CHAPTER XII
But that night Adrien Leroy could not sleep. Dismissing his valet, he threw himself into a chair, and began to review the events of the day, which had affected him more deeply than he would confess to. Then the mere sight of Lady Constance with Lord Standon had convinced him that any hope of ever winning her for his wife was at an end. For so many years had he himself been wooed and sought after, without response, that he was as ignorant of the rules of the game of love as any child. Love! he had sneered at it, jested at its power all his life; but now he was beginning to suffer from its pangs himself. He rose hastily, and throwing open the window of his dressing room, stepped out on the balcony.
It was an exquisite night, and the stars shone like diamonds. Yet their very distance and detachment from all things earthly only served to deepen Adrien's melancholy. Before him stretched, in seemingly endless vista, the woods and lands of his heritage. As far as eye could reach, the earth and all within it and upon it belonged to him; and yet he sighed for the love and devotion of one frail girl, which, had he but known, were already his.
As he walked to and fro, he was again assailed by a wholesome distaste of his present empty, aimless existence, and a great longing came over him to break away from it and start afresh. Yes! he was very tired of it all. The men and women with whom he had up to this spent his time were becoming abhorrent to him. The thought of the soft lips and glances that had hitherto beguiled him, and lulled him into a state bordering upon stupor, now filled him with shame. Love, that marvellous panacea, had driven out the false, the impure visions of his heart, as surely and as thoroughly as ever Hercules cleansed the Augean stables.
The blood of his race stirred with him; he would have liked to have snatched Constance, and borne her away on his trusty steed, as his forefathers would have done. But instead he must stand aside, and see her married to another. Nay, he himself would be asked to attend the wedding, perhaps even give her away to the man who was surely no more worthy of her than Adrien himself.
Jasper Vermont had indeed done his work well. No sooner had he seen the light of love shining in his friend's face, than he had set to work; and, like the grim spider of evil he resembled, had filled Adrien's mind with the suggestion that Constance loved--in fact, was secretly engaged to, Lord Standon.
His reasons for this were twofold. If Adrien married Constance, Ada Lester would--whether with or without cause--hold him responsible, and was more than capable of carrying out her threat to unmask him to his patron. Moreover, Jasper looked upon Lady Constance with an appreciative and covetous eye, and felt that if he could ever ingratiate himself with her sufficiently for her to promise to become his wife, the summit of his ambition would be reached.
Adrien was easily deceived; for, with all his faults, he was not conceited. He did not guess that Constance's very openly expressed pleasure in the company of Lord Standon was to prevent the discovery of her real and passionate longing for that of her cousin.
Henceforth, he told himself, he must do his best to hide the pain that was gnawing at his heart. Henceforward, the pleasure of life would be as Dead Sea fruit to him. His hand fell on the balustrade in his unconscious despair; and at that moment, another window farther down the long balcony opened, and the figure of Lord Barminster stepped out into the moonlight.
Adrien was in no humour to meet even his father; he was too weary in spirit to confront the old man's satire with his usual calm; so he shrank back into the shadow of the buttress against which he leaned. But Lord Barminster's eyes were quick to perceive him; and, striding forward, he laid his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Well, Adrien," he commenced, "what is wrong? Can't you sleep, or are you given to spending the small hours in star-gazing?"
"I might retort in kind, sir," returned Adrien, pulling his scattered thoughts together, and smiling faintly.
"Ah! I am old," said his father. "Age has its penalties as well as its privileges; and the freedom to speak plainly is one of the latter. Come, my boy, what is wrong? At your age I was happy enough; but you seem to have taken the troubles of the world on your shoulders. Are you ill?"
"No, sir, I am well enough," returned Adrien quietly.
"Then are you worrying over your debts through that unlucky horse? Because, although, as you know, I do not interfere with your money matters as a rule, you are quite at liberty to draw on my bank if you care to do so."
His son turned to him affectionately.
"No, no, sir," he said gratefully. "I don't suppose they are as bad as all that. Jasper will see to them."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he regretted them. His father's face darkened; his eyes grew fierce.
"Jasper! always Jasper," he snarled, even as Mortimer Shelton had done. "It's a pity he didn't break his neck this morning, instead of his miserable tool."
Adrien uttered a protesting exclamation; he would have sacrificed anything sooner than have given his father this opportunity to revile his friend.
"You must be blind, sir," continued Lord Barminster, now working himself up into a rage. "Did not you see and hear enough from that jockey this morning to make you realise what that precious friend of yours had done? I tell you, Adrien, that Jasper Vermont bribed that miserable man to rope your horse. For him, you have allowed your friends, my guests, to be swindled out of their money."
It was the first time in Adrien's recollection that the proud old man had ever even hinted that Barminster Castle was not entirely his son's yet; that the guests were those of his father's choice as well of his own.
