Poor Jack! How came he to be in Lady Bell’s ball-room?
The morning after she had nearly driven over him he woke to find Leonard Dagle, his friend and fellow lodger, standing beside his bed and looking down at him with a grave smile on his intellectual face.
“Hallo!” said Jack, “the house on fire?”
“Not at present,” said Leonard, “though it would soon be if you lived in it alone. Why don’t you blow yourcandle out, and not chuck your slippers at it? How are you this morning?”
“How am I?” said Jack, staring. “How should I be? Quite well of course,” which was quite true, for Jack and the headache had not been introduced to each other.
“That’s all right,” said Leonard, with a smile. “Perhaps you remember last night’s tragic occurrence, then?”
Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head gravely.
“Len, I’m an idiot. I always was. It’s a good job idiocy isn’t catching or you’d have caught it of me long ago. I made a confounded idiot of myself last night. It was all Dalrymple and Hetley’s fault, and I wish they’d knock champagne off the club wine list. Did I take too much, Len?”
“What do you think?” said Leonard, grimly.
“I’m afraid I did. For the first time in my life, or nearly—but I didn’t touch a card, Len.”
“I knew you wouldn’t do that.”
“No, a promise is a promise with me,” said Jack. “And I didn’t drink much, Len, ’pon my honor; but I was upset, and when a man is upset he——”
“He generally tries to get run over,” said Leonard, with a smile.
Jack stared, then he laughed.
“By George! yes. I remember!”
“But always does not get the luck to be rescued by a beautiful young lady—who is an heiress—and who, instead of giving him in charge for blocking the queen’s highway, brings him home in her brougham.”
“It was a kind thing to do, certainly,” said Jack, with a yawn.
“Kind is a mild way of putting it,” remarked Leonard.
“It was more than I deserved,” said Jack; “much more, and she’s a brick.”
“The man who calls Lady Isabel Earlsley a brick should be a bold man.”
At last Jack looked up, and pressing his chair back, said:
“And now, old man, let’s hold a council of war. Subject to be considered: the future of a young man who has been cut off with a shilling—by George! the poor old fellowdidn’t even leave me that—who knows no trade, who cannot dig, and to beg is ashamed, and who is penniless.”
“Quite penniless, Jack?” asked Leonard.
Jack rose, and sauntering to a drawer, pulled forth an old tobacco pouch, and pouring the contents on to the table proceeded to count the small—very small—heap of coin.
“Twenty-one pounds six-and-fourpence farthing—no; it’s a brass button—and a brass button.”
“Can’t carry on this way long with that small amount of ammunition, Jack.”
“Just so, old Solomon. Well, what’s to be done?”
“You might enlist.”
“Get shot, and break your heart. No, I’m too fond of you, Len. Go on; anything else?”
“Upon my word, you can’t do anything.”
“Nary thing,” admitted Jack, with frank candor.
“What do men—well-born and high-bred men like you——”
“What will you take to drink?” said Jack, bowing low.
“Who have no money, and no brains——”
Jack bowed again, and pitched the sugar tongs at him.
“What do they do? They generally marry an heiress, Jack.”
“I shall never marry.”
“I’ve heard that remark before. The last it was from a man who married a fortnight afterward.”
“I’m not going to marry in a fortnight. Go ahead.”
“I’ve done,” said Leonard with a shrug.
“Solomon is dried up,” said Jack. “You don’t keep a large stock of wisdom on hand, old man.”
“I’ve given you the best I’ve got, and good advice too, with a foundation to go upon. Your heiress is ready to your hand.”
“What do you mean?” said Jack.
Leonard was about to reply, when the housekeeper entered and brought him a card. He looked at it; it bore Lady Isabel Earlsley’s name, and on the back was written:
“To inquire whether Mr. Newcombe was hurt last night?”
Leonard pitched it across the table, as an answer to Jack’s question.
Jack read the card and flushed hotly, then threw it down again.
Leonard took up a piece of paper, and rapidly wrote:
“Mr. Newcombe’s compliments, and he was not in any way injured by last night’s accident, which he deeply regrets as having caused Lady Earlsley so much trouble,” and gave it to the housekeeper.
“What have you written?” asked Jack sulkily.
“What you are too much of a bear to write,” said Leonard, with a smile—“an answer and an apology. Jack, you are a favorite of fortune. Half the men in London would give the forefinger of their right hand to get such a message from Lady Bell. I know her——”
“So do I,” broke in Jack, roughly; “I heard all about her at the club last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to death about her. She’s a great heiress and a beauty, and all the rest of it. I know, and I don’t want to hear any more.”
Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“Forgive me, old fellow; but I—my heart is full. Only one woman in the world has any interest for me, and she has gone—up to the sky again, I suppose. What do I care for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I laid awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and dreamed of her eyes the rest of the night; and I’d give all the world if I had it, to find her. And much good it would do me if I succeeded? I couldn’t ask her to share twenty-one pounds six and a brass button!”
“Forgiveme, Jack,” said Leonard, quietly. “I know what you mean. I’m in love myself. But—but at any rate you can’t treat Lady Bell rudely. You must call and thank her.”
“Confound her!” said Jack, and hurried out of the room.
Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his work. He saw no more of him until late in the evening, when Jack came in and threw himself into a chair, looking weary if not exhausted.
“What have you been doing, Jack?” asked Leonard.
“Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay,” replied Jack, grimly.
Leonard nodded.
“I’ve been walking about ever since I left you, with scarcely a rest. I’ve walked through every thoroughfare in London. I’ve looked into windows and into shops. I’ve been warned off and told to move on by the police, who thought I was a burglar on the search for a job; and here I am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel—Heavens knows why—that she is here in London. Len, if you smile I shall knock you down.”
“I was never farther from smiling than I am at this moment,” said Leonard quietly.
“Do you know what I would do if—if the squire had left me any money?” went on Jack, fiercely; “I would spend every penny of it in searching for her. I’d have a hundred—a thousand detectives at work. I’d never give them rest night or day till they found her.”
“And then?” said Leonard.
Jack groaned and lit his pipe. Leonard looked at him.
“I thought you had gone to call on Lady Earlsley,” he said.
Jack looked very much as if he really meant to knock him down, and marched off to bed.
