A fortnight had gone by swiftly, too swiftly, and Glynn was still in Paris. True, the plans which would have compelled his presence in Berlin were changed, and he was consequently detained a little longer in the French capital, but he was now free, and had some weeks at his own disposal.
For various plausible reasons he was frequently at the Rue de L'Evêque, and also a welcome visitor at Madame Davilliers', who declared him worthy of being a Frenchman. He was always careful to bestow his whole attention on her when in her presence, and did not shock her sense of propriety by throwing away any small politenesses on the young ladies.
His happiest moments, however, were those in which he found Elsie sitting at her work or at the piano with Madame Weber and her knitting established beside her. Then they talked long and confidentially on many topics, sometimes in French to include the good Alsacian, but more often in English; and Elsie would practice her songs while he sat in a deep low chair and dreamed, and was lapped into a state of feverish, uneasy delight. Every day the difficulty of tearing himself away grew greater, and still the quiet unconsciousness of Elsie, the easy, friendly tone which she preserved towards him convinced him that whatever of pain might result from their intercourse would be unshared by her.
Glynn was often Lambert's guest; and more than once entertained the father and daughter at some one of the pleasant restaurants, in thebois, or on the Champs Elysées.
Lambert, though speaking frankly enough of himself, never explained very distinctly what his employment was; nor did he make any allusion to the position or occupation of his former friend and comrade, as he was fond of calling Glynn.
"I have a wonderful piece of news for you, Mr. Glynn," said Elsie one fine warm afternoon, when he had been ushered through the orange-scented vestibule to thesalonwhere she was sitting beside her work-table, with a book Glynn had lent her in her hands, and she motioned towards a chair opposite her.
"Indeed! what may it be? Good-morning, Madame Weber," bowing. "May I try to divine it, Miss Lambert? Has Mr. Lambert agreed to take you to the Pyrenees or to England?" looking into her eyes. "No! then he will go for a month or two to Switzerland? No? Then your old friend Mrs. ----, I forget the name, who used to take care of you, is coming to Paris? No? Then I am at the end of my conjectures. You see I always read 'no' in your eyes."
"You could never guess! My father has gone away to Havre, quite early this morning, and will not return for three or four days. He has never left me since we came to live here till now, and I cannot tell you how strange and restless and half frightened I feel; but Madame Davilliers has kindly asked me to stay with her, and I go there to dinner to-day. I should have gone sooner, but I thought you might call, so I waited."
Her perfect easy candor was charming, yet mortifying to hisamour propre.
"Thank you very much; I am glad to have an opportunity of hearing of your intended movements from yourself; it would have been an awful shock to have found every one gone; but," looking keenly at her, "what have you been doing or suffering? You are pale. There is a weary look in your eyes."
"And you are like my dear father, too ready to think I must be suffering or unhappy, or something dreadful, if I look a shade paler than usual. I am quite well." She smiled, stopped abruptly, let her eyes droop, while the color rose softly in her cheek, and her smile was replaced by a serious, almost sad expression in the curves of her mouth.
"You have something to tell me? something that disturbs you. Speak, you may trust me."
"I am sure I can. Well, I was foolishly frightened yesterday. We, Madame Weber and I, had gone to hear the band play in the Tuileries Gardens. It was very pleasant under the trees, and we sat a long time. Just as we rose to return home, two gentlemen came up from a side walk; one I recognized at a little distance to be Mr. Vincent; the other, when they came nearer, I saw was the same man whom I noticed at Auteuil; you know who I mean? He looked at me so strangely, I felt uneasy, frightened, and I hurried Madame Weber away. They must have taken some shorter path, for when we reached the gate opposite the Rue de la Paix they came upon us again. Mr. Vincent raised his hat, and so did the other, and stared at me with such an odd piercing look of dislike and doubt—Oh! I cannot forget it."
"Yes," said Madame Weber, gathering from Elsie's expression, and the words "Tuileries Gardens," that she was relating the events of yesterday, "that gentleman there was not at all polite; he glared at mademoiselle,Mon Dieu!like a savage beast; nevertheless he was distinguished, and no doubt noble."
"I think you must be mistaken," said Glynn; "the man whom you saw at the races left Paris nearly three weeks ago. I should most probably have seen him had he returned. You must have been mistaken."
Elsie shook her head. "I could never be mistaken in that man," she said.
Glynn was greatly struck by the reappearance of Deering, but he threw off the impression. It was probably an illusion on the part of Elsie. That Deering, the proudest of men, should be walking with so doubtful a personage as Vincent seemed almost incredible. He would make inquiries, however. Meantime he addressed himself to soothe Elsie's evident uneasiness.
"After all, granting you are right, what have you to fear? Your admirer can only look; he dare not annoy you, or any attempt at annoyance could soon be put a stop to. Indeed, I am sure Deering is too much a gentleman and a man of the world to outrage good manners in any way."
"What is his name?"
"Deering of Denham; rather a personage in Yorkshire. I know him and his wife."
"He is married?" as if a little surprised. "Yes, I dare say I am foolish to be afraid of anything, but I am sometimes such a coward. I suppose it is the effect of the terrible terror I suffered when almost a baby."
"Indeed!" said Glynn, his curiosity profoundly stirred, and feeling more than ever convinced there was some very unusual story attached to the sweet, graceful daughter of his former rowdy acquaintance. "I suppose I ought not to ask you how and where you encountered such a shock?"
"I do not mind speaking of it to you; it is a sort of relief, for I have seen you look surprised when I have started and shuddered at trifles. I do not wish you to think me silly."
"Silly!—do you know that you seem to me the impersonation of tranquil, womanly wisdom?"
A laugh so merry and spontaneous rippled over lip and cheek, and flashed from her eyes, that for an instant Glynn feared he had erred by appearing to exaggerate.
"That you should think so ignorant a girl as I am wise, is too funny," she exclaimed.
"Wisdom is a gift that may be improved, not created by learning," said Glynn; "but as you permit me to ask, what was the terror to which you allude?"
"It was so long ago that my memory of it is mere confusion. When I was three or four years old the blacks came and burnt our house, away in Australia; they killed some people too. Then I remember being on a horse and clinging to my father. I think I was quite out of my mind, for I remember being afraid of my own dear father, and thinking him changed and different from what he used to be. Oh, it is all so confused! Then there was a long voyage and great quiet; yet I used to scream if I were left alone for a moment. Sometimes it seems true that I had two long sea voyages, and that my only comfort was to crouch in my father's arms. Then came a long period—long and peaceful—in the sweet fresh country, where I grew strong and fearless, though I always had panics. I had one the first time I met that gentleman's eyes, and sometimes I feel afraid with Mr. Vincent. I was very happy with Mrs. Kellett; she is the good friend who took care of me till my father put me in the convent. He used to come and see me from time to time, and when I saw how much he loved me I grew to love him with my whole heart. That is all I know about my own life."
"And it is enough. You must banish all sense of fear—life promises to be fair and smooth for you."
"I hope so; but curious thrills of terror steal through me sometimes. I never like to ask my father about that dreadful night. I think my poor mother died then, and he cannot bear to speak of it. It was that fright I suppose that made me a little slow and dull; but thank God I can and do enjoy a great deal."