Adrien's eyes blazed.
"Father," he said in a low voice, but as hard as steel, "I know you have always hated Mr. Vermont, but this goes farther than hate. Forgive me if I ask you, but surely you have some proofs? Otherwise you would not have accused him of such villainy. Give them to me, and I promise you to punish him as severely as you yourself could wish."
"Proofs!" his father repeated sternly with knitted brows. "What proofs would such a clever scoundrel leave about? This morning's work should be sufficient proof even to satisfy you."
Adrien drew himself up to his full height, and confronted his father with a resolute air.
"It is no use, sir," he said. "I cannot take a drunken jockey's ramblings as proof of such an awful thing as that. Jasper is my friend, and besides, it is more to his interest to help me than to hate me."
Lord Barminster sighed deeply. The experience of age had taught him the impossibility of convincing youth against its will.
"Well, my boy," he said, "have your own way, but mark my words, you will live to repent your folly! I have no more proof, and to me no more is needed. Men on their death-beds do not lie, and I am as firmly convinced that Jasper Vermont forced that man to sell the race, as though I had the confession on paper. Still, I will say no more; you are young, and 'Youth knows All.' Find out for yourself the man's character, I shall not warn you again. You are placing your faith in a thankless cur; don't grumble when he turns round and bites the hand that has helped him. As for me, I will wait. Believe me, I would far rather know myself to be wrong than deal you any further unhappiness, so let us drop the subject for a time. I did not mean to bring up the man's name. I want to speak to you of far more important things."
His voice grew more grave, indeed almost solemn.
"Adrien, I am an old man, nearing the grave, and, as is only natural, my thoughts turn to the future of our race. You are the last of our line, it is to you I look to carry it on. You are no longer a boy, with a youth's follies and tastes; it is time you took up your responsibilities."
Adrien made as if to speak; but his father checked him, with a gesture of his hand.
"Stay, hear me out," he said. "When I was your age, your mother was at my side, I had given the House of Leroy its son and heir. I was married, and had left the lighter loves of the world for a more lasting and responsible one. You know I have never interfered much with your life; but though I am no longer of the gay world, I yet hear something of its doings. You 'live the pace,' they tell me, and are the idol of the smart set. Barminster Castle, Adrien, looks for something higher than that in its lord and master. I repeat, sir, at your age I was married."
"And loved," said Adrien softly.
"Yes, indeed," exclaimed Lord Barminster, his face lighting up at the thought of the woman whom he had lost, and mourned so long. "Your mother was that which ranks above rubies, a good and virtuous woman, worthy of any man's love."
Adrien turned his pale face away, as if to avoid scrutiny, then he said gently:
"I admit your right to speak like this, sir, and if it rested with me I would obey you at once."
"It does rest with you, Adrien," returned his father quickly. "Surely you are blind, not to see that Constance Tremaine loves you with her whole heart."
Adrien started up, his face alight and quivering with excitement.
"Impossible, sir!" he exclaimed. "Would to heaven it were true; for I know no other woman to whom I would so gladly devote my life."
The grim old face softened and relaxed. He had not expected such an overwhelming victory.
"Why do you say it is impossible?" he asked.
Adrien did not answer for a moment, then he slip hoarsely:
"She is already engaged to Lord Standon."
An exclamation of astonishment burst from the old man's lips. He put out his hand in involuntary sympathy, and the two so strangely alike, yet so wide apart in years, clasped hands. Then, as if ashamed of the momentary emotion, the old man turned away, saying quietly:
"This is, of course, a surprise to me. Its truth yet remains to be proved, but I should feel inclined to doubt it myself." With which he went back to his own apartments.
Left alone once more, Adrien walked restlessly to and fro.
"If Constance really cared for me," he said to himself, "nothing else in the world would matter. Lucky Standon! I dare not think of the future, it what Jasper said was true."
At last he, too, returned to his room; but it was almost morning before he fell into a troubled slumber.
CHAPTER XIII
The morning following the disastrous steeple-chase, Mr. Jasper Vermont ordered his car, and then sat down to write to Adrien. He told him that he regretted having to leave the Castle so suddenly, but urgent business required his presence in London, and that he would return to Barminster as soon as possible.
On the appearance of the motor, he took his departure, travelling direct to Jermyn Court, where he stayed to lunch, waited on by the attentive Norgate as though he had been Adrien himself. Then, having filled his cigar-case with his friend's choicest Cabanas, he strolled through the fashionable parts of the Park.
The loungers and idle men of fashion who usually frequented it at that time of the day knew him well, and nodded with forced smiles of friendship--it was clearly to their interest to be on good, if possible, cordial terms with a man who always had theentréeto the innermost circles, and who had won the confidence of a popular favourite like Adrien Leroy.