When he came in to breakfast the next morning Leonard noticed that he was dressed in proper walking attire, instead of the loose, free and easy, well-worn suit of cheviot, but he said nothing. Jack looked up.
“You are staring at my get-up, Len. Well, I’ll do it; but mind it is only to please you. What should I care what she thinks? though I ought to do it, I know. I’ll call and thank her, and then let there be an end of it. I can’t bear any chaff of that sort even from you, old fellow.”
Leonard nodded without a word, for he saw that the once frank face had lost its carelesssang froidexpression, and looked harassed and even haggard.
Jack smoked a pipe in silence, watching Leonard’s rapidly moving pen; then, without a word, went out.
Two hours later he came in, and with an air of relief and even a smile, said:
“Well, I’ve done it, and it’s over.”
“Well?” said Leonard, curiously.
“Well, nothing; she wasn’t at home,” said Jack, triumphantly.
“Not at home. What sort of a place was it?”
“The best place in Park Lane,” said Jack. “No end of flunkeys about, and the rest of it. Looks as if she rolled in gold, as she must do to have the place at all.”
“And you didn’t see her?” asked Leonard.
Jack colored and frowned.
“What a curious beggar you are! Yes, I did see her; her carriage drove up just as I was going away.”
“And you spoke to her?”
“No, I just raised my hat and walked away,” said Jack, gravely.
Leonard shrugged his shoulders.
“She will think you a boor.”
“So I am,” said Jack. “What does it matter? Tell me something about yourself. I am sick of myself. What have you been doing?”
Leonard’s pale face flushed.
“I’ve been to Cheltenham Terrace,” he said.
“Well, did you see her?”
“No,” said Leonard, sadly. “I saw that the blinds in the upper windows were down, and I went to the next door, and asked if anyone was ill.”
“Well?”
“Yes, her grandfather, old Mr. Treherne, was ill, they said, and I came away.”
“Well,” said Jack, “at any rate you know where to find her—while I——”
“I saw her shadow on the blind,” said Leonard, simply. “I could swear to it among a hundred. I watched her beautiful profile for an hour in that railway carriage.”
“Treherne, Laura Treherne,” said Jack. “It is a pretty name. What took her to Hurst Leigh that night, I wonder? The night the squire died. Len, it is a romance, but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I’d hang about the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know what it is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with thirst so that you would give all you possessed—ten years of your life for a draught of water? That is just how I feel when I think of that beautiful face, with its soft brown eyes and innocent smile! And when do I not think of her?”
“And you didn’t speak to Lady Bell?” said Leonard.
Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, nearly running against the housekeeper.
“A letter for you, sir,” she said.
Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard.
The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with an elaborate coat of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher underneath, and inside was a card of invitation to a ball, filled in by a lady’s delicate hand, with a line in addition.
“With Lady Earlsley’s compliments and regret that she was from home when Mr. Newcombe called.”
“Jack, what condescension. You must go!”
Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was too honest to plead that he was in mourning; but he simply swore that he would not go.
The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack came into the sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form seeming to fill the room.
Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in evening dress; that he was one of the few men who looked to advantage in it, and he turned from his eternal pen and ink to look at him with an approving smile.
“Yes,” said Jack, fiercely, “I am going; I am a fool, but how can a man stand against such a perpetual old nuisance as you are? But mind, I am just going in and out again, and after this there is an end of it. I shall enlist!” and out he went.
Jack called a hansom—of course he could have walked, but he had no idea of economy or the value of money—and was driven to Park Lane.
Half a dozen times on the way he felt inclined to stop the cab, jump out and go to the club—anywhere but Lady Bell’s; but nevertheless, he found himself in Park Lane, and ascending the staircase. He saw at once, by a few unmistakable signs, that the party was a small and select one, and furthermore, judging by the tasteful magnificence of the appointments, that Lady Bell’s wealth had not been very much exaggerated.
He made his way slowly, for a dance was just over, and the stairs were lined, as usual, with people mostly whom he knew, and had to stop to speak to. Amongst them were Sir Arkroyd Hetley, and Dalrymple, of course together.
“Hullo, here’s the Savage!” cried Hetley. “How do you do, Jack? You’ve soon got on the war trail, old fellow,” he added in a low voice and with a significant smile.
Jack growled something and made his way into the room.
For a moment he could see nothing of Lady Bell, then as she came out of the fernery and advanced toward him her dark eyes flashing, or rather gleaming softly, with a faint, delicious color mantling on her cheeks, he felt almost the same shock of surprise which had fallen on Una.
He had scarcely noticed her the other night, had scarcely, indeed, seen her, and he now saw, as it were for the first time, her beauty, set off and heightened by the aid of one of Worth’s happiest dresses, and Emanuel’s diamonds. In spite of himself he was dazzled, and his frank eyes showed that he was.
And Lady Bell? Well, though his face had scarcely left her mind’s eye since she had seen it, she was not disappointed.
Notwithstanding the rather bored and surly—not to say ferocious expression which set upon it—she thought him handsomer than even she had remembered him.
“This is very kind of you, Mr. Newcombe,” she said speaking first, for Jack had contented himself with bowing over her hand.
“Kind?” said Jack, in his straightforward way.
Lady Bell hesitated, and for the first time, perhaps, in her life, smiled shyly.
“I heard—they tell me—that it is as difficult to get Mr. Newcombe to a dance as a prince of the blood royal.”
“It isn’t much in my way,” said Jack, quietly; “I am not a dancing man—that is, I don’t care for it.”
“Then it was kind,” said Lady Bell, recovering her courage and smiling at him with that wonderful smile which Hetley and all the rest of them talked so much about.
Jack looked at her. Yes, certainly she was very beautiful, and there was a subtle something in that smile.
His ill-temper began to disappear.
“I should say,” he said, “that a man ought to feel lucky at the chance of getting here.”
“They also told me,” said Lady Bell, archly, “that you never paid compliments.”
“Someone seems to have been taking a great deal of trouble to make me out a regular boor,” said Jack, with his curt laugh. “Did they also tell you that I lived in the woods up a tree, and existed on wild animals?”
“Like a savage?” said Lady Bell, wickedly.
Jack flushed and looked at her; then her smile conquered and he laughed.
“Yes, that is what they call me, confound their impudence! But I’m a very tame kind of a savage, Lady Earlsley; I shan’t scalp you.”