"It would be a frightful injustice if you could not; and you must throw your fears to the winds. You are formed to win friends; dream only of happiness and affection! May I wait, and escort you to Madame Davilliers'?"
This request was prompted by a strange inexpressible reluctance to leave her alone in her own apartment during her father's absence.
"I am turning driveller," he thought; "am I on the verge of making a fool of myself? Not with my eyes open,—yet I would risk a good deal to insure this fair delicate creature from shock or real danger,—for with such a father, such dubious surroundings, her future is, to say the least, unpromising."
"Oh, yes; I should be very glad if you will come with us, and then you will come and see Madame Davilliers while I am with her? My father will be home on Monday, in the evening. How delightful it will be to have him back again. Ah! he is so good to me. I am sometimes oppressed to think how dearly he loves me. I suppose it is because I was so weak, so nearly imbecile when a child. Shall we go to Madame Davilliers' now? I am quite ready."
"When you like; but first do me a great favor, sing me a song before you go away among a set of strangers, a song all to myself."
Elsie smiled, and turning to the piano at once, complied, choosing a Latin hymn expressive of faith in Divine protection, one of those she was accustomed to sing in her convent school days.
When Glynn had escorted her and Madame Weber to the Davilliers' residence, he walked to the hotel where Mr. and Lady Frances Deering were in the habit of staying, and inquired if Mr. Deering had returned. "No," the waiter said, "nor did they expect monsieur, who had left more than a fortnight ago."
"She must have been mistaken," mused Glynn, as he went on to his own quarters. "Deering could not endure the companionship of such a man as Vincent, and what object could he have in following a girl like Elsie Lambert? She is a sensitive, timid soul, more so than I imagined, yet there are possibilities of heroism in her. A most delightful companion, with fresh discoveries of sheltered nooks and mossy dells of character at every step in our acquaintance. I will not leave Paris until I see her safe under her father's wing again; then, if I have an ounce of common sense left, I will fly!"
Reaching his own room, he found among others a letter from Lady Gethin, asking the real reason of his prolonged stay in Paris. Having a spare half-hour he replied at once:
"I am trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together; I am not sure I shall succeed, but am going to give myself a few days longer, then I shall come and report proceedings. I wonder what solution you will suggest. Till we meet then, I can say no more on the subject. Have you seen the Deerings? Are they both in London? I assure you I long to bring my doubts and suspicions to the test of your experience and acumen.
"Ever your devoted Nephew,"Hugh Glynn."
"Ever your devoted Nephew,"Hugh Glynn."
Madame Davilliers' was a very pleasant household. Of course it had not the ease and freedom that reigns in an English home, at least for young people. Antoinette and her friend were treated with the kind of affectionate indulgence suited to infants of tender years, but watched also and guarded with the care due to creatures of the same immature age.
To Lambert and his daughter madame extended a wide indulgence,—"Americans, you know," in an explanatory tone, was always her comment on any eccentricity of theirs. She was exceedingly anxious to settle Elsie judiciously, as she felt convinced she would have a goodly dower, and deeply regretted that she had not a son old enough to demand the charming mademoiselle in marriage. Lambert, however, showed himself reluctant to accept any of her suggestions, and she therefore concluded that he had other plans in view.
Elsie Lambert was very happy with Antoinette. They practiced duets together, and traced patterns, and Elsie read aloud to her friend when she was at work, or repeated to her the stories and poems she had lately read in English, on Glynn's recommendation. Elsie was the master spirit of the two, though Antoinette was by far the bravest and most self-possessed in society.
But amid her contentment Elsie was conscious of an extraordinary want—a void which nothing sufficed to fill; it was the want of those quiet conversations with Glynn, each of which awoke new ideas, new aspirations, new life. He called as he had promised, and was received most graciously by Madame Davilliers in hersalon. Both girls were present. Glynn, however, knew well he must not speak more than a few civil words to them, and even his inquiries for Lambert he felt bound to utter in French. But Elsie's expressive eyes told him much. They said frankly and innocently, "I wish I could talk to you. I wish I dare speak as usual. This is all rather tiresome." And he longed unutterably to take her out for a long ramble in thebois, her arm through his own, her sweet candid face uplifted to his, that she might the better comprehend the meaning of his words; but he must not think of such things. He ought to be thankful, especially thankful, that her feelings towards him were so calm and friendly. If he were to read anything of tenderness, of passion, in those lovely blue eyes of hers, why, chaos would be come again! For to call Lambert father-in-law would be chaotic!
"How is M. Vincent?" asked Madame Davilliers, as Glynn rose to take leave one afternoon; "he has not presented himself lately. He is a most interesting man, and quite French in his knowledge of life and character! I shall beg him to give himself the trouble of dining with us on Wednesday next, and I hope that you too, monsieur, will do us the pleasure of joining our little party. Wednesday is the anniversary of our wedding-day, and M. Davilliers proposes to make a little fête in its honor. If fine we shall dine at the 'Grande Cascade' at six o'clock; we hope our good friend Monsieur Lambert will return in time for ourréunion."
"It is also the anniversary of Lodi, and the Grande Cascade will be illuminated," cried Antoinette. "It will be superb."
"Yes, do come, it will be charming," said Elsie.
"I need no persuasion," replied Glynn. "I shall be but too happy to join your party, madame."
During the days which intervened Glynn kept a sharp look-out wherever he went, both for Deering and Vincent, but in vain; he saw no trace of either. The weather was variable, and Glynn offered up earnest prayers for sunshine and blue skies on the eagerly anticipated Wednesday. There were opportunities for atête-à-têtein the freedom of a restaurant dinner which were not to be found within the narrow limits of a private dwelling.
The fates were propitious. Wednesday broke bright and warm, and most of the party were assembled when Glynn drove up to the restaurant of the Grande Cascade. Madame Davilliers was richly attired in crimson and black brocade, with white plumes in her bonnet; her daughter in diaphanous dove-color and pink; while Miss Lambert, who was unusually animated, looked lovely in soft, clear white Indian muslin over spring-like green, with abundance of delicate lace, and a poetic little bonnet decorated with violets, which showed the wavy richness of her golden-brown hair.
She was listening with an amused smile to some remarks of Monsieur Davilliers, a good-humored looking and rather ponderous man, with a morsel of red ribbon in his button-hole.
Glynn was warmly greeted by all, including Vincent, who, to his (Glynn's) annoyance, was amongst the guests, magnificently got up in the height of fashion, with a heavy emerald ring fastening his necktie, a brilliant diamond on one little finger, an onyx signet-ring on the other and a massive gold pencil-case and bunch of charms dangling from his guard-chain.
"Is it not unfortunate?" said Elsie in a low tone, when Glynn succeeded in getting near her; "my father cannot return till to-morrow."
"Yes, it is too bad thathecannot come, and that Vincentcan."
"Do not look so angry," she returned with a smile. "I am sorry too, and yet I don't know why; he is always very polite and obliging, and seems to be great friends with my father."
"There are instincts—" began Glynn; but dinner was announced, and he was directed to escort a brilliant dame, who made a determined attack upon him, and would not share his attention with any one.