Those who had not been personally introduced to Jasper, had still heard reports of his position, and looked after him with that half-envious air which says so plainly:
"There goes the kind of prosperous, wealthy man I myself should like to be."
Mr. Vermont strolled along, his face wreathed in a perpetual smirk of recognition, his hat off half a dozen times a minute, acknowledging the smiling glances accorded to him.
When he had nearly come to Hyde Park Gate, he was confronted by one of the loungers--an old acquaintance of his--whose woe-begone countenance seemed expressive of acute mental distress.
Jasper Vermont recognised him in spite of his altered appearance--usually a very gay one--and stopped him.
"What, Beau!" he exclaimed with seemingly effusive warmth; "you here; whatever have you been doing--committing murder? Or have you married in haste, to repent of it at leisure?"
"Neither, my dear boy," answered the well-groomed young man--a captain in the "Household" Guards--one of the fastest and most generally liked fellows in town. "Neither, Vermont; but I have just come from the City."
"City of the Tombs!" drawled Jasper facetiously.
Captain Beaumont laughed, but rather mournfully.
"Yes," he said, "all my hopes are buried in that beastly place.' Really, the County Council ought to put a notice over the west side of Temple Bar monument instead of that heraldic beast: 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,'"
Mr. Vermont laughed, in his usual quiet way.
"How's that? The City is good enough in its way. What have they been doing to you; won't they lend you any more money?"
"Worse even than that," said the young spend-thrift; "they actually want me to repay all that I owe them already, on short notice, with the usual threats if I fail to comply within their time."
"Oh!" remarked Mr. Vermont simply; but his "oh" was full of meaning and apparent sympathy for the misfortunes of his friend.
"Yes, that hard-hearted old skinflint, Harker--what a mean brute he is! I should like to bury him, and would attend his funeral gladly to be certain I had seen the last of him. He holds a pretty little tot-up in the way of bills of mine; and I expected, naturally enough, when I call on the firm, that they would renew them at the usual Shylock rates, and I could try elsewhere for something to go on with."
"Yes," said Mr. Vermont, "of course, that's the way you have done for years."
Captain Beaumont nodded.
"Yes, that's so; but Harker only shook that long head of his, and refused me; and nothing I could say would change the old skinflint's mind either. You know that cock-and-bull story he always tells, about his not being the principal, but only the servant? Well, he says his principal has instructed him to call in my bills, and it is impossible for him to renew them; and that the usual steps will be taken if I am not able to meet them."
Jasper laughed, with gentle sarcasm.
"Of course, that's always the moneylender's excuse. I'm afraid he will sell you up, Beau."
Captain Beaumont whistled.
"My dear Vermont, it will be an awful shock for the guv'nor. He can only give us younger sons a small allowance, and he certainly won't be able to settle this matter; it would be altogether beyond him."
"What is the amount?" inquired Jasper. He was as well aware as was the young captain himself, of Lord Dunford's financial difficulties.
"Well, not much," replied Captain Beaumont. "Only seven thousand; but it's no good my going to the guv'nor for a penny piece, and how to clear it up is more than I can tell. But why do you ask?" he added, though with but faint eagerness. "Do you think you could find any one able to help me out of this beastly hole?"
"Well, I might," said Jasper, eyeing his cigar meditatively, as if seeking from its fumes some inspiration as to a method of aiding his friend.
"I only know one way to prevent Harker taking extreme measures," went on the troubled debtor; "that is, if I could get some one to back new bills. Now if, say, Adrien Leroy were to back some bills for me, Harker certainly would not refuse; but I am hardly in a position to ask Leroy."
"But I am," said Vermont, smiling with the consciousness of power; "and I will do it for you, for old friendship's sake."
"You will!" exclaimed the captain gratefully. "Jasper, you're a brick! I feel sure, somehow, he will do it for you.Ishould stand no chance. You are a good fellow to come to my rescue in this fashion."
"Ah," said Mr. Vermont, with a smile; "but can we be sure that Harker will accept Leroy's name of the bills?"
"Why, of course, Harker or anybody--who wouldn't?" asked the Guardsman, as the cloud dispelled from his face at hope coming so quickly from this unexpected quarter. "Why, it's as good as the Bank of England. Harker take it?---he'll snap at it. Only try him and see his greedy eyes glisten. What could Harker get by selling me up?--absolutely nothing. Besides, it would do him harm by letting others know how harshly he served me. Oh, no, Harker will not sell me up if he can find such an easy, safe way out of the difficulty."
"True," said Jasper pleasantly. "Well, I'll interview Leroy and see if I can persuade him to assist you, as a friend of mine; I believe I can do it for you. Going to Lady Merivale's to-night? Yes? Then we shall meet again; till then,au revoir."