“It wouldn’t matter much, would it?” she retorted. “They make such beautiful false hair now.”
Jack looked down on the soft, glossy head, with its thick, light coils, and smiled.
“Are you going to change your mind and scalp me, after all?” she said. “You make me tremble when you look like that.”
Jack laughed right out.
“No,” he said; “even a savage is incapable of such ingratitude. I have come to-night, Lady Earlsley, to thank you for your kindness the other night, and to tell you how sorry I am that—that you should have had so much trouble!”
And a blush managed to show itself under the tan.
Lady Bell looked down.
“It was no trouble,” she said. “I was afraid that you were hurt. It was very clumsy and stupid of my man.”
“It was all my fault,” said Jack, penitently. “I——”
“Do not say any more,” she said, gently, and she put her finger tips on his arm.
Jack looked at her, and met her gaze, full of concealed interest, and his own eyes fell before it.
They had been standing near the fernery, behind which stood Una; she could hear every word, see every look.
Pale and almost breathless she stood, her hands clasped in front of her, her heart beating fast, her eyes fixed on Jack’s face. She longed to fly, yet could not move a foot. Something, his very presence, his very voice, held her like a chain.
She felt that if he were to turn and, seeing her, say, “Follow me!” she must follow him, though it were to the end of the earth.
A storm of conflicting emotions battled within her for mastery; a wild delight at his presence, an intense longing that his eyes might turn and rest on her, and at the same time an awful miserable feeling, which she did not know was jealousy.
How beautiful they looked, these two, Lady Bell, the heiress, in her rich dress and splendid jewels, and he, with his tanned face and bold, fierce eyes, his stalwart frame towering above all others, and sinking them into insignificance. How well matched they seemed. Why—why did Lady Bell smile at him like that? No wonder his face had grown brighter. Who could resist that bewitching smile?
The music of a waltz commenced and recalled her to a sense of her position. With a start she drew still further back, so that she was quite out of sight.
“There’s a dance,” said Jack, in his blunt way. “I would ask if you were free to give it to me, but I cannot dance to-night. I am in mourning. Don’t let me keep you, though.”
“That is a plain intimation,” said Lady Bell; “but I am sorry that you are in trouble. In sober earnest it was kind of you to come. I hope it was no one near to you.”
“No,” said Jack, and his face clouded at the recollection of Hurst Leigh. “It was a very dear old friend who had been very good to me.”
Lady Bell inclined her head, and her voice grew wonderfully soft.
“I see that I must not keep you. I shall not be offended if you leave us at once. If I had known——”
Now here was Jack’s opportunity. Why did he not seize it and go?
“Thanks,” he said; “although I won’t dance I’ll stay a little while if you’ll permit me.”
Lady Bell bowed.
“Thank you,” she said, almost humbly, as if he had granted her a great favor, as it seemed to Una.
At this moment the great—or little—duke came up with a smile.
“Am I fortunate enough to find you free for this, Lady Earlsley?”
Lady Bell looked at her card, carefully keeping it out of his reach, and shook her head.
“I’m so sorry! My partner will be here directly, I expect.”
The duke bowed, expressed his regret, and moved off, not without a glance at Jack, who stood calm and possessed; and Una knew, notwithstanding all her ignorance, that Lady Bell was not engaged, but had refused the duke that she might keep Jack by her side; and with this knowledge the demon jealousy sprang into life, and made himself fully known.
With an awful aching of the heart she sank into a seat and hid her face in her hands.
What right had she there—she, the ignorant, untaught forest girl, among these grand people? Even supposing that he saw her he would not remember her, and if he did he would not care to waste a glance or a word on her, while such a beautiful creature as Lady Bell was willing to refuse a duke for his sake.
Suddenly the brilliant scene seemed to grow dark and joyless; the music sounded harsh and out of tune; all the beauty had vanished, and she longed to be sitting in the depths of Warden Forest.
“Your partner doesn’t seem to turn up,” said Jack. “He’s an ungrateful idiot.”
Lady Bell laughed and sank down in a fauteuil just in front of the recess.
“I forgive him,” she said, and she swept her skirts aside to make room for him.
Jack sat down, not gratefully, but quite courtly.
Lady Bell was silent for a moment, then she said:
“I would have sent a card for your friend, but I could not remember his name.”
“Oh, Len,” said Jack, shaking his head. “I’m afraid he would not have come. He never goes out—at least not to this sort of thing. He’s a book worm, and doesn’t care for the gaieties. His name is Leonard Dagle.”
“He is a great friend of yours?”
“The best that ever man had,” said Jack, quietly; “more than a brother.”
“You live with him?” she said, with an interest only too palpable to the listening Una, whom Lady Bell had quite forgotten.
“Yes, we live together—have done so for years—always shall, I hope, till——”
He paused.
“Till death, were you going to say?” said Lady Bell.
“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack, simply. “I was going to say till I took his advice and—enlisted.”
“Enlisted!” she repeated, turning her beautiful face full upon him.
Jack colored and frowned.
“Yes,” he said, stoutly; and though he said not a word more, Lady Bell knew that he was poor and in trouble.
It was just the one thing wanted to finish the romance. He was poor and in trouble, while she was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Why should she not say as she longed to do:
“You want money. See, here am I who have more than I know what to do with; take some of it and make me happy!”
Instead, she thought it only, and remained silent.
“How hot it is,” she said presently. “It is more than time to leave London. One longs for the green fields and the sea.”
“It is late,” said Jack.
“We are staying in town,” she said, “because my father is a bookworm and can only live near a library—he only exists elsewhere. I cannot find it in my heart to tear him away from the British Museum; but we make the best of it. We are going to have a water-party to-morrow at Richmond.”
“Yes,” said Jack.
She waited for him to ask for an invitation; then, pressing her lip with her fan, said:
“Will you join us?”
Jack hesitated a moment.
“I shall be delighted,” he said.
“You don’t look it,” she said. “But I forgot—savages rarely smile. At any rate, we start to-morrow at twelve o’clock. Sir Arkroyd is going to drive us down in Lord Dalrymple’s drag.”
“Perhaps there isn’t room,” said Jack.
“Are you trying to find an excuse for not coming?” she said, smiling on him.