Vincent was placed next Miss Lambert, and appeared to succeed in entertaining her. Altogether Glynn felt provoked, and by no means amused, as he had anticipated.
When dinner was over Vincent proposed that they should take their coffee in the veranda, which was only raised a step above the gardens in front of the restaurant, and from whence they could see the spray of the waterfall glittering in the light of the setting sun. This was readily agreed to, and in the movement which ensued Glynn contrived to place himself near Elsie.
"What an interminable dinner!" he exclaimed.
"Yet you had a very agreeable neighbor?"
"If a forty horse-power of talk constitutes agreeability, I had. I hope your father will return to-morrow. It seems such an age since I heard you sing."
"But I sang to you on Sunday."
"To me? no, to a crowd of strangers, of whom I was one."
"Ido not consider you a stranger."
"Thank you; you are infinitely good to say so," gazing into her eyes. "It is a great additional charm to hear you in your own room, with only your father and myself for audience. Do you think me selfish for saying so?"
"No; yet music is music, wherever you hear it."
"Yourmusic is something different from all other," began Glynn, scarcely able to keep back the imprudent expressions which rushed to his lips, so delighted was he to have a few words aside with her.
"I hope you will not go away until my father returns," said Elsie, not seeming to heed his compliment; "he would be sorry to miss you."
"I shall certainly not leave until he returns," said Glynn, feeling himself in some odd way bound to watch over Elsie in Lambert's absence. "Don't you think he will come to-morrow?"
"Mr. Vincent seems to think it probable he may be delayed."
"Indeed! Vincent appeared to have a good deal to say for himself at dinner."
"Yes; he seems to be looking for some one," for Vincent had gone to the edge of the veranda, and was surveying the various groups standing or walking about the little lawn in front of thecafé. Presently he bowed and smiled, saying to Madame Davilliers:
"I see an English friend of mine, apparently alone; have I your permission to present him to you? He is a man of fashion and distinction—a Mr. Travers.
"But certainly," cried Madame Davilliers, "any friend of yours, dear sir——"
Vincent stepped forward, while Glynn felt a thrill of angry anticipation. In a few minutes he returned, accompanied by—Deering! Vincent at once presented him to Madame Davilliers, who put on her most elegant manner to receive so distinguished an addition to her party; and Elsie's eyes sought Glynn, saying as distinctly as eyes could say, "You see I was right."
Madame's elegancies were thrown away upon Deering. He understood but little French, and only bowed with a sort of haughty courtesy to his smiling hostess.
"Ah, Glynn, you here?" he exclaimed, turning from her to his compatriot. "I fancied you were at Berlin."
"AndIimaginedyoupreparing for the next general election, which is not far off, I suspect," returned Glynn. "I hope you left Lady Frances and your boy quite well."
"They are all right," returned Deering, shortly, and even as he spoke his eyes were rivetted on Miss Lambert with a strange, watchful gaze, at once admiring and hostile. The color slowly rose in her cheek, and she looked away in evident embarrassment, while Glynn felt an almost irresistible impulse to take him by the neck and throw him out of the circle into which he had intruded. But civilization compelled them to exchange polite sentences instead of following their natural tendency—to fly at each other's throats.
"Pray introduce me to your English friends," said Deering to Vincent, with a certain air of condescension.
"The only English-speaking member of our party besides Mr. Glynn is this young lady, and I claim her as American. Miss Lambert, allow me to present Mr. Travers Deering to you."
Glynn noticed that he used both names this time. Was the omission of one of them at first intentional?
"You must take pity on me, and allow me to sit beside you," said Deering, in a carefully softened tone; "for, unfortunately, I cannot speak French, and feel awkward when I am alongside one of our lively neighbors."
He drew a chair by her as he spoke, laying aside his hat and taking his place with the easy, well-bred decision of a man perfectly sure of himself, of his social standing, and his general acceptability. Elsie gazed at him as if fascinated, and Glynn could not help thinking how handsome and lordly and thoroughbred he looked, just the style of man to captivate a girl's imagination.
"Do you know, Miss Lambert, I have some very humble apologies to offer you for my involuntary rudeness. I can only urge that when I saw you at the races, I was so struck by your remarkable likeness to a very charming woman I knew long ago, that I really could not keep my eyes in order."
"You did not offend me," said Elsie, with a quick little sigh, and making a slight unconscious movement, as if to draw nearer Glynn. "I am glad I reminded you of some one you liked."
"I did not say Ilikedher, though shewascharming," returned Deering, with a searching glance and a somewhat cynical smile.
Elsie did not reply; she looked wonderingly at him out of her great serious blue eyes, as if at some curious, dangerous creature.
"So I am to consider myself pardoned?" resumed Deering.
"I have nothing to forgive." Then turning to Glynn, she asked, "Do you think the fireworks will soon begin?"
"Not until it is considerably darker. I suppose we ought to go out to see them; we shall only have a very narrow view here."
"Yes, we can't possibly stay in this corner," exclaimed Deering, looking round impatiently.
"Oh, I fancy madame will make a move," said Vincent, who was hovering about in his character of sponsor to his aristocratic friend.
"I did not know you had so distinguished a circle of French acquaintances," resumed Deering, addressing Glynn, and glancing with slightly elevated eyebrows towards Madame Davilliers and her friends. The glance caught that lady's attention, and induced her to turn the fire of her conversation upon him. To which Deering replied, with the assistance of Miss Lambert and Glynn. On her own account Elsie said very little, and seemed to have lost the brightness that animated her before and during dinner.
At length the first rocket rushed towards the sky, and burst into a cluster of many-colored stars, whereupon every one jumped up and made for the garden, the lawn, the roadway.
"Pray take my arm," said Glynn to Elsie the moment he saw the stampede beginning. "It may not be easy to keep together in the crowd."
"That is not fair, Glynn," said Deering with a smile. "You appropriate the only lady who can speak English, and condemn me to silence for the next hour."
"I am very sorry," said Glynn coolly; "but in Captain Lambert's absence I consider myself in some degree responsible for his daughter."
"Antoinette speaks a little English," said Elsie, "and will be charmed to talk to you—I mean Mademoiselle Davilliers," looking towards her.
"Pray do not trouble yourself," returned Deering hastily, "I can exist for half an hour in an unattached condition; besides, one can always pick up the crumbs which fall from rich men's tables." This with an insolent laugh, which grated on Glynn, as did Deering's whole tone; it conveyed the idea that he was amongst people whom he did not respect sufficiently to feel any restraint, and, moreover, that he was in a bad temper.
Elsie did not require a second invitation. Glynn was amused and touched by the readiness with which she took and almost clung to his arm as they sallied forth and mixed with the crowd. Deering, true to his avowed intention of "picking up the crumbs," kept persistently on her right—her unguarded side—and mastering his ill humor, talked lightly and easily, every now and then planting a query as to her past life, the drift of which Glynn thought he perceived.
"Is it North or South America which has the honor of claiming you, Miss Lambert?"
"Neither; I have never been in America, I was born in Australia."
"Australia! so much for preconceived ideas. I was disposed to swear that you were English born and bred."
"I have been more in England than anywhere else."
"Indeed! whereabouts, may I ask?"
"Look! what a splendid effect!" exclaimed Glynn, who was not too pleased at this acquaintance.
