CHAPTER IV.
The dressing-gong sounded sonorously through the corridor of Crosbie Castle. In one of the many charming rooms situated in the towering wing a young girl was standing. The open windows overlooked a sweep of verdant lawn, majestic groups of veteran trees, and to the left a clump of smaller woodgrowth, touched with every tint of green. From beneath, the scent of many a flower was borne on the air and wafted to her, bringing with its fragrance a sense of purity and delicacy that was utterly wanting to the faint odors that hung round the costly glass bottles her maid was placing on the toilet table.
The mistress of the dainty apartment was leaning against the open window deep in thought. She was tall and slight, with a face of delicate loveliness and charm, albeit spoiled a little by a slight expression of indifference and discontent. She had hair of the warm brown shade peculiar to Englishwomen; her eyes were large, of a clear but rather cold blue; her mouth was small and well shaped, disclosing white, even teeth when her lips parted. There was an easy, graceful nonchalance about her carriage; and, without being a strictly beautiful figure,Vane Charteris had an indescribable air ofhauteurin the slope of her shoulders and well-poised head that put to shame many a rival better favored by nature. Her eyes were fixed at this instant on the figure of a young man walking quickly across the lawn to the house, followed by half a dozen dogs. He was by no means unpleasant to look upon; and so thought his cousin, for she watched him with evident attention and interest.
“My squire of Crosbie pleases me,” she murmured, moving languidly from the window; “for once mamma has shown discrimination with worldly wisdom.”
She seated herself at the glass, and let her maid unpin her luxuriant tresses till they fell upon the folds of her pink silk wrapper in glorious profusion. Vane Charteris had been out two years. Worshiped from her cradle by her weak, widowed mother, she had entered society’s world haughty, indifferent and selfish. The admiration she received was but a continuation of the adulation that had been lavished upon her all through her life; she had no aims, no hopes, no ambitions, but was content with her imperious beauty and the power that gift brought. At first Vane was a great success—her proud coldness was new, and therefore a delightful experience; but after a while society grew weary of her autocratic ways. The season just ended had been a lesson to her. She saw herself deserted, and her power slip from her; and, as this truth came home, she woke suddenly from her dreams, and realized that something more was expected of her if she would still reign as queen.
Lady Charteris little guessed the workings of her daughter’s mind. She had grown to consider Vane as a priceless jewel which must be carefully watched, carefully tended and thought for. She judged the girl’s nature to be one of the highest, combining true Charteris pride with utter indolence. Possibly the mother had felt a touch of vexation when she saw girls far below her child in beauty wed nobly and well; but she loved Vane as her life, and regret was banished in the pleasure of her presence.
This was the first visit of the beautiful Miss Charteris to Crosbie Castle. Hitherto she had contented herself with meeting her uncle and aunt in London: but this yearthe mood seized her to accept their oft-repeated invitation and spend a few weeks in their country home. She had heard much of her cousin Stuart, but had never seen him since her childhood, as during the past two years he had been traveling, and before that time she never left the seclusion of her schoolroom.
Sore with the knowledge of her social failure, dissatisfied with her mother, herself, and everybody, Vane had sunk into a morbid, depressed state. She left town without a sigh (though, when she contrasted this journey with her migration of the former season, she might have given vent to one, for instead of hearty farewells and expressions of regret, she was neglected, save by her maid and her mother), and actually felt a thrill of genuine pleasure as she bowled through the country lanes and drank in the sweetness of the air. She stole many hurried glances at her cousin during the drive—Mr. Crosbie had reached the station in the nick of time—and found herself agreeing with the oft-repeated praises her mother had sung concerning him. There was a manliness, a frankness, an absence of self-consciousness and conceit about Stuart Crosbie that pleased her jaded spirit; he was as handsome as any of her former admirers, while possessing many other advantages they did not. She listened quite interestedly to his chatty accounts of his travels, and was surprised at the pleasure she derived from them.
“What will mademoiselle wear?” the maid asked, after she had coiled and waved the luxuriant hair round the graceful head.