So, with a shake of his fat, smooth hand, the benevolent, unselfish Mr. Vermont took his departure, still smiling serenely, on the business which had brought him that day to London.
Nobody knew Jasper's private address. He was always to be found with Adrien Leroy, and all letters were addressed to his club; or to Jermyn Court; but of the locality of that place which Mr. Vermont would sanctify by the name of "home," every one was ignorant. Whenever questioned on this subject--he never obtruded the matter on anybody--it was his custom to answer lightly:
"Home! what does such a waif, such a jetsam and flotsam of the world's flowing tide, want with a home? Really, my dear boy"--or madam, if the speaker happened to be of the gentler sex--"if ever you have occasion to see me, I am sure to be at one of these three places: Leroy's chambers, my club--the Pallodeon, or Barminster Castle."
And accordingly, to one of these places his fashionable acquaintances directed their inquiries for him. Mr. Vermont, however, really possessed a home, small, it is true, but one quite suitable to his needs, and absolutely secluded from the possible knowledge of his friends in the gay world.
After leaving Captain Beaumont, he had himself driven to the City. Alighting in front of a large jeweller's shop, apparently with the intention of purchasing something, he dismissed his car; then when it had disappeared, walked quickly along the crowded thoroughfare for some distance. At last, looking round furtively--for he was ever cautious--he dived into one of the small entrances in Lawrence Lane, and mounting two flights of stairs, entered the front room. This was the home, or rather, perhaps, refuge from the conventions of society, that Mr. Vermont possessed. Here he could find shelter at any time of the night, for he possessed a private key; and by his orders the bed was kept constantly aired and ready by the housekeeper; who had her own rooms on the floor above. It was no unusual thing for her to leave the rooms tenantless late in the evening, and find them occupied when she rose in the morning, Jasper having arrived during the dead of night, silently as was his invariable custom.
The second morning after his sudden return to town, Mr. Vermont was in his sitting-room, which was very plainly furnished indeed, partaking of a breakfast so simple that his fashionable friends would scarcely have believed the evidence of their own eyes. When he had finished, and the table had been cleared, he went over to the roll-top desk which stood in an angle by the window, and opened it, disclosing piles of letters, sheets, of closely written foolscap and slips of memorandum forms. On the corner of the desk stood a telephone, which communicated with Harker's private room, downstairs in the offices; they were dignified by the name of Harker's "Bank," and were, of course, those of the moneylending business which was carried on by Vermont in that name. Taking up the receiver now, he asked Harker to come up to him as soon as possible.
Within the next few minutes, George Harker was standing before the master he both hated and feared. He was very tall, with a thin, lined face, from which all light and hope seemed to have fled. His whole being appeared wrapped up in attendance on Jasper Vermont. He watched him eagerly now, not speaking until he was spoken to, but simply waiting patiently, doggedly, till his master was ready to attend to him.
Vermont drew the heap of various papers towards him--with keen eyes and quick brain grasped the multitude of facts they set forth, checked the long column of figures, struck the balances; and, with a nod of satisfaction, looked up at the man before him.
"All right, Harker, as far as I can see--and, as you know, that's all the way and a little beyond. But we must do better than that. Where's the private account?"
"Here, sir," said Harker, in a dry, rasping voice, somewhat like the creaking of an old, rusty-hinged door.
"Where?--oh, yes, I see. Oh, Paxhorn has come to us, has he? Writing poetry is not a paying game, eh? Or is it the fine, grand company that runs away with the golden counters? Well, all fish--or idiots--that come to our net are welcomed, no matter what wind drives them. Thirty per cent. from Paxhorn. No more?"
"I could not get any more, sir," said Harker earnestly; "I tried--tried hard--indeed I did, I assure you. I would not give in until he threatened to go to another office."
"Hem! well, I suppose it's the truth; though, of course, all moneylenders are rogues--and you're only a moneylender, you know." He looked up for a moment to laugh at the logical joke. "Who backs his paper? Lord Standon. Oh, my lord is pretty deep in our books already, isn't he? Where are his statistics?"
"Here, sir," said Harker, taking one of the papers from the heap.
Jasper Vermont glanced at it, and laid it down again with an evil smile on his face.
"Oh, he's good for more than that, Harker; but be cautious. We'll lend him another ten thousand; but put on five per cent. Lords must pay, to set the fashion to commoner folk. By the way, Captain Beaumont----"
"Whose bills you instructed me to call in, sir."
"Yes; well, I met him yesterday and promised to intercede for him you." He laughed harshly. "What fun it is, poor idiot! He shook my hand with profuse expressions of gratitude. Mr. Leroy will back the renewal and you can let it run. Beaumont's the second son, Lord Dunford is on his last legs, and the heir won't live another year, we can come down like kites when the gallant captain has the title and estates. Till then we'll wait; but stick out for another two-and-a-half per cent. Make the calves bleed, Harker; it will do them and me good."