"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Elsie, her attention quite diverted. A large star of silvery light had suddenly appeared over the waterfall, through the spray of which it shone in varied prismatic colors, and Vincent coming up at the moment to speak to Deering, Glynn managed dexterously to lose himself and his companion in the crowd, and for a delicious half-hour had her all to himself.
"It is nearly over," he said at last. "Let us make our way to thecafé; we were all to assemble there; you are tired, I am sure, and I am afraid Deering has bored you."
"I never know what being bored means exactly. I did not like speaking to him at first, but he can make himself very pleasant, and he looks well. How did he come to know Mr. Vincent? really Mr. Vincent scarcely seems fit to be his servant."
"That is rather strong," said Glynn, laughing, yet with a sense of annoyance at her words; "but his acquaintance with Vincent does seem inexplicable. I wonder if he would ask him to Denham and introduce him to his wife, Lady Frances?"
"Is Mr. Deering's wife a great lady?"
"Yes, thoroughbred, and I suspect with a thoroughbred's power of endurance."
"Is she not happy, then?"
"Elsie, my child," cried Madame Davilliers, close beside them, "we are going to return home. You must go in the carriage with monsieur, Henri Le Clerc, and Madame Dubois; they await you in the veranda. Antoinette is speaking English quite well, but exceedingly well, to M. Dérin. He is really most distinguished. He ought to learn French."
"I am afraid he is a little too old, madame," said Glynn.
They were soon at the rendezvous: the carriages were ready, and Glynn having wrapped Elsie's cloak round her, was obliged to let Deering hand her into the carriage, as he had stationed himself at the door.
"Good-night, Miss Lambert; I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you soon again,"—with a little ring of triumph in his tone, and she was whirled away into the soft darkness of the summer night.
"Are you going straight back to your hotel?" said Vincent to Deering, when Madame Davilliers had driven off.
"Yes; I shall return with Mr. Glynn, if he will allow me," courteously to the latter, then abruptly to Vincent, "But I shall expect you to-morrow at 10.30 or eleven. I want to hear more about this wonderful colt."
"Very well; I will wish you good-evening.—Oh, by the way, Madame Davilliers' address is 14, Rue de C——, in case you think of honoring her Friday evenings."
"Thank you; good-evening." Then to Glynn, "Shall we stroll towards the lakes? It is such a fine night, and we shall find afiacrenearer town."
The two men walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then Deering exclaimed, "One is prepared to pay for tips in racing matters, but not quite so high a price as associating with such men implies; that is an awful cad."
"He is; I was infinitely surprised when I saw you appear in the character of hisprotégéthis evening. How did you come to know him?"
Deering laughed. "How didyou?—but I forgot,—he is evidently a popular member of your society. I—I met him in Count Latour's stables, and found he was well up in sporting, or rather turf, matters. There is very littlesportin them. He told me a thing or two, and may be of use."
"I did not know you were going in for racing," said Glynn.
"I take a certain interest in it, and I thought you did." He paused, lit a cigar, and then said abruptly, "Vincent tells me you know Miss Lambert's father; in fact, that you are frequently his favored guest. How does it happen that such a girl can be the outcome of a society of bourgeois and sharpers? You must present me to this father when he appears; I should prefer your sponsorship to Vincent's."
"Why do you want to know a set of people so completely out of your line?"
"I have a motive, not a very high one, I confess, but sufficiently powerful—curiosity. I want to find out something about Miss Lambert's people and history, for I am certain I knew a relative of hers, many years ago."
"Well, you had better fall back on your sporting acquaintance for an introduction, he is much more intimate with Captain Lambert than I am."
"Ha! you refuse to be responsible for me? that's deuced shabby! So he calls himself captain? He is rather a queer fish, isn't he?"
"That depends on our respective ideas touching queer fish. He is not a highly-polished, courtly gentleman, but he is not a bad fellow; and he is devoted to his daughter."
"Indeed! Well, Glynn, I believe you have seen a good deal of the world, and it is pleasant to find that so much faith in your fellow-creatures survives the experience."
"Faith is certainly a more agreeable sensation than doubt," returned Glynn, unmoved. "By the way, I quite forgot I had an engagement this evening. I am late already; there is afiacre." He hailed it. "Will you drive with me, Deering?"
"No, thank you; I shall enjoy my weed and a stroll, so good-night. I'll look you up to-morrow or next day."
"Curiosity," murmured Glynn, as he rolled away towards Paris. "Is it only curiosity? I wonder who Elsie's mother was? It seems too bad that any unholy mystery should hang round so sweet and frank a creature"; and recalling the beautiful eyes which had looked up into his with clear unconsciousness and unhesitating trust Glynn closed his own, and gave himself up to some delightful though disquieting reflections.
"What infernal bad luck!" thought Deering, as he lit his cigar viciously. "I did not dream of meeting that fellow. I never reckoned on such an obstacle. However, cost what it may, I'll get to the bottom of her parentage and history. If my suspicions are right, I must get rid of her or bind her to me indissolubly; and the last would be the pleasanter process. There is a wonderful charm about her, and yet at times I can catch traces ofhimtoo! I wonder who this father of hers is? I must get at him. I wish I hadn't been obliged to send that cad Vincent to the right-about so shortly, just to keep up appearances. It is double distilled bad luck to have that fellow Glynn here. But if he thinks he is going to make all the running with Miss Lambert, he is considerably mistaken. She is lovely, so lovely that I almost forgive her for existing."
Glynn waited impatiently for the moment when he could present himself at Madame Davilliers' weekly reception. The reasons why he must remain in Paris multiplied. He could not leave Elsie until her father returned, and then he must stay until he got some clue to Deering's schemes. That there was mischief brewing he felt convinced. Indeed, he was inclined to believe that Deering did not intend giving his real name when Vincent introduced him to Madame Davilliers and her friends, but perceiving Glynn he had probably changed his intentions, and telegraphed accordingly to his associate. Still, considering that Deering bore a fair character, it was highly improbable he would be guilty of any overt baseness.
On reaching Madame Davilliers', Glynn found about half a dozen intimates already assembled. Monsieur'spartieat whist had been made up in a small side-room, and in thesalonMademoiselle Antoinette and Elsie, assisted by the singing-master, were performing a trio. Glynn waited till this was over to make his bow to the lady of the house, enjoying from the corner where he had stationed himself an uninterrupted view of Elsie's face, which had the rapt, far-away look it always wore when she was singing. How sweet and noble her expression was. No, he would not leave her, unless he felt sure she was safe and her father forewarned. The trio ended, young Le Clerc pressed forward with animated thanks. Then Elsie looked round, as if seeking some one; when her eyes met Glynn's a bright, happy smile sparkled over her countenance, and she made a movement as if to go to him. He was soon at her side.
"You have some pleasant news, I am sure?" he said, as he took her hand.
"I have indeed. My father has returned; he will be here presently, and he looks so well. He is so refreshed by the sight of the sea that he says he will take me to Brittany, when it grows too hot in Paris."
"You will enjoy Brittany," said Glynn's voice mechanically, while the real man was thinking what a heaven it would be were he alone with her in Brittany, or Buenos Ayres, or Botany Bay, or any other spot on earth, provided they were together, away from every one else. The next instant he was reproaching himself for his weakness, his folly.