Jack frowned, and then laughed.
“I’ll come,” he said.
Yes, there was a nameless charm about her which had made itself felt already. Was it her beauty or her frankness—the latter so different to the cut-and-dried and measured manner of the ordinary women of society?
“I’ll come,” he said.
Then he looked around.
“This is a beautiful room. Where did you get all the flowers from? Some of them I never saw before in London.”
“Do you like them?” she said. “Many of them we brought over with us from ‘across the seas,’ the others I ransacked London to get—at least, poor Mrs. Fellowes did.”
“Why poor?” he said.
“Because she has the misfortune to be my companion, and I worry her to death.”
“A pleasant death,” he muttered.
“Thanks,” she said. “That is the second compliment you have paid me. And yet they say you are not gallant, as the French have it.”
“It’s the heat,” said Jack, in his grim way.
“You will find some ices in the ante-room there, behind that lace curtain.”
“Shall I get you one?” said Jack.
She nodded.
“Thanks! Yes, that is the way,” and she rose to pointto a winding path made through the rows of ferns and tropical plants.
He had to pass her in going, and in doing so he struck a spray of a palm with his head; it recoiled, and caught some of its soft, spiky leaves in her hair.
She uttered a half-laughing cry, and Jack turned.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I am awfully clumsy. Allow me.”
She bent her head toward him, laughing, and Jack disentangled the silken threads from the great clinging leaf. In doing so he again proved his clumsiness, for the silken threads got round his fingers.
He could feel her soft, peach-like face against his wrist, and being human his blood thrilled.
Lady Bell looked up. Her face was pale, and her eyes drooping and languid.
“Are you going to scalp me after all?” she murmured.
Jack’s heart beat strangely.
“I—I am very sorry,” he muttered below his breath, and with lowered eyes he went on.
Lady Bell looked after him and drew a long breath. A sigh that almost echoed hers startled her, and turning she saw Una, sitting where she had left her, with her hands clasped in her lap.
“My child,” said Lady Bell, “I had almost——”
“Yes, you had quite forgotten me,” said Una, with a strange smile.
Lady Bell flushed and looked at her. Her lovely face was pale and her eyes clouded with a strange look of pain and weariness.
“Forgive me, my child,” she said. “You are quite pale—you are tired. It is too hot. Wait! there are some ices coming.”
“No, no,” said Una, with a sudden shrinking. “Please leave me—do not bring him here—I mean——” she stammered, “I would rather be alone. Go and dance, Lady Bell.”
“What a timid fawn it is,” said Lady Bell, caressingly. “There, go and sit in the shade there. Don’t be frightened; I promised to take care of you.”
“I am not frightened,” said Una, quietly, “but I would rather——”
“I understand,” said Lady Bell, quickly; then she said, trying to speak carelessly and toying with her fan: “Did you see the gentleman I was speaking to, dear?”
“Yes,” said Una, calmly.
“Don’t you think that he is very handsome?”
Una’s heart beat so fast that she could scarcely speak.
“Yes,” she answered, at last.
“What a cold Diana it is!” said Lady Bell, caressingly. “What an icy ‘yes.’ My dear, he is the handsomest man in the room.”
“Yes,” said Una, sadly.
Lady Bell looked at her.
“I see, for all your yesses, that you don’t think so,” she said, with a laugh. “Do you know they call him the Savage, and that it is quite an achievement on my part to get him here? I made his acquaintance by accident. Mrs. Fellowes is quite shocked over it. But I always do as I like. I’ve got a fancy, Una—you’d never guess it.”
“What is it?” said Una, raising her dark eyes gravely to the beautiful, witching face.
Lady Bell smiled.
“I have a fancy for taming the Savage,” she said, more to herself than to Una; “it will be so amusing.”
Una turned her head aside.
“For him, do you mean?” she asked, in a low voice.
Lady Bell stared at her, and her color came and went amusedly.
“What a strange child it is! For him? No, for me! And—yes, for him too. What right has he to pretend to be invincible? Do you think I shall succeed?”
Una looked at her with an aching heart.
“Yes,” she answered; “I think you will succeed.”
“What a flatterer it is!” said Lady Bell, playfully. “Hush! here he comes; half tamed already. Now for the first lesson,” and, to Una’s surprise she glided from the recess and was instantly lost in the crowd. A moment after Una saw her dancing with the duke.
She drew back into the shadow and watched Jack. He came along slowly, the ice in his hand, and looked aroundfor Lady Bell, with astonishment and something like anger in his face for a moment. Then he saw her dancing with the duke in the center of the room, looked round for some place to put the ice down, and, seeing none convenient, gently pitched it, plate and all, into a fountain, to the considerable astonishment of the gold fish.
Then he sat down and thrusting his hands into his pockets, seemed lost in thought; his head thrown back, almost touched Una’s arm, and she wondered whether he would be glad or sorry, or simply indifferent, if she rose and stood before him, or called him by name.
Yes, there he sat, within reach of her hand. She had often dreamed of him as being near her, but it was no dream now.
An infinite longing to touch, to speak to him, possessed her, and if he would but turn and look at her as he had looked that morning by the lake!
She struggled hard against the temptation, and sat motionless, all her heart going out toward him.
If she had known that Jack, even at that moment, was thinking of her, and recalling her every look and word. It was one of Strauss’ waltzes they were playing, but he heard it not; in his ears was the rustle of the forest trees and the ripple of the lake; before him was one of the most beautiful ball-rooms in London, before him moved, in a glittering pageant, the pick of London’s beauty and rank, but he saw them not; he was looking in fancy into the lovely face of the innocent forest girl.
The dance was over, but still Lady Bell did not come; couples, arm-in-arm, promenaded past him, but still Jack sat, and dreaming of the girl who sat longing, longing for a word or look from him, just behind him. Suddenly Una felt something drop into her lap. It was a blossom from one of the tropical plants.
She took it up and looked at it absently; then, as if by a sudden inspiration, she raised it to her lips and kissed it, and rising, dropped it on his knee and fled.
Jack started, and stooping picked up the flower, looked at it for a moment, and then turned and looked up to see whence it had come.
As he did so he saw reflected dimly in a mirror framed in palm leaves a girl’s face.
With a bound he darted to his feet, and naturally enough made for the reflection; but ere he could reach the mirror the face had vanished.