About that small matter of the young artist, Wilson, sir?"
"Eh! Wilson? Oh, yes. You got instructions to proceed in the usual way to sell him up."
"Yes, sir, that was your order. He called yesterday, and pleaded for another week. His wife is dying, and they are starving. He begs hard for another week----"
Stuff, another week! the dog means another year. He should have thought of the time for repaying when he was borrowing. Another week--not another day. Start proceedings at once. Mind, I say it. Didn't I hear him call me a 'parasite from the pavement' one night at a ball? Screens have ears, Mr. Wilson, and parasites have memories. Sell him up--do you hear, Harker?"
"I do sir; it shall be done," replied his servant meekly.
"And now for Leroy's account." With a gleam of fiendish delight in his eyes, he scrutinized the figures and statements. "Ah! you are getting them in fast."
"All Mr. Leroy's bills we are getting in--buying up wherever they are met with, sir, according to your instructions."
"Right, get him into your hands--you know how. Be prepared for--you know!"
Mr. Harker inclined his head.
"Now for the women. Ah, those dear butterfly creatures will come to the nasty sticky papers that were meant to catch bluebottles only; well, then, they must take the consequences. What! Lady Merivale--the fair Eveline. Does she want to borrow money?"
"She dabbles in the Stock Exchange. I know her business man; he owes us money, sir, and we know some of his secrets. She has been losing lately, and has deposited her diamonds, sir--"
"Her diamonds? The famous Merivale diamonds? Where are they?"
"Here, sir." Mr. Harker produced from his long pocket a shallow morocco case which he tendered mechanically to his employer.
Jasper Vermont opened the case, and gazed on its contents with twinkling eyes; then, shutting it with a laugh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his smooth fat hands over his chin.
"What will her ladyship do for them, and when were those left? I saw her last night and--by Heaven! she wore--"
"Paste imitations, sir. I had them made up for her. Did you think the counterfeit good?"
"Capital. Oh, isn't it rich! that old idiot must have eyed her proudly, gloating over his famous diamonds on his wife's fair bosom, little guessing they were Mr. Harker's tawdry glass mockeries. Capital, Harker, but take care, take care. Remember the duchess who brought her jewels to pledge, and discovered that they were paste already, and that the duke had done the transmutation before her. Beware!"
"I am careful, sir, I am careful, very; I do not think--I trust--there have been no losses, not even small ones. I do my best to secure your interests."
"Well, I believe you. You keep up the appearances, I hope? Never forget to tell people that you are only a subordinate, that you are acting for others and strictly on the instructions given to you by them. The more you assert it the more they'll think it a falsehood. Keep it up, Harker, and then, well, you know I keep my promises. By the way, how is the little Lucy?"
As he spoke the name, half scornfully, half indifferently, a visible change came over his tool and puppet. His face became paler, if that were possible, his head seemed to drop, his whole figure was expressive of deepest dejection, fear, supplication.
"Well, sir, quite well, and deeply grateful for your kindness," he said, wetting his dry lips.
"Ah! and so she should be, young hussey. A fine thing for her. Married and respectable. If that soft-hearted, simple little husband of hers knew all I know! Strange that I should have dropped on to her and that first lover of hers down in that quiet place. Strange, wasn't it? Now I daresay they thought they were as safe as at the bottom of the sea. Didn't think that Mr. Jasper Vermont, a friend of the family, could be staying at the same hotel. He ought to have married her, of course. Better that he didn't, eh? Yet that weak, amiable grocer, innocent and unsuspecting, lets her have it all her own way, and believes her just a little purer and whiter than the angels. Clever little thing, Lucy. Makes him think she loves him, I daresay."
"My poor child loves her husband better than her own life, sir," breathed the father. "She is so happy, they love each other so, and she is my own flesh and blood. Forget that accursed night and the devil that led her astray. Forget that she is anything but the wife of an honest man. Have mercy on her, sir."
"Well, Harker, I will; I am all mercy. Do your duty by me and I won't go down to tell the story of that night to Lucy's good, trusting husband. But don't ask me to forget, my good fellow, for that's folly. I never forget!"
"Thank you, sir, thank you," Harker said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "I will do my duty and work day and night in your interests, if you will only spare my child and keep others from knowing of that one false step."
Mr. Jasper Vermont leaned back in his chair, and regarded his servant's agitation with quiet amusement for a few minutes; then he gathered all the papers together, put them away in his desk, and dismissed Mr. Harker with a nod, saying:
"You can go now. Don't forget the Leroy paper, renew Beaumont, but sell up that artist scamp to the last stick and stone. Parasites can bite as well as cling, Mr. Wilson."