"I believe the scenery is very fine," Elsie was beginning, when she was interrupted by the words, "Good-evening, Miss Lambert." Glynn had been so absorbed in her that he had not observed the approach of Deering, until he spoke. Elsie turned to him, still composed and smiling, without any trace of the nervous dread which she had evinced at their first meeting.
"I am in a strange land here," said Deering, when they had exchanged greetings, "so I claim your protection; you must be my guide, philosopher, and friend." He drew a chair forward as he spoke, and Elsie sat down. "Are you a frequent attendant of thesesoirées, Glynn?" he asked, after having bestowed a nod on his countryman. "You are certainly fonder of innocent amusements here than in London!"
"It appears that Paris produces the same effect upon us both," returned Glynn coolly.
"Monsieur Glynn," said Madame Davilliers, sailing up, "will you come and speak to my old friend M. Le Colonel Dubois? He is a most interesting person! He fought at Waterloo in the first year of his service, and is all the fonder of your nation because they were gallant foes."
So Glynn was carried off, to his great annoyance, just as Deering took a seat beside Elsie, and seemed to settle himself for a long talk.
M. Le Colonel Dubois did not find the most attentive listener in Glynn, and was not sorry when the host came to pay his compliments to the octogenarian, and permitted his English guest to escape. Glynn strolled into the next room, and found Miss Lambert still conversing with Deering, with an air of interest too that surprised him. He did not attempt to interrupt them, but stood watching an opportunity of begging Madame Davilliers to ask Miss Lambert for another song. From his position near theportièresbetween the two rooms he could see the door leading to the vestibule. While he looked it opened, and Lambert came in—Lambert in a gorgeous-colored waistcoat and a bright necktie, for evening dress was not indispensable at Madame Davilliers' receptions. There was a joyous twinkle in his eye, an irrepressible air of success in his bearing. He saluted madame with much warmth, and then looked round the room as if seeking his "Jewel." Suddenly an extraordinary change passed over his face. The laughing, joyous, humorous look vanished, and was replaced by a fierce, startled, angry glare, like a wild creature suddenly roused to apprehension and defiance, as if through the thin, smooth coating of lately acquired domesticity, the savage nature of the untamed desperado had broken forth all the more vehemently for its temporary slumber. Glynn saw that his eyes were fixed on Deering, who was smiling and bending forward as he spoke to Elsie. She did not heed him, for she had caught sight of her father, and Deering, struck by her expression, turned to see what had attracted her. Then his face changed too, his jaw closed with a look of rigid determination, his steel-blue eyes lit up with a flash of angry recognition. By an involuntary impulse Glynn started forward to greet Lambert with a vague intention to assist him in recovering his self-control—to aid Elsie's father in any way he could.
"Glynn," said Lambert, gripping his hand hard, "who—who is that man—sitting there—by my—daughter?"
"He is Deering of Denham. Do you object to him?"
"No, why should I? Only I knew a Deering once—not a clean potato by any means! This may not be the same—Ah, Elsie, my child! Come here, keep by me."
"What is the matter, dear? You are not like yourself," she exclaimed, as she came up and passed her arm through his.
"Not like myself! you are wrong there." Then with a sort of effort he went straight up to Deering and said audibly in English, "We have met before, sir, have we not?"
Deering, who was considerably the taller, looked down on him from the ineffable heights of his social superiority, and replied deliberately,
"I have certainly had the pleasure of your acquaintance some years ago."
Then they stood silent, eye to eye—silent, yet exchanging deadly defiance. Deering, the most self-possessed of the two, was the first to speak.
"I fancy we have seen some changes since we met. Paris is not a bad place to anchor in after a wandering life, especially when one has so charming a companion as—Miss Lambert," adding the name after a slight pause.
"How do you know my daughter?" abruptly.
"Your friend, Mr. Vincent, was good enough to present me," said Deering calmly, with some emphasis on the name.
"My father seems to have found another acquaintance," said Elsie to Glynn. "It is curious."
Glynn scarce knew what to say. It was probable that Deering had known Lambert by some other name, known him under more doubtful circumstances than even he (Glynn) had. The idea stung him with a sense of angry pain. Deering was the last man to be trusted with such knowledge.
"Mr. Deering has been telling me about the lady of whom I remind him," resumed Miss Lambert. "She must have been very sweet and very charming, but most unhappy; her husband was murdered. I was quite interested, but I hope the likeness is not an evil omen."
"Impossible," cried Glynn. "Do not think of omens. Here comes Madame Davilliers to ask you to sing; pray do not refuse."
While he spoke with Miss Lambert, Glynn noticed that her father and Deering exchanged a few sentences in a low tone, and that Lambert, although he had completely mastered his temporary disturbance, had by no means recovered his spirits. A look of care and thought clouded his brow, though he spoke with some animation to one or two acquaintances. Deering on the contrary looked supremely calm, with something of exultation in his cold, light eyes.
"Miss Lambert sings well," he said. "I am no great judge of music, nor do I care for it, yet I should imagine that such a voice, such a style, ought to be worth a good deal of money."
"I don't intend her to sell her songs," said Lambert, roughly. "And now, Madame Davilliers, I'll wish you good-night. I'm a bit tired after my journey. Elsie, get on your hat. I'll take her home with me to-night, madame, with a thousand thanks for your good care."
Elsie rose from the piano, and cast an anxious look on her father. Then she gave her hand to Glynn, bowed to Deering, presented her brow to madame's kiss, and slipping her arm through Antoinette's, left the room.
"Let me see you soon," said Lambert to Glynn. "You do not return to London just yet?"
"Not this week, at least."
"Suppose you breakfast with me to-morrow, Captain Lambert," said Deering. "We'll smoke the pipe of peace, and talk over our adventures by flood and field."
"Thank you," shortly, "I never breakfast away from home."
"Oh, indeed! Then I shall call onyou, and pay my respects to Miss Lambert at the same time," returned Deering in a tone of imperturbable good breeding.
Lambert, who was making his adieux to Madame Davilliers, did not seem to hear, but before he reached the door he turned quickly back, and said in a constrained tone to Deering:
"I cannot breakfast with you, but I will call at your hotel to-morrow morning at 10.30."
"That is wiser," said Deering, with quiet superiority.
Glynn was greatly struck by the significance of these words. What hold had Deering over the wandering adventurer, who seemed as far removed from the haughty English gentleman as the east is from the west?
He walked home revolving this question and others. Every day increased the fascination which Lambert's daughter unconsciously exercised over him; every day showed more and more clearly the unsuitability, nay, from a common-sense point of view, the impossibility of allying himself with so doubtful a character as poor Lambert.
On reaching his hotel, theconciergehanded him several letters, and when safe within his own room he opened them. One proved to be from his firm on business which compelled his immediate return to London.
He had seldom been so annoyed and irritated as by this unavoidable necessity to quit the scene of the mysterious drama which interested him so intensely. He might be prudent enough, mean enough, to shrink from linking himself for life with a creature who was probably too good for him, but he would not desert Lambert in a difficulty. He would return as soon as possible and see him clear of Deering. Seizing his pen he wrote a hasty line to the effect that he was obliged to run over to London for a week, but would return without fail, adding his private address. When this had been sealed, stamped, and directed to Lambert, he rang and ordered his bill and a very early cup of coffee next morning.