Pale and trembling with eagerness he turned—but Una had glided through the ferns and reached the ante-room—and came face to face with Lady Bell.
She was flushed and laughing, her eyes dancing with the excitement of the dance.
“Well,” she said, “where is my ice?”
Jack, startled and bewildered, stared at her.
“I must have been dreaming,” he muttered.
“Dreaming,” she said. “What do you mean?”
He passed his hand over his brow.
“Your ice!” and he glanced at the fountain. “I—I beg your pardon. What did I do with it? I will get you another.”
“Never mind!” said Lady Bell, laughing; “I do not care for it now; I am too hot. Have you been asleep?”
“Asleep!” he said, striving to recover his coolness; “nearly. What could I do when you left me?”
“The third compliment,” she said, with a smile. “Where are you going now?” for Jack, with his eyes fixed on the end of the fernery, was moving slowly away.
“I—I’m afraid I must go,” he said.
“Good-night!” she said, turning away coldly.
Jack “pulled himself together,” as he would have called it, and sat down beside her.
“No,” he said, “I will stay if I may.”
She turned to him with a gentle smile.
“No; go now, please. I am not ungrateful. It was very kind of you to come. You will not forget tomorrow?”
“No,” said Jack, fingering his crush hat. “I will not forget tomorrow—how could I?”
She held out her hand—not a tiny, meaningless one, but a long, shapely eloquent hand—and put it into his broad, strong one.
“Good-night!” she said, and her voice grew wondrouslylow and gentle in its caressing, clinging tones. “Good-night!”
Jack felt the slender fingers, warm through the thin gloves, cling round his fingers.
“Good-night,” she said, hurriedly. “Good-night.”
Jack walked leisurely enough through the fernery looking this way and that in search of the phantom girl; but once clear of the ball-room, he hurried through the ante-rooms and down the staircase—utterly ignoring the adieus which were sent after him by the crowd on the stairs—and reached the hall.
The carriages were already taking up, and without ceremony he pushed through the footmen into the open air.
“Has a carriage left just now—five minutes ago?” he asked.
“Two or three, sir,” said the footmen, and, too busy to answer any further questions, he dashed off.
Jack waited just outside the stream of light for nearly an hour, his coat collar turned up, his hands thrust in his pockets. But though many a beautiful face passed him and was driven away, Una’s lovely face was not amongst them.
“I must have fallen asleep and been dreaming,” he muttered. “How could she possibly have been there?”
Then he called a hansom, and was driven to the club.
His blood was on fire, his brain was in a whirl; two faces—Una’s and Lady Bell’s—seemed to dance before his eyes. Do something he must to get rid of them, or they would drive him mad.
There was only one thing to do—play. Before the morning he had lost every penny of his twenty-one pounds six and fourpence, and a couple of hundred besides.
********
Chance had favored Una in her escape; no sooner had she reached the staircase than she heard Mrs. Davenant’s carriage announced. To get her shawl and make her way down the staircase was the work of a few moments, andthe brougham was rolling away toward Walmington Square before Jack had got down to the hall.
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, “have you enjoyed yourself? You look pale and tired.”
Una shrunk into her corner.
“I am rather tired,” she said, in a low voice, “it was all so new and strange.”
“And was Lady Bell kind?”
“Very kind,” answered Una, with a sigh. “How beautiful she is!”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Davenant, “she is a very fortunate girl. Youth and beauty and wealth, she has much to make her happy. Tell me whom you saw, my dear.”
Una flushed and trembled. She went over the names of some of the great people, but she said nothing of Jack. She could not bring her trembling lips to frame his name.
“All the best people in town,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a smile. “You will be a fashionable young lady before long, Una.”
“Oh, no, no!” breathed Una, with a sudden pallor. “Perhaps I shall never go again.”
Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously, and relapsed into silence until they reached home.
Then, as they entered the drawing-room, she said, with a little nervous smile:
“I have heard from my son Stephen, Una.”
“From your son?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Davenant. “It is good news. He has become very rich. His uncle, Squire Davenant, has left him everything he possessed.”
Una started and turned pale. Then Jack had been left nothing! That was why he had looked so grave and troubled.
“Everything?” she asked.
“Everything,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh: “the Hurst and the estate, and all the money, and he is very rich—very rich indeed.”
Una looked before her dreamily. She could not say, “I am very glad.” Mrs. Davenant waited a moment.
“There is a message for you, my dear,” she said timidly, fingering the letter.
“For me!” said Una, looking up with a start.
“Yes; Stephen is so thoughtful! He never forgets others even in the midst of his great prosperity. He sends his kind regards, and trusts that you do not miss Warden, and that you will not find our quiet life too dull. He little thinks how we have plunged into gayety already. He would be surprised if he knew it.”
Indeed Stephen would, with a vengeance!
“It is very kind of him,” said Una, in a low voice.
Mrs. Davenant sighed.
“He is always kind and thoughtful. He tells me that he will not be able to come home just yet awhile. It seems that there is a great deal to see to. The estate was greatly neglected, and there’s some business to be done with the lawyers; that keeps him there. But he says he will come as soon as he can, and, meanwhile, I am to make you as happy as I can. I hope I have done that already, dear,” she added, with simple affection.
Una rose and kissed her.
“Indeed, yes; I am very happy.”
Then she turned her face away to hide her tears.
“Come, you must go to bed,” said Mrs. Davenant, “or you will lose all your fresh roses.”
And she put her candle in her hand, and kissed her tenderly.
It was some time before Una fell asleep. The events of the night flitted like phantom visions across her eyes, and Jack’s face rose to haunt her, with its tender, troubled look in the dark eyes.
The squire had willed all to Stephen then, and Jack was poor and forgotten.
The sun was high in the heavens when she awoke, and breakfast was on the table by the time she had got down.
Mrs. Davenant looked up with a smile.
“I am so glad to have you safe, dear,” she said. “Come, you have got all your roses back again; and, see here, you cannot guess whom this is from;” and she held up a note. “It is from Lady Bell. It is an awful scolding for your running away last night. She says that you flew away like a bird, and that she had no sooner missed you than she heard that you had gone.”
Una colored.
“Was it rude of me?” she said. “I am sorry.”