CHAPTER XIV
The afternoon following the race the Castle guests returned to town, Lord Standon amongst them, and as that light-hearted gentleman departed without making any formal proposal for the hand of his young ward, Lord Barminster was greatly puzzled.
All that day he had watched Lady Constance with an unceasing vigilance, of which, fortunately, she was unaware; but he could detect no traces of affection in her intercourse with Lord Standon, nor could he find any reason for his son's despair. Like a wise man, however, he made no reference whatever to the conversation of the preceding night, for which Adrien was exceedingly grateful, as he felt ashamed of having exposed his real feelings, even to his father.
Instead, therefore, Lord Barminster endeavoured to find out the true state of the case from his sister Penelope.
That lady, disturbed from her afternoon slumber, was inclined to be testy. As far as she was concerned, she was very much against the idea of Constance marrying any one, for the girl's presence saved her a great deal of trouble in many ways; the consultations with the housekeeper, the choosing of books, the writing of invitations, these and a hundred other trifles which in the event of Constance's marriage would be shifted back on to her own shoulders.
Naturally, therefore, she considered the suitor who would be less likely to inconvenience her; and he, of course, was Adrien. For if he married Constance, there would be, at least, some time during the year in which she would be at Barminster, and leave Miss Penelope free to resume the novel reading of which she was so inordinately fond. She scoffed, therefore, at any likelihood of Lord Standon's suit, and flatly refused to believe a word of it.
Meanwhile, Adrien was in a state of restless excitement, for which he himself could scarcely account, and accordingly he determined to return to London next day.
That night they were a family party of four, and Lady Constance noticed that her guardian's manner was considerably more cheerful than was its wont, and that during dinner he glanced with even more affection than usual at the handsome face of his only son. Afterwards, when the old man had returned to his own apartments, Adrien found his cousin in the silver drawing-room, with Miss Penelope. The latter had taken up her latest novel, and was devouring it with rapt attention.
Lady Constance, with a smile, beckoned to her cousin and made room for him beside her on the Chesterfield. He sank down with a sigh of content.
"You leave us to-morrow then?" she began, in a tone of calm inquiry.
He was filled with an insane longing to seize her in his arms, and cover her face with kisses; but he restrained himself, though he bent nearer to her as he said in a low voice:
"Yes, I am going back to try and put my affairs in better order. My father has been pulling me up--quite rightly, of course. I ought to have seen to these things before. I am afraid I have not been a good son to him."
"You do not see him very often, do you?" said Lady Constance, who knew to a day how often Adrien had visited the Castle during the last twelve months, during which she herself had sighed for his absence.
"No," he admitted. "I always seem to have so many engagements; but now I am going to try a new mode of life--thanks to your words."
"My words?" echoed Lady Constance, in genuine surprise. "I thought you said uncle had been speaking to you."
"Yes," he agreed. "But it was what you said to me during our ride that decided me really--about the tenants, and all that."
"You must not listen to all my complaints," she said, smilingly. "I am proud of the Barminster estates, naturally; and I cannot bear that they should be inferior to those of our neighbour----"
"Who is that?" he inquired quickly.
"Why, Lord Standon, of course," was the calm reply.
He started at the sound of the name of one he deemed his rival. The jealous blood rushed to his face and his heart beat fast.
"Naturally," he said, in tones as quiet as he could make them, "you would compare all estates with his--now!"
With womanly intuition she saw his meaning, but did not choose to dispel his suspicions just then. Not that she was a coquette or flirt, for she loved this man with all the strength of her being; but, on the other hand, she knew, or thought she knew, his disposition only too well, and she feared to yield to her natural inclinations, which were to allow him to see that he had only to speak, and she was ready and willing to listen. Instead, therefore, she merely said lightly:
"Yes, he makes a good landlord, for all he declares to the contrary. Then, too, he has a capable agent."
"Like Jasper," put in her companion, trying to keep his eyes away from her pretty, vivacious face.
Lady Constance was silent. However much she might dislike and distrust Vermont, she never expressed her opinion of him to Adrien. She therefore turned the subject quickly by inquiring after the next race.
"'The Brigades'--in two months' time," he replied.
"The 'King' will run, I suppose?" she asked.
"Yes, and I shall ride him," said Adrien quietly. "After an accident such as has occurred, none shall ride him save myself; then if anything should happen----"
"Ah! no! no!" cried Lady Constance, her face paling, and her blue eyes full of alarm; "you mustn't!--you shan't!" She stopped short. "I mean," she went on, speaking more quietly, "you must think what it would be--to your father--and auntie----"
"And you," he said eagerly, catching at her hands. "Would you care, too?"
She gently drew her fingers from his grasp.