"The first train for Calais leaves at seven in the morning," said the waiter. "There is an earlier one about five, I think, by the Dieppe route, but you gain no time, for thetrajetis longer."
"Of course I will go by Calais," returned Glynn. "Do not fail to call me in good time."
The first few days after Glynn's return to London were so crowded by important engagements and serious consultations with the elder members of his firm as to the advisability of a new and important undertaking, to which Glynn was entirely opposed, that he had no time for deliberate thought respecting Lambert and his mysterious acquaintance with Deering. Yet the subject was never quite out of his mind. A vague unreasonable anxiety about Elsie haunted him, and he was strangely eager to return to Paris.
The earliest spare moment he could find was devoted to Lady Gethin.
She was out when he called, but next morning's post brought him a pressing invitation to dinner, of which he gladly availed himself. He would have liked to take counsel with the shrewd old woman, and yet he did not think it loyal to Lambert, who evidently trusted him, to be too confidential.
Her hospitable ladyship, however, was not alone. A small, pleasant party, some writers of light literature, a traveller, a smart grass-widow from India, a clever barrister, and his pretty, accomplished daughter, to whom Glynn was already known, were assembled when he arrived, and dinner was a feast of good things in more senses than one. Afterwards there was music. The grass-widow played brilliantly, the pretty young lady sang very nicely, had a sweet voice, and had been well trained. But Glynn could only think of the contrast between her singing and Miss Lambert's; of the mellow, tender richness of the latter's notes, which seemed to come from the heart to the heart, compared with the lighter though pleasanttimbreof the other,—the sweet, simple earnestness of the one, and the easy smiling surface, good breeding of the cultivated London girl.
"Don't leave till the others have gone," whispered Lady Gethin, as she passed him when following her lady guests from the dining-room.
It was the height of the season, every one had more engagements than they could well manage; the party therefore broke up early, its members dispersing to balls, concerts, or receptions.
"Now then, have a little iced seltzer and cognac, it is quite warm this evening," said Lady Gethin; "and let us have a long talk—that letter of yours whetted my curiosity. What in the world has kept you away so long? every one has been asking for you!"
"Partly business, and partly curiosity."
"What about?"
"I will tell you presently. Have you seen Lady Frances Deering lately?"
"I saw her about ten days ago; she has gone down to Denham, and Deering is off to Vichy—liver or something wrong, but he didn't look as if he had much the matter with him."
"Vichy? He is not at Vichy! I saw him in Paris the night before I left."
"Well, I suppose he must pass through Paris, but you mean something more; where, and how did you see him?"
"I saw him saying good-night to the young lady with whom he was struck at Auteuil, and whom I think I mentioned to you."
"You don't say so! That's the liver complaint, is it? and the drama into the bargain. Come now, Hugh, do be candid, and do not worry me with any attempt to heighten effect. What do you know? What have you seen? What do you suspect?"
"These are tremendously leading questions!"
"Well, I want to get at your drama as soon as possible."
"Then, I shall answer categorically. I know nothing. I have seen very little. I suspect everything."
"What a sphinx-like reply. Just go on your own way, and tell me everything youwilltell, for I have an idea you will make reservations."
Whereupon Glynn described his meeting with Elsie and her father, not omitting Vincent, the curious contrast between Lambert and his daughter, the reappearance of Deering on the scene, his incongruous acquaintance with Vincent and Lambert, and the evident astonishment of each on recognizing the other. He only suppressed or softened the circumstances under which he had known Lambert, and the fact that he had changed his name. When he ceased, Lady Gethin, who had listened with profound attention, exclaimed:
"A very pretty mystery, upon my word. That Deering is a fiend! He knows something against Lambert, and is going to use his knowledge to help him with the daughter. I never liked Deering. He is a smooth-tongued, sneering hypocrite, and has many queer corners in his life, or I am much mistaken."
"I never heard anything against him, indeed he is rather liked among men. Even now I scarcely think he can be capable of any evil designs against a girl like Miss Lambert. What struck me at first, was the sort of fierce uneasy curiosity he displayed concerning her. He certainly admires her very much."
"So does some one else," returned Lady Gethin, with a knowing nod. "I trust and hope that the beautiful eyes, and lovely voice, and attractive mystery, will not drawyouinto making a fool of yourself."
"But, Lady Gethin!" cried Glynn, amazed at her penetration and quite unconscious how much he had betrayed, "you do not imagine that at my age I should be so weak as to be drawn into an entanglement,—a marriage, of which my judgment disapproves."
"I wouldn't give five minutes' purchase for your judgment, Hugh. You are just at the age when, if men are slower in igniting, they burn with a more intense and lasting fire. The frothiness of your enthusiasm may have evaporated, but the warm, strong spirit remains. Take care of yourself, Hugh; connection with such a man as you describe Lambert (and I fancy you have made the best of him) would be a frightful calamity,—no eyes, voice, or angelic nature could make up for it. You'd soon find that out. There is a certain degree of disenchantment in marriage, even under the most favorable circumstances. Take my advice, don't go back to Paris, let them manage their mystery themselves. You will be let in for something unpleasant and risky—don't go back."
"Oh, I must go back! I promised Lambert I would; besides, I want to see the play out; and you alarm yourself unnecessarily. I admire Miss Lambert, I think her as good as she is charming; but I am as averse to a marriage with her as you can be. Moreover, I have a safeguard in her indifference, for she treats me with frank confidence as her father's old friend, nothing more."
"This is worse and worse," said Lady Gethin, gravely. "How do you know what profound tenderness her indifferent airs may mask?"
"Do you think I have never looked into any eyes, nor learned their language, before I saw Miss Lambert's, that I should be so mistaken?" asked Glynn, laughing.
"Oh, I dare say you are learned enough in such matters. Pray be guided by me, put the Parisian episode out of your head, and make up your mind to marry that nice piquant little daughter of Pearson's. I asked them on purpose to meet you. He will give her ten thousand pounds, and he is a rising man; he will be on the bench in a year or two; they are people of good family."
"My dear Lady Gethin! I don't want to marry any one, and so I will bid you good-night. A thousand thanks for your good advice."
"Which of course you willnotfollow! Well, keep me informed of what goes on. I wishIcould see all your people, I think I should find a key to the riddle. I never liked Deering."
"I have no doubt you could read between the lines. As to Deering, now that I am away from him, I am half ashamed of my suspicions. It is rather absurd to imagine that a man of his standing would risk his reputation for a passing whim."
"But he doesn't risk it," said Lady Gethin. "He is not infringing any social law in England; unknown, doubtful Americans, neither rich nor highly-placed, are beyond the pale. If that Lambert had any sense, he would give his daughter a little money and marry her to some solidbourgeois. He could easily arrange it, I fancy."
"Well, good-night," said Glynn, with an odd feeling of irritation. "I shall call and see you before I leave, and do not hesitate to give me any commission—my taste in gloves and even in ribbons is not to be despised."
"Take care," was her valediction.