“Never mind, my dear; she has evidently forgiven you, or she says she will, if you will go with her for a water picnic to-day.”
Una turned pale again.
“I!” she said, below her breath.
Mrs. Davenant opened the note.
“Yes; she says she will take no denial. They are going to drive down to Richmond, and she will call for you on the way. Would you like to go, my dear?”
Una thought a moment. She longed for, yet dreaded, the meeting which she knew must take place between Jack and her if she went.
Mrs. Davenant took her silence for consent.
“There is no need of an answer, my dear,” she said, with a little laugh; “Lady Bell will take no heed of a refusal. There’s the note.”
And she threw it across the table.
Una read the kindly-imperative little letter, and sighed as she examined the brilliant crest stamped at the head of the paper.
“It is very kind,” she said. “Yes, I will go, if you are sure you do not mind my leaving you.”
After breakfast, Mrs. Davenant and Jane entered into a consultation as to what Una should wear, Una standing by with a quiet smile.
At last they decided that a dainty-figured satin should be honored; and both of them, notwithstanding Una’s protests, insisted upon assisting at her toilet.
They could not have chosen anything more suited to her fresh, virginal beauty than the simple, delicate dress; and when Jane had brushed the soft, silken hair until it shone and flashed like strands of golden haze, and coiled it into a knot, Mrs. Davenant could not suppress an exclamation of satisfaction and admiration.
As for Una, she had not yet learned to view her changed self without surprise, and stared at the tall, beautiful woman which the glass reflected as though she could not believe that it was herself.
They were still looking at her, and Jane’s restlessfingers were touching a bow here and a fold there, when they heard the rattle of heavy wheels outside, and Mrs. Davenant hurried her downstairs.
Lady Bell was already in the drawing-room, and took Una in her arms as if she were a school-girl, instead of a woman taller than herself.
“My child, I came to scold you—I meant to have a fearful scene; but you have taken it all out of me!” And she held Una by her elbows, and looked at her admiringly. “Child, you are a picture! I’ve half a mind to drive off without you. What will become of me? Mrs. Davenant, don’t you think I am very stupid to commit suicide in this way?”
Mrs. Davenant smiled, and looked at Lady Bell’s beautiful face, all bright as if with sunlight, and shook her head gently.
“Bah!” said Lady Bell, pouting. “I am nothing but a foil to her; but I shall be useful, at least. Come, we must be off. What is that—milk?”
“Yes,” said Una, offering her a glass, with a smile.
“She drinks nothing else,” said Mrs. Davenant.
“That accounts for her complexion,” said Lady Bell. “No, it doesn’t! If I drank all the dairies in London dry, I shouldn’t get such milk and roses on my cheeks.”
“Don’t turn her head,” murmured Mrs. Davenant, under her breath.
Lady Bell laughed.
“My dear Mrs. Davenant, it is just what she wants! There isn’t a spark of vanity in her composition; she isn’t quite a woman, for no woman is without vanity. Look at her, as grave and stern as a judge!” and she touched Una’s arm with her sunshade.
Una started—she had been wondering whether Jack would be there outside, on the drag, and was listening for his voice amongst those which came floating through the open window.
Trembling inwardly she followed Lady Bell out.
The four horses were champing and pawing impatiently.
The drag was nearly full, and, for a moment, Una saw only a confused group of women in dainty morningdresses, and of men in white flannel and cheviot. A second glance convinced her that Jack was not there.
As they appeared on the steps the laughter and voices ceased, and a well-bred glance of curiosity was turned upon her.
Lady Bell was, however, equal to the occasion.
“Come along, Una,” she said, gayly. “Fanny, will you make room beside you for Miss Rolfe?”
The Countess of Pierrepoint smiled.
“How do you do, Miss Rolfe!” she said graciously. “I hear you were at Lady Bell’s dance last night; why did you let her hide you so completely?”
Una was silent.
Fortunately Dalrymple made so much bustle and fuss in starting, that conversation for a minute or two was impossible; and before that minute or two had passed, Una had gained her self-possession.
Seated about, she recognized several of the people Lady Bell had pointed out on the preceding evening: Lady Clarence, Mrs. Cantrip, the Marchioness of Fairfield. Beside Dalrymple, who had all his work cut out in keeping the four spirited nags in good conduct in the crowded London streets, sat, as a matter of course, Sir Arkroyd Hetley, while one or two other men—one of whom she heard addressed as the viscount—was with the ladies.
Had Una been naturally nervous, her timidity could not long have existed in such an atmosphere.
Her companions were among the highest in the land; but there was less reserve and ceremony than would have been found in a similar gathering of middle-class people. The men were laughing and chatting, ever and again turning round to make some light-hearted remark, or pass some joke round. They were all, it was evident, bent on enjoying themselves.
Very soon Una found herself brought into the conversation, Lady Bell talking to her continually, and pointing out the lions of the road.
The roses came back into Una’s face in full bloom, her heart beat more lightly, and her spirits rose as the four impatient horses dashed along the roads which now ran through the beautiful vicinity of Richmond.
She had almost—almost—forgotten that Jack was not there, when happening to glance round suddenly at Lady Bell, she saw her looking dreamily before her, evidently lost in thought, with a wistful drooping of the bright red lips and a disappointed shadow in the dark eyes.
Then Una knew that it was not only she herself who felt the absence of the missing one.
However, Lady Bell soon rallied, and when they drove up to the hotel she was as bright as ever.
The luncheon had been sent up to Thames Dutton, one of the prettiest parts of the Thames, and it had been arranged that the gentlemen should row up to the island, hence the white flannel and cheviot costumes. They found boats awaiting them at the river side, and, with much laughing and gayety, started.
It was a beautiful scene, the river gleaming like a flood of silver between its banks of green meadows and stately trees, the three boats with their bright colored occupants. Una, who was of nature’s own kin, was filled with delight; it was better than being at Warden. She leaned back in her comfortable seat in the stern of the foremost boat, rapt in silent enjoyment.
Lady Bell looked at her rather wistfully.
“How happy you look, child,” she said, in a lower voice than usual.
“I am quite happy,” said Una, simply.
“You are just the person for a picnic,” said Lady Clarence. “I feel sure that you would look just as contented and serene if it rained in torrents, while the rest of us would be running about bemoaning our spoiled clothes.”