Vane woke from her musings.
“Oh, anything, Marie; it does not matter! No; on second thoughts, give me that plain white silk.”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Marie went to the inner room, and returned with a mass of soft, rich, clinging drapery on her arm, and assisted her mistress to adjust the robe in silence. She was wondering a little why mademoiselle should have chosen so simple a gown—it was not her usual habit. But, when the last touch was given, and Vane stood gazing at her reflection in the mirror, the maid was fain to confess the choice was good. The tall, supple formlooked inexpressibly graceful in the long, soft folds, the delicate masses of lace brought fichu-like across the bust gave a touch of quaintness to the whole, and the purity of the silk gave a softened, fresher look to the pretty face, for once free from its discontent. Vane looked long at herself, then turned to her maid:
“My gloves and fan, Marie. Thanks. Do not trouble to wait for me to-night. Leave my wrapper here; I will brush my hair myself. I dare say you are tired.”
“Merci bien, mademoiselle,” Marie murmured, marveling still more. She was unaccustomed to any notice, to say naught of kindly words, from her young mistress.
Vane drew on her long white gloves, then went slowly through the corridor and down the stairs. The sun was declining, the heat of the day dying, and a faint, delicious breeze came in through the many open windows. Miss Charteris passed through the great hall, the tap-tap of her heels sounding distinctly on the tesselated floor, and stood for one instant at a door that led first under a colonnade and thence to the grounds which her windows overlooked. While she was standing here her cousin sauntered into view, and, moving forward with languid grace, she went to meet him.
“La dame blanche,” he said, tossing away an unfinished cigarette. “You startled me, Cousin Vane—you crept out so quietly and look so like a spirit.”
“I am quite real, I assure you,” Vane answered. “But why have you thrown away your cigarette?”
Stuart laughed as he answered:
“It is against my mother’s rules to smoke immediately before dinner, but I love my weed, and am scarcely conscious when I am smoking or not. Please forgive me. I have been a savage for so long, I have forgotten my good manners.”
“Ah, I want to hear all about your travels and adventures!” said Miss Charteris. “Have we time to stroll up and down for a while before dinner?”
“But you will be tired,” remonstrated Stuart, mindful of his mother’s injunctions; “and”—glancing at the small, dainty white feet—“I am afraid you will ruin your pretty shoes!”
“I am not afraid of either calamity,” Vane responded,with a smile; “however, let us split the difference and go to the conservatory.”
Stuart agreed willingly. He was most favorably impressed by his new cousin. She was no hypochondriacal creature, but a young, beautiful girl, and likely to prove a most agreeable companion. He glanced at her dress as they sauntered along the colonnade to the conservatory, mentally declaring it to be most charming and simple, deciding it to be most probably the work of her own hands, and would have been thunderstruck had any one informed him that the innocent-looking garment had cost nearly fifty pounds.
Vane Charteris saw her cousin’s admiration, and her heart thrilled. Once more she would taste the joy of power, she would no longer be neglected. A vision of future triumph filled her mind at that instant. She would wake from her indifference. The world should see her again as queen, reigning this time by charm and fascination as well as by her beauty. The color mounted to her cheeks, the light flashed in her eyes at the thought, and she turned with animation and interest to converse with the man beside her.
“You have a splendid home, Stuart,” she observed, after they had walked through the heavily scented conservatory to the drawing-room. “I am glad I have come.”
“And I am heartily glad to welcome you. I have heard so much of my Cousin Vane, such stories of triumphs and wonders, that I began to despair of ever receiving her here.”
“You forget,” said Vane, softly, waving her great feather fan to and fro, “there is an attraction here now that at other times was wanting.”
She spoke lightly, almost laughingly, but her words pleased the man’s vanity.
“Can it be that I am that attraction?” he asked, quickly. Then he added: “Cousin Vane, I am indeed honored.”
“You jump to hasty conclusions,” she retorted, “but I will pardon your excessive vanity, if you will give me a spray of stephanotis for my dress.”
“Is it your favorite flower?” he asked, leading the way back to the conservatory.