The next day brought Glynn a few lines from Lambert, which struck him as expressing more uneasiness than was intended.
"I have no right to ask you to return if it does not suit you," he wrote, "but I hope you will. I feel in need of your counsel. I have had wonderful luck for years, and now I'm afraid it's turning. Then I am not as young or as strong as I used to be; and one way or another it would cheer me up a bit to have a talk with you."
Had Glynn had any hesitation as to revisiting Paris this letter would have decided him. He sent a few lines in reply, and then applied himself steadily to clear up all business engagements as far as possible, to secure a long holiday.
He called on Deering at his club, and was told that gentleman was travelling abroad, and that letters addressed to his town house would be forwarded. Lady Gethin was not at home to receive his adieux, but wrote him a quaint characteristic line of warning.
Having performed all his duties, Glynn found himself in the mail train for Calais one evening about a fortnight after he had left Paris, with an irrepressible sense of exultation, of keen delight at the idea of returning to what he knew in his heart was a scene of danger, determined to enjoy to the uttermost the pleasure of Elsie's companionship, so long as he saw no sign of consciousness on her part. Life had so few moments of bliss that he could not and would not deny himself the draught that chance had offered.
It was a damp, drizzling morning when he reached his journey's end. Perhaps no town changes so much with change of weather as Paris; muddy streets, wet umbrellas, heavy grey clouds disguise it completely, and give it the aspect of a beautiful coquette, in deshabille and a bad temper. As early as etiquette would permit Glynn took his way to the Rue de L'Evêque, hoping to find Lambert, as he could not expect to gather any information from Elsie. Hailing afiacre, he told the driver where to go, and smiled to himself at the notion of Lady Gethin's alarm, thinking that if she knew how fast his heart was beating she would resign all hope of saving him. As he approached the house Glynn saw that his driver had either forgotten or mistaken the number, and was driving past it. He had just started forward to stop him when he saw two men come out of the entrance, and turning their backs on his conveyance, walk smartly down the street in close conversation. They were Deering and Vincent. A quick thrill of pain, of anticipated evil, shot through him as he recognized them. He feared he knew not what. But above and beyond all reasoning, he felt that their companionship, their presence, were omens of trouble and of wrong.
"Stop where you are, I will descend here," he called to the driver, and was soon springing up the familiar stairs. How vividly the perfume of the orange blossoms reminded him of the surprised admiration which Elsie and her home had excited on his first visit.
"Oh! it is you, monsieur!" cried Celestine, directly she opened the door; "I will tell Madame Weber, and I am sure mademoiselle will receiveyou." She went into thesalon, and returned almost immediately. "Enter, monsieur, but enter; mademoiselle will be pleased to see you."
Miss Lambert was alone when Glynn found himself in her presence, and sitting at a writing-table; she rose quickly, and came forward, with outstretched hands, "I am so glad you have come." Glynn did not speak immediately—he was surprised at the intensity of his own delight on finding himself once more beside her, listening to her voice, holding her hand, gazing into her eyes. He did not know he was so far gone. She looked paler, thinner, graver, than when he last saw her. She wore a black dress, and had a small scarf of delicate lace tied loosely round her throat. Her bright brown hair looked golden even in the dull light of a grey day, and there was something sad in her pose and expression that Glynn found infinitely touching.
"You knew I should return—at least your father did," he said at length.
"My father did expect you; but I—I thought it likely that when you were amongst your own friends, your own people, you would not care to leave them."
"I am afraid that you are not so well as when I left," said Glynn, drawing a chair near her writing-table, at which she had reseated herself. "It is perhaps impertinent to say that you are not looking as well, as brilliant as you were."
"Brilliant," she repeated, with a brief sweet laugh. "That I never could be; but you are right, I am ill,—ill at ease, I mean. My father. Ah!—he is so changed! And he is angry if I notice it; but he is very unhappy, I know he is. That is why I am so glad you have come; he can speak to you, hemayspeak to you. You may be able to help him; butIam only a helpless, ignorant girl. Yet I could do much if I were directed."
"I should be most happy to be of any use to Captain Lambert," said Glynn. "No doubt your affectionate anxiety inclines you to exaggerate, but——"
"When you see him you will understand," interrupted Elsie, "you will see that I do not exaggerate. He will not tellmewhat has happened. He says he has not lost his fortune. I should not care if he had, for I could earn money by singing, though not on the stage. However, my knowing would not help him, because I have always been shut up and am so ignorant. You do not mind me telling you all this, do you? Though I have not known you long, my father has, and—and—you seem like a real friend to him."
She looked full in his face, her great soft eyes all suffused with tears—like violets laden with dew.
"I am gratified that you confide in me, so far," said Glynn quietly, with laudable self-control. "I shall observe your father by the light of your remarks; and if he is really in any difficulty, or cares to consult me, I shall be most happy to assist him so far as I can. Probably his depression arises from some temporary losses. Believe me," and his dark face lit up with a pleasant smile, "money is a most important factor in existence; I am able to assert from experience that there is no vacuum so distressing as an empty pocket."
"If it is the loss of money," she returned gravely, "we ought not to stay here; life is very costly, I know; I have paid everything for the last eight months. My dear father is too generous; we ought to manage as we used when he was trying to save; he might move about as his business required, and I could go back to good Mrs. Kellett."
"Who is Mrs. Kellett?"
"My foster-mother; the only mother I have ever known: she lost her baby and her husband, and took me to love instead, at the time our place was destroyed in Australia. But, Mr. Glynn, it is more than money that disturbs my father."
"Let us hope he will speak openly to me; but I have no right to ask his confidence. Now you must not worry yourself unnecessarily. I wish it were a finer day, and I should try to persuade you and Madame Weber to come for a drive in thebois."
"Thank you, very much; I should have liked it, for I have gone out very little of late; but Madame Weber is not in the house, she went to the Halle this morning early to buy fruit, and has not returned yet."
"Then you have been dull as well as troubled. How is Madame Davilliers, and Mademoiselle Antoinette?" asked Glynn, making a circuitous approach to the topic uppermost in his mind.
"They are very well, and very busy. Antoinette is going to be married in August to M. Le Vicomte de Pontigny; it has been all arranged since you left. I should have less to regret, therefore, in leaving Paris, for Antoinette is going to travel for some time, and when she returns it will not be the same."
"This seems to have been a rapid act?"
"I dare say Monsieur Davilliers and the Vicomte had begun the treaty long ago," said Elsie, laughing; "butweonly heard of the intended marriage three or four days ago."
"And Deering, he is still here?" looking keenly at her.
"Yes"; all her gravity returning. "He called this morning just before you came; I did not see him, for, it is very extraordinary, my father has turned against Mr. Vincent, who is always with Mr. Deering; that I do not mind; but though he says less about it, I think he is quite as distrustful of Mr. Deering. NowIhave got over my first foolish fear of him; he is so gentle and polite, and seems to want to be friends with my father. I do not understand it all; but I never dispute what my dear father says. He knows more of life than I can possibly do. Yet I want very much to hear all about the lady Mr. Deering thinks me so like. He promised to tell me when he knew me better. Everything seems so changed since our pleasant dinner at the Café de Madrid, not two months ago."