Una laughed.
“I am not afraid of rain,” she said.
“That’s fortunate, Miss Rolfe,” said Dalrymple, who was pulling stroke, and exerting himself nobly, while Hetley, pulling behind him, allowed him to do all the work. “That’s fortunate, as we shall be sure to have a shower or two—always do at a water picnic.”
“No prophesying, marquis!” cried Lady Bell. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky; there isn’t a sign of wet.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he said, with mock gravity, “for I’m fearfully thirsty.”
They paid no attention to this broad hint, however, until they were going through Teddington Lock, when Lady Bell produced some champagne and soda water, and Hetley made a cooling cup.
When it came to Una’s turn—they all drank out of the same cup, a splendid silver tankard, chased with the Earlsley arms—she glanced at it askance and shook her head.
“But you must, my dear Una,” said Lady Bell. “You will be parched.”
“Let me have some water,” said Una, and making a cup of her hand—a trick she had learned at a very early age—she bent over the boat and as quietly and naturally drank a draught.
The countess looked at her earnestly, and Sir Arkroyd muttered to Dalrymple:
“Where did she come from?”
“I don’t know,” said Dalrymple, in the same tone. “I’d stick to water all the day if she’d let me drink it out of the same cup. Isn’t she beautiful—perfectly lovely!”
“Hush, she’ll hear you,” muttered Sir Arkroyd, warningly.
But he need not have feared.
Una sat like the dream-maiden in the ballad, deaf to all but the plash of the oars and the music of the birds.
Presently the stately pile of Hampton Court Palace glided, as it were, into their view, and with a long pull Dalrymple sent the boat to the island.
The two other boats were close behind, and then these grand people who were accustomed to be waited on hand and foot, got out and dragged hampers under the shadow of the oaks and willows; and the countess and Lady Clarence laid the cloth, while Lady Bell and the rest knelt beside the hampers and pulled out the things one by one. Then Sir Arkroyd was sent to lay the champagne bottles in the shallow water, and Dalrymple was handed a dish and the ingredients for making the salad.
In a few minutes luncheon was set out to the accompaniment of much laughter, and a few accidents. One of the champagne bottles had slid into the deep water, and disappeared to the bottom of the river to astonish the fish. The corkscrew followed it; and dismay fell on all,until the viscount calmly produced another from his pocket.
“Never go to a picnic without a corkscrew,” he said, shaking his head. “Generally have to produce it, too.”
Then there was much dragging about of hampers, and arranging of shawls and boat cushions to provide seats for the ladies; but at last all were seated, and Dalrymple, brandishing a knife in dangerous proximity to Lady Pierrepoint’s head, cut the first slice of raised pie.
Then it was discovered how easy it is to make jokes at a picnic. You can’t be stately and ceremonious sitting cross-legged on the grass, and balancing your plate on your knees; especially when, in consequence of there not being quite enough knives, you have to lend the one you are using to your next-door neighbor.
As usual, too, there were not quite enough plates and those dainty gentlemen, who went into fits if a fly fell into their wineglasses at the club, bent down on their hands and knees and washed plates in the river.
“And there is no rain,” said Lady Bell.
“Then one of us will have to fall into the river,” said the viscount, solemnly. “Must have rain or an accident at a picnic, you know. Will you have some more cream, Lady Earlsley?”
Lady Bell shook her head, laughingly.
“No, thanks; I have enjoyed it all immensely. Why cannot we have a picnic every day?”
But Una, who sat next her, had noticed that she scarcely touched anything.
“Let us go into Bushey Park, and turn savages,” said Dalrymple. “Halloa; speaking of savages, what a pity the Savage isn’t here. This is just in his line.”
Lady Bell bent down suddenly to take a flower from the cloth.
“Mr. Newcombe was detained in town,” she said, calmly; but Una could detect the faint quiver in her voice.
“Poor old Jack,” said Dalrymple, after a pause, “seems to be cut up about something lately. Do you remember how queer he was that night he came back from the country, Arkroyd?”
Lady Bell looked up suddenly.
“Let us go for a ramble. You may smoke, gentlemen,” she added. “Now don’t shake your heads as if you never did such a thing. I can see your cigar-case peeping out of your pocket, Lord Dalrymple.”
And linking her arm in Una’s, she sauntered away.
They strolled in silence for some minutes, until Una, happening to look up, saw that Lady Bell’s face was quite pale, and that something suspiciously like tears were veiling the brightness of the dark eyes.
“Lady Bell!” she murmured.
“Hush!” said Lady Bell, gently. “Don’t notice me, child! Oh, how sick I am of it all! What a long day it seems! How can they sit there laughing and chattering like a set of monkeys?”
“What is the matter?” said Una, in her low, musical voice.
“Nothing,” said Lady Bell, softly; then she paused and tried to laugh. “Una, my sweet, innocent, I’ve got a complaint which you know nothing of; it is called the heartache. There is no cure for it, I am afraid; at least, not for mine. Tut! there, there! your great, grave eyes torture me; they seem to go to the bottom of my soul. Not a word more. Here they come!”
And the next instant she turned round, all life and gayety.
Una sauntered on, her heart beating wildly. Was Lady Bell’s heartache produced by the absence of Jack Newcombe? Yes, that must be it!
With a sigh she drew away still further from the rest, and seating herself on the trunk of a tree by the riverside, watched the silver stream as it flowed past and was lost in the setting sun.
Suddenly she saw in the distance a white speck that looked like a bird, flitting up the middle of the stream. The speck grew larger; and she saw that it was a light boat putting toward the island.
Gradually it came nearer and nearer, and she saw that it contained one man only, and that he was clad in white flannel.
It was a light water-boat—a mere speck of white itlooked now on the golden stream—and to Una, who had never seen an outrigger before, it seemed an almost impossible feat to sit in it.
But the sculler managed it with the greatest ease, and with every stroke sent it flying forward.
With regular rhythmical action he pulled on, and very soon she could see his great arms bared to the shoulders.
She watched it absently for some minutes, but presently the rower turned his head, and something in the movement struck her and made her heart bound.
Agitated and trembling she rose and stood staring down the stream.
A curve of the island hid the boat suddenly, and she stood watching for it to appear again; but the minutes passed on and it did not come. Then suddenly she heard a peal of laughter and the clatter of voices, and she knew that the boat had pulled into the island.