"Of course I should," she replied, in her usual quiet tones. "Am I not a sort of cousin?"
"Constance," he broke in passionately, "I have no right to speak to you, I know; but tell me just this, if--if----"
Alas! for Adrien. Alas! for poor Lady Constance. The book in Miss Penelope's hand had slid quickly from her grasp, as she sat dozing near the fire-place. At this, the most critical moment, it came with a sudden crash to the floor, and Miss Penelope opened her eyes, and sat up briskly.
Nothing more could be said under the circumstances, and Adrien was perforce obliged to spend the evening as best he might, turning over the pages of his cousin's music, and watching her with longing, ardent eyes; while Miss Penelope sat near by, tactlessly wide awake.
Presently she glanced up.
"Adrien, did you ask your father about the ball?" she asked.
Her nephew looked abashed. Truth to tell, he had completely forgotten it.
"No," he admitted candidly, "I did not. But forgive me, this time; I will ask him to-night."
A little later the ladies rose to retire.
"Good-night, my dear boy," said Miss Penelope, gathering up her precious book and chocolates. "You go to town to-morrow? Oh, then, I shall not see you again. Good-bye; and don't forget about the ball."
Adrien held the door open for her, and she passed out; then he closed it again.
"Good-night, Constance," he said, gazing longingly into his cousin's face.
"Good-night," she said, giving him her hand. "Good-night, and a pleasant journey."
"Will you not wish me a speedy return?"
"That might be an ill wish," she answered lightly--"if you did not care to come."
"You know I do," he whispered, and he raised her fingers to his lips.
With a vivid blush, Lady Constance withdrew her hand from his grasp, and left the room. Going straight up to her own apartment, she flung herself on her knees. The kiss he had impressed on her fingers seemed to burn them; the sound of his voice rang in her ears; yet, with a strength of mind extraordinary in a girl so young, she put away the sweetness of his half-formed declaration, hoping that his journey to town meant the cutting free of all entanglements, and the settling of his affairs.
Early the following morning, the sound of a motor, and the barking of dogs, brought Lady Constance to her window; below her was Adrien, followed by a servant with the travelling case, which was placed beside the chauffeur.
Adrien had already entered the car, and was about to have it set in motion, when a sudden idea seemed to strike him, and he glanced up at Lady Constance's window. Seeing this, she opened the casement and stood framed by the surrounding greenery.
Adrien waved his hand to her; then, hastily scribbling something in a note-book, he tore the page out, and evidently despatched it by one of the waiting servants.
She watched every movement, with eyes shining with eagerness, and could have cried bitterly at the thought of his absence. She knew, too, that she was playing a dangerous game, when she allowed him to return to town, his passion still undeclared; yet she felt that this was the only means of holding his affections; for she was a firm believer in the adage--"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." She sighed deeply, however, as with a parting wave of his hand, and bareheaded, Adrien was rapidly driven away.
A few minutes later the servant brought her the hastily written note. It was only a scrap of paper, and unfolding it, she read the two lines:
"My father grants us the ball. We will make it an eventful one.--ADRIEN."
Her face glowed. "We will, indeed," she murmured. "It is a high stake I play for; but it is worth the struggle. Heaven grant me his whole heart! I ask nothing else."
Carefully locking the scrap of paper away, she descended into the morning-room, where Lord Barminster was already seated at the breakfast-table. His grim face softened at the entry of the girl he had always looked upon as a daughter, and loved even more intensely--if that were possible--now that he meant to win her for his son's bride.
"So Adrien has left us again?" he began, as she poured out his coffee.
She flushed slightly at his significant tones.
"Yes," she replied. "Uncle, thank you so much for letting us have the ball----"
"Nonsense, my dear" he returned. "Adrien told me you wanted it, and that was sufficient. Why didn't you ask me yourself? Have I been such a cruel guardian?"
"No, no," she cried, and coming round to him impulsively, she pressed her lips to his forehead. "You've been the dearest uncle in the world. Indeed, no father could have been better."
He smiled at her earnestness.
"I've done my best, my dear, though I admit I'd like you for my very own daughter-in-law."
Lady Constance blushed scarlet. This was carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance.
"'Nobody axed me, sir, she said,'" she sang gaily.
"Ah, but whose fault is that?" asked Lord Barminster, pleased that she had not refused to discuss the question.
"Please, Uncle Philip," she said, with a sudden quiver in her voice, "I'd rather not talk about it--if you don't mind."
"Quite right, my dear," replied Lord Barminster, patting her hand reassuringly.
For a few minutes there was silence. His lordship drank his coffee, while his companion stared dreamily through the window at the magnificent view of park and woods. The old man was the first to speak.
"We shall miss Lord Standon," he said, with a meaning glance at her.