"Such days and dinners do not come often," said Glynn, with a quick sigh. "I hope all this worry does not prevent you singing as much as you used?"
"Oh, no! it is the only pleasure I have."
"Is it too presumptuous of me to ask for a song now?"
Elsie did not answer for a moment; she put her elbows on the table, clasped her hands together, and resting her cheek on her interlaced fingers, said very slowly, "No; I could not sing to-day, I should break down—the tears would come—I had better not try."
"Then I will not ask you;—but tell me, when shall I see your father?"
"He will certainly call upon you. I am not sure if he will return to dinner, or I would beg you to dine with us."
"Thank you; we will reserve that pleasure for future arrangement. I am staying as usual at the hotel Wagram, and have letters to write which will keep me in till past eleven to-morrow, should Captain Lambert feel disposed to call."
"I will tell him," said Elsie.
Then Glynn knew he ought to go; but he could not tear himself away immediately. It was so charming, this quiet confidential talk; so intoxicating to see that her pale, anxious face had brightened considerably; certainly her composure, in the midst of her depression and uneasiness, left no room for any flattering conviction that he had impressed himself upon her heart or imagination. So far all was right; she treated him as a friend, an honorable gentleman, in whom she might trust, and nothing more.
A little further talk of the books Glynn had left with her, of her wish to leave Paris, and revisit the farmhouse, where most of her childish days had been spent, and Glynn felt he must not stay longer.
"Shall you make any stay?" she asked, as she gave him her hand at parting.
"A week or two, perhaps a month; I am not sure."
"Then good-morning—au revoir."
The rest of the day was strange and dream-like. He wandered through well-known places, seeking acquaintance to draw him from the puzzle of his own thoughts, and finding none, till towards six o'clock, passing Tortoni's, he found himself face to face with Deering, who was seated at one of the little round tables eating an ice.
"Hullo, Glynn! I thought you were in London?"
"Well, you see I am in Paris."
"When did you arrive?"
"This morning."
A little ordinary talk ensued, the tone of which showed a strong desire on the part of Deering to be civil and friendly. Glynn at once determined to accept his advances; he might thus detect some indications of the secret which underlay his acquaintance with Lambert, and the curious influence he seemed to have exercised over him. He could not, however, bring himself to accept his invitation to dinner, though he agreed to dine with him at one of the luxuriouscaféswhich abound in the great capital of pleasure.
Deering talked well, of many things, chiefly political; he also mentioned his wife and home, pressing Glynn to come down to Denham for the twelfth of August, promising him good sport.
It was not till they had risen from table, and were lighting their cigars previous to separating, that Deering made any mention of the subject probably uppermost in both their minds.
"Of course you have not seen anything of Lambert?"
"No, not yet."
"He is a queer fish—a very shady member. I knew him under another name, and rather doubtful circumstances; I am afraid he is not in a very sound financial position; he is a thorough adventurer. It is a bad business for the daughter; she is a very nice creature. I wonder where he picked her up, for one can't believe she reallyishis daughter?"
"There is not much family likeness between them; certainly; but I see no reason for doubting his representations. He is evidently devoted to her, and his surroundings are perfectly respectable."
"Perfectly. Where did you meet him?"
"In America, many years ago."
"Indeed! Oh, are you going? Well, good-night."
Hugh Glynn was careful to stay in his room all the next morning, thinking that if Lambert wished to make any private communication, they were more secure from interruption there than elsewhere.
It was barely eleven when Lambert was announced. Glynn was positively startled by the change in his aspect. His weather-beaten face was colorless and haggard, his eyes had a hunted look, as though seeking a way of escape, his clothes were carelessly put on, his moustaches no longer waxed and fiercely twisted, his whole air bespoke neglect.
"Delighted to see you, Glynn," he said, a faint gleam of pleasure lighting up his restless eyes. "I was afraid you wouldn't get back again this season; business must be attended to. You're in business, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I can attend to it sometimes at a distance."
"That's fortunate; and you have been all right?"
"Yes; quite right, thank you."
There was an awkward pause. Lambert seemed unable to approach the matter, whatever it might be, which filled his mind; he took up a paper-knife, which he turned restlessly to and fro, he changed his position, and then, with a sigh, exclaimed, "You saw Elsie yesterday. She was glad you called, but she is not very bright. You didn't think her looking well, hey?"
"Not as well as usual, certainly."
"No; she is fretting—fretting about her old dad. It's wonderful how that creature loves me.Me!—sometimes when she is hanging about me, and singing the songs I like, and making a servant of herself for me, I just look back and think of the scenes I've gone through, and the queer scramble my life has been, and wonder how the dickens it happens that an angel like her can be so fond of an old scapegrace; that she doesn't shrink from me; but she doesn't," with infinite exultation, "she loves me, sir, as well as ever child loved father!"
"Of that I can have no doubt," cried Glynn. "And your affection for her deserves it."
"She has made another man of me," continued Lambert. "But though I have not been a regular saint all my days, I am as white as driven snow compared to some blackguards that hold up their heads in high places. I am rambling on like an idiot. I called to ask if you'll come and dine with us to-night. It cheers me up to see an honest face."
Glynn accepted the invitation readily, and after a pause, during which he drummed on the table, Lambert recommenced.
"I have not had a good time of it since you were away, Glynn. I have been on the brink of ruin through the treachery of a man I thought a friend. But I hope to get over it. I think I'll get over it, and whatever happens, Elsie's little fortune is out of harm's way. I made sure of that. She need never starve."
"Very prudent and proper," returned Glynn. "But I earnestly hope you will escape the loss you mention. Been bitten by a bubble company?"
"No! It's a long story; I'll tell it to you some day, and you'll judge for yourself; but not now, not now. Ah! you are a bright chap, Glynn, strong and steady. If you had a little capital, now, you'd get along first rate." He rose as he spoke and took a turn up and down.
Glynn did not answer his conjectures as to his—Glynn's—financial position; he felt terribly disappointed that Lambert had made no confession of tangible difficulties, and yet he was brimful of some trouble which he could not bring himself to confess. Lambert resumed his seat, and began talking in a rambling fashion of ordinary topics; but his thoughts were evidently elsewhere, and at length he went away, leaving a most painful impression on Glynn's mind, of profound despondency, of mental disquietude which he could not or would not express.
At dinner, some hours later, he either was more cheerful, or assumed a livelier aspect for his daughter's benefit. She seemed to accept the improvement as real, and the evening went quickly. With the help of music and conversation, Lambert, towards the end, seemed to forget his troubles and was more like himself. At parting Elsie gave Glynn an eloquent glance expressive of thanks, of mutual understanding, which sent him away charmed, restless,—longing for their next interview, yet full of dread for the future.
The next day as he was leaving his hotel he ran against Deering, who was coming in. "I am off to Vichy to-day," he said. "I thought I should just let you know. I ought to have gone a week ago, but I met some people that amused me; Lady Harriett Beauchamp and Wedderburn—you know them, I suppose? Shall I find you here when I return?"
"That depends on the length of your visit."
"Oh, about a fortnight."
"I shall hardly stay so long."
"Good-bye, then. Don't forget Denham in August. Lady Frances will be delighted to see you."