doris turned at the door.
“You may tell every one,” she said, quietly. “All the world may know it. It is quite fixed and certain, Lady Despard.”
Doris lay awake all through that night trying to realize the fact that she was betrothed to Percy Levant, and by the morning she had succeeded. She would begin a new chapter of her life from this date. The past, which was illuminated by the memory of those happy days in Barton meadows, when she loved and thought herself beloved by Lord Cecil Neville, must be buried forever. In the future she must set her heart upon one task, that of learning to love the man who loved her so truly and devotedly, and whom she had promised to marry.
She went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but very calm and self-possessed, looking, as Lady Despard thought, as she greeted her with a loving kiss, like a lily, in her simple white frock.
“Well, dear!” she said, “you have come down, then! I told Mr. Churchill that you were so tired last night that you would very likely not put in an appearance till lunch. He’s on the terrace—oh! here he is!”
Mr. Spenser Churchill came in at the French window as she spoke, and advanced to Doris with his sweetest and most benevolent smile.
“My dear Miss Marlowe!” he murmured. “How do you do? I am so glad to see you, and looking the picture of health and happiness”—there were dark marks under Doris’ eyes, which wore the look a sleepless night always produces—“the very picture of health and happiness! And with good reason—good reason! You see, a little bird has told me the news,” and he wagged his head playfully.
“Am I very much like a little bird?” said Lady Despard. “I told him, Doris, dear; you said I might.”
“Yes, dear Lady Despard has told me!” he said, spreading his napkin over his knee and smiling upon them both. “And I hasten to express my best and most heartfelt wishes. Lucky Percy! I must confess that I envy him! He is such a dear fellow! I have known him since he was, oh, quite a boy, and he was always, oh, quite too charming! But I never dreamed he would be so fortunate as to win so great a prize as the beautiful Miss Doris!”
Doris took her place in silence. Lady Despard laughed.
“That’s a very nice speech and hits them both,” she said.
“And it is such a strange coincidence,” he went on. “They say that good luck always comes in showers! Do you know I am the bearer of a very good offer for our dear Percy? I won’t give you the particulars, but will only say that it will make him almost a rich man. Really, the dear fellow is in favor with the gods.”
The door opened and Percy Levant walked in. He bowed to Lady Despard, and to Spenser Churchill, then went to Doris, took her hand and raised it to his lips, and, as a matter of course, seated himself next to her.
He held a couple of small bouquets in his hand, and, placing one beside Lady Despard’s plate, laid the other against Doris’.
“Oh, thanks,” said Lady Despard, talking quickly to cover the little embarrassment. “You have been flower-gathering this morning? And you met Mr. Spenser Churchill last night? I am so glad he has come, for I want to hear all the news—all the London news, I mean! We seem to be quite at the other end of the world here.”
Mr. Spenser Churchill shrugged his shoulders amusedly.
“One comes here to learn the news,” he said, with a significant smile at Doris and Percy Levant.
Doris’ face flushed, but Percy Levant’s remained grave.
“As Mr. Churchill has no gossip to relate, perhaps this will be acceptable,” he said. “I have just got it by thispost,” and he took a society journal from his pocket and handed it to Doris to pass to Lady Despard.
“The Glass of Fashion!” exclaimed her ladyship. “How nice! I haven’t seen it for ages,” and she opened it with a little flush of satisfaction. “I always enjoyThe Glass; it is always so charmingly spiteful. It ought to be calledThe Cup of Poison, for it destroys a reputation every week.”
She began turning over the pages of this, the latest product in society journalism, and Spenser Churchill in vain endeavored to engage Percy Levant in conversation, then suddenly Lady Despard uttered an exclamation.
“What is the matter, dear Lady Despard?” asked Spenser Churchill. “HasThe Glassattacked one of your bosom friends?”
“Oh, no; it’s this!” replied Lady Despard. “Just listen:
“‘Rumor, which is not always untruthful, hinted some time ago at the engagement of one of our principal beauties to the heir of the oldest marquisate in England; and we are now authorized to formally announce that Lady Grace Peyton is engaged to Lord Cecil Neville, the heir and nephew of the Marquis of Stoyle. The marriage will take place as soon as the marquis has recovered from his present attack of illness.’
“Cecil Neville and Grace Peyton are really engaged, then, and to be married out of hand! Well—oh, look!—Doris!” she broke off, with a cry of dismay, for Doris had fallen back in a dead faint.
Mr. Spenser Churchill, with a cry of alarm, sprang from his chair and hastened round the table; but Percy Levant had raised her in his arms, and, as he supported her lifeless form on his breast, stretched out one hand to ward Spenser Churchill off.
“Stand back!” he said, hoarsely, his white face set hard and stern. “You shall not touch her!” and, lifting her bodily, he carried her into the hall.