Lady Constance looked up with a start; then, as she realised the significance of this simple statement, she smiled. She knew she could trust her uncle not to betray her woman's secret; and, though she had no scruple in using Lord Standon as a means to spur on Adrien, she would not allow the old man to be worried unnecessarily by doubts of her fidelity to his beloved son.
"Yes," she answered, quietly. "But he only came down for the race; and I daresay he was anxious to rejoin hisfiancée."
It was her uncle's turn to start, and his intense surprise told Lady Constance only too well that her speculations were correct. Adrien had believed her in love with Lord Standon, and his father had undertaken to find out the truth. She was not afraid of Adrien's being undeceived now; for, even if Lord Barminster wrote--which was very unlikely--the spur would have done its work.
"I did not know he was engaged," the old man exclaimed.
"No, the news has not been made public; but he told me in confidence," Lady Constance returned calmly, as she rose from the breakfast-table. Then, having seen her companion installed with his newspaper, she passed out to the terrace.
To the astonishment of every one in Barminster Castle, some few hours later, Mr. Vermont reappeared.
In his turn he seemed quite as surprised when he learned that Leroy had already returned to London.
"Gone," he echoed, "just a few hours ago? Dear! dear! I must have missed him by telling my chauffeur to take the road across the moor."
He entered the Castle while he was speaking, and the servants hastened to learn his commands; for, next to the sun, there is nothing better than the moon--next to the Hon. Adrien came his friend and agent, Mr. Jasper Vermont. But Jasper waved them amiably aside, as he entered the dining-room.
"You would like some luncheon, sir?" inquired the butler, coming forward respectfully.
Jasper nodded.
"Just a snack, Judson. Don't put yourselves out for me, I'm off again directly."
While the estimable Judson went off to get this snack--which resolved itself into an exquisitely-laid lunch--Mr. Vermont dropped into a chair, and surveyed the scene through the open window. Strange to say, his thoughts seemed to run similarly to those of Lady Constance, earlier in the day; for he exclaimed under his breath:
"It's a large stake, worth playing for. Awkward my missing him." He smoothed out a pile of deeds and documents and replaced them in his leather bag. "He would have signed these without a word here; at his chambers, he'll amuse himself by reading them, confound it!"
A rustle of silken skirts attracted his attention; the scowl vanished, and he readjusted his smiling mask as the door opened and Lady Constance entered the room.
She had been informed of his sudden arrival; and, though heartily disliking him, she was yet bound to play the part of hostess while her aunt was resting.
Mr. Vermont bowed low over her extended hand, as over that of an empress.
"I hope your ladyship is well?" he asked.
"Quite, thank you, Mr. Vermont," she said with cold indifference. "I suppose you have come down to see Adrien? He started for London before breakfast this very morning."
"So I have just heard," he returned sweetly.
"I am not greatly surprised, as Lady Merivale was asking after him last night. I expect she summoned him."
The girl's face paled ever so slightly, though she strove to give no sign that his shaft had hit home. Adrien had received a letter that morning, as she knew, one having been brought up to her by mistake.
"Very likely," she said imperturbably. "I daresay he had to attend to some business too."
"Adrien is very changeable," Vermont said reflectively, "one can never count on his movements; following him is like wild duck shooting, down the river on Monday, and up the Fens on Tuesday. I'm sorry I missed him, though, for I have several papers which he must see."
Lady Constance tried to appear sympathetic.
"It is a pity you weren't earlier," she said with a smile. "Still, I daresay you know where to find him."
"Oh, yes," returned Mr. Vermont, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, as he aimed his second shaft. "He will be either with Miss Lester or her ladyship; he fluctuates between these two points of happiness as a rule."
Lady Constance did not appear perturbed in any way by this news.
"Lady Merivale is a charming woman," she said briefly. "But who is Miss Lester?"
"She is also a charming woman," was the smooth reply; "but with the difference that she is unattached--save to the theatre."
"Oh! an actress!" exclaimed his companion with patrician contempt. "That reminds me," she continued. "What is your last success at the Casket?"
"Mysuccess," echoed Mr. Vermont, with an air of pained astonishment.
"Yes, are you not the manager of that building?" she asked simply.
He bowed and smiled.
"No, Lady Constance," he said. "I fear the world gives me too much credit. I have nothing to do with this whim of Adrien's save to pay out the salaries for the company. The management is his--or rather, perhaps, I should say, Miss Lester's; and I am not answerable for its failure or its successes. I believe, too, he is about to give the whole place to Miss Lester."
Lady Constance started almost unconsciously, and Jasper knew that his words had hit home at last.
"I am sure you do your best to help him," she said, after a moment's pause.
"You are most kind," he returned with a bow and an ironic smile. "I trust you will let me prove my friendship both to Adrien and yourself."