“I love all flowers,” Vane answered; “that is,” she added, carelessly, “all hothouse flowers.”
“You shall be well supplied in future.”
“Thanks.”
She drew off her gloves and pinned the spray of wax-like flowers amid her laces. Her hands were white and delicate, yet Stuart’s mind unconsciously flew to two little brown ones he had seen that afternoon grasping a plainly bound book. There was even more beauty in them than in his cousin’s, he thought.
“I shall look to you, Cousin Stuart,” Miss Charteris observed, as she fastened her gloves again, “to initiate me into the mysteries of country life. I intend to dabble in farming, milk the cow, toss the hay, picnic in the fields, and get quite burned and brown.”
Stuart laughed a little constrainedly. He was thinking of his picnic for next Wednesday, and wondering whether he could induce his cousin to be kind to Margery. His mother, for some unaccountable reason, did not appear to like Margery.
“We must get a native of Hurstley to act as cicerone,” he responded, breaking off a leaf from sheer wantonness. “I have been away so long, I have almost forgotten my home.”
“What are you going to do, now you are back?”
“Nothing—that is, nothing definite. You see, my father is very shaky, and I must relieve him of some of his duties. My mother has a strong wish that I should stand for Chesterham.”
“A parliamentary career?” questioned Vane. “How would you like that?”
“Not at all,” Stuart answered, frankly. “Legislation is not myforte. I am, if anything, a sportsman.”
“English to the backbone! Cousin Stuart, I am disposed to like you.”
“Is that true?” Stuart asked, gravely.
Vane turned and met his gaze, then laughed softly.
“True? Of course it is; are we not cousins? The liking, however, must not be altogether on my side.”
“Have no fear,” the young man began, but at that instant the dinner-gong sounded, and his sentence remained unfinished.
Vane was led in by her cousin, and they were even yet more amicable during the meal, to Mrs. Crosbie’s intense satisfaction. She made no effort to interrupt the merry conversation of the young people, and contented herself with now and then joining in the flow of reminiscences in which her husband and Lady Charteris were indulging.
Squire Crosbie was a tall, thin man with a worn, almost haggard face. Its prevailing expression was kindly but weak, and he turned instinctively to his wife for moral support and assistance. Stuart dearly loved his father. The gentle student disposition certainly was not in harmony with his own nature; but he had never received aught but tenderness and love from his father, and grew to think of him as a feeble plant that required warmth and affection to nourish it. His feeling for his mother was entirely different. He inherited his strong spirit from her, the blood of an old sporting family flowed in her veins. She was a powerful, domineering woman, and Stuart had been taught to give her obedience rather than love. Had he been permitted to remain always with his mother, his nature, although in the abstract as strong as hers, might by force of habit have become weakened and altered; but, as soon as he had attained his majority, he had expressed a determination to travel, and in this was seconded for once most doggedly by his father. Those two years abroad did him an infinite amount of good; but to Mrs. Crosbie they did not bring unalloyed delight. Her son had gone from her a child obedient to her will, he returned a man and submissive only to his own.
Lady Charteris resembled her brother, the squire; but the intellectual light that gleamed in his eyes was altogether wanting in hers. Her mind was evidently fixed on her child, for even in the thick of a conversation her gaze would wander to Vane and rest on her. She was heartily pleased now at her daughter’s brightness, and whispered many hopes to Mrs. Crosbie that this visit might benefit the delicate nerves and health.
Mrs. Crosbie nodded absently to these remarks. She was occupied with her own thoughts. Stuart must marry; and whom could he find better, search where hemight, than Vane Charteris for his wife? Beautiful, proud, a woman who had reigned as a social queen—in every way she was fitted to become the mistress of Crosbie Castle. She watched her son eagerly, she saw the interest and admiration in his face, and her heart grew glad. Of all things Mrs. Crosbie had dreaded during those two years’ absence, the fear of an attraction or entanglement had been most frequent, and not until she saw him so wrapped up in his cousin Vane did she realize indeed that her fears had been groundless.