With a vague hope and dread commingled she sank to the seat again, and sat striving to still the wild beating of her heart.
Presently she heard her name called. It was Lady Bell’s voice, and how changed; there was no false ring in it now; clear and joyous it rang out:
“Una! Una! Where are you?”
There was no escape. She knew she must go, but she waited for full three minutes. Then, nerved to an unnatural calm, she rose and moved slowly forward. They were all seated again; she could see them.
Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd were stretched at full length, smoking; the ladies, in their dainty sateens and pompadours, were grouped near them, and a little apart sat Lady Bell, a cup in one hand and a knife in the other, her face turned toward someone eating. Though his back was toward her, Una recognized him. It was Jack Newcombe. He had turned down his sleeves and put on his white flannel jacket, and was eating and chatting at one and the same time.
“Yes, better late than never,” she heard him say, and with every word of his deep, musical voice her heart leaped as if in glad response. “I found I could get away,and I jumped in the train, to learn at Richmond that you had just started. I got an outrigger, and here I am.”
“Just in time to help wash up,” said Dalrymple. “We’ve eaten all the strawberries, old man, and there isn’t much cream. It’s lucky for you there is any pie.”
“Don’t pay any attention to them, Mr. Newcombe,” said Lady Bell, and how soft and sweet her voice sounded, with its undertone of tenderness. “I am so sorry you are late. Do not let them hurry you. You must be so tired. Let me give you some ham—some tongue, then?”
And she herself cut a slice and put it on his plate.
“Don’t let me stop the fun,” said Jack, in his grave way. “Go on with your games. What was it—kiss-in-the-ring?”
There was a laugh; the lightest joke will serve at a picnic.
“I was haunted by the dread that I should come just in time to find everything cleared up. What a beautiful day! No, no more, thanks.”
“Let me give you some champagne,” said Lady Bell, and reached forward with the goblet in her hand.
Jack took it, and nodded over it in true picnic fashion.
“Thanks,” he said, and raised it to his lips.
At that moment Lady Bell looked up, and, seeing Una standing still and motionless, beckoned her.
Mechanically Una went round to her, and so stood in front of Jack.
His eyes were fixed at the bottom of the cup at the moment, but presently he lifted them, and, with a sharp cry, he let the cup fall to the ground and sprang to his feet.
And then he stood staring at her downcast face with startled eyes and pale countenance.
“Hallo! Take care!” cried Dalrymple. “What are you up to now, Savage? Anything bitten you?”
Lady Bell looked from one to the other, from Una’s white, downcast face to Jack’s pale, startled one.
“Una,” she breathed, “what is it?”
But Jack recovered himself.
“Just like you fellows,” he said. “Didn’t you know that you had pitched me on an ants’ nest? What did you say,Lady Bell? I beg your pardon. T don’t think there is much spilled, and there is nothing broken.”
And he knelt down and picked up the cup.
Lady Bell laughed.
“I couldn’t think what was the matter,” she said. “Are you really bitten?”
“Just like Jack,” said Sir Arkroyd, with philosophic calmness. “He is never happy unless he is breaking something. I give you my word that he smashes more glasses at the club than any other man.”
“Always was clumsy,” said Jack, with a constrained laugh.
Lady Bell smiled.
“You have quite frightened my friend, Miss Rolfe,” she said. “Una, this unfortunate gentleman is Mr. Newcombe.”
Jack had given her time, and she was able now to look at him calmly. Jack bowed, his eyes glancing at her as if they scarcely dared trust the evidence of their own senses.
“Pray forgive me,” he said. “I am very awkward. But I don’t break quite so many things as they say. Is there any more champagne, Lady Earlsley? I don’t deserve it, I know——”
Lady Bell took up a bottle.
“Pour this into the cup, Una,” she said, with a smile. “It is true he doesn’t deserve it, but we will be merciful.”
Una took the bottle and leaned forward, and as she did so Jack rose and stood before her, so that he screened her trembling hand from the eyes of the rest.
His own trembled, his own heart beat wildly; all else save the beautiful face so close to his own swam before his eyes.
Was he dreaming, or was it really she? He could not trust his eyes, he felt that he must touch her.
Slowly he put out his hand, and gently, tremblingly touched her white, slender wrist.
Instantly she raised her eyes and looked at him, a long, piteous look, as if he had struck her.
Yes, it was she. It was Una, his forest-maiden!
With a long breath he raised the cup to his lips anddrained it, then sank down on the grass and took up his plate, scarcely knowing what he was doing.
The laughing voices around him seemed blurred and indistinct in his ears, the green trees and silver stream seemed to fade and vanish, and give place to the silent glade in which he had sat with the same beautiful girl bending over him.
Mechanically he went through the pretense of eating until a burst of laughter recalled him to himself.
“Look here!” shouted Dalrymple in boyish glee. “Here’s the Savage, busy eating nothing!”
Jack laughed, awakened to the sense of the situation. He must nerve himself, if only for her sake.
“It must be sunstroke,” he said lightly, staring at his empty plate. “Will somebody give me a piece of cake? I have always doted on cake. I like a piece with the candied peel on it, Lady Bell. Thanks. Now I am just going to begin my luncheon.”
“Those persons who are tired of watching the Savage satisfy his barbaric appetite are requested to withdraw!” drawled Dalrymple, and he leaped to his feet, laughing.
“Seriously, if anyone would like to go up to the palace, I’ve an open door. I should like a row.”
There was an instant clamor. Three parts of the party wanted to see the palace, and a couple of boat loads started.
Lady Clarence, Lady Bell, Una, and Jack remained.
He still kept up the pretense of eating and drinking; and Lady Bell, kneeling opposite him, seemed never to grow weary in supplying his wants.
Una, seated at a little distance, noticed with what eager attention she hung upon every word he uttered. And Jack kept on talking as if his life depended on it. But presently his patience came to an end.
He put down his plate resolutely.
“No more, thanks, or I shall be too heavy for the outrigger. Now, then, can’t I help pack up?”
But Lady Bell wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, you shall light your pipe,” she said, “and watch us. Come, Una. I know you are dying to help us.”
Una awoke with a start and knelt down beside the plates and dishes while Lady Bell went for the hamper.