CHAPTER VII.
AN UNINTENTIONAL CUT.
Mrs. Desfrayne then went up-stairs unattended—an arrangement not at all to her liking, for she would fain still retain all the airs and customs of a beauty yet in the heyday of sunshiny existence.
She swept one searching glance round the suite of crowded rooms, seeking the unwelcome figure of Lois Turquand.
It was the work of some minutes discovering Lois. The young girl stood a little apart from the throng, her graceful head slightly bent as she listened to the earnest words of a stately dowager, who was probably congratulating her upon her change of fortune.
There was a dignity and a certain consciousness in Lois’ bearing which Mrs. Desfrayne had never noticed with her before. She reproached herself now for having been so uniformly cold and frigid with the girl, for she adored wealth, and she judged by herself that it was impossible the new-made heiress could overlook or forgive all the petty slights she had suffered from the insolent widow.
Mrs. Desfrayne was going to address Lady Quaintree, when Miss Turquand crossed quickly, not perceiving her. She laid a detaining hand on the young girl’s arm.
“I am delighted to hear of your good fortune, my dear,” she said, with a little perceptible embarrassment.
Lois raised her clear eyes, and looked for a moment into the suavely smiling face before her with an expression difficult to define. Then she bowed: it was a perfectly gracious but decidedly icy inclination. She did not answer in words; but, with an ambiguous smile, passed on.
Never for an instant could Mrs. Desfrayne have imagined in her wildest fancies that the tables could have been so completely turned upon her.
It was a fine moral lesson, only, unfortunately, it fellshort of its mark; and the coldness of Miss Turquand, partly unintentional and partly arising from habit, made the haughty woman of the world detest yet more the girl whom she had hitherto simply ignored and noticed as little as if she had been a piece of furniture of very ordinary importance.
Mrs. Desfrayne turned pale with rage. She almost wished the old man who had made the eccentric will had been sunk to the bottom of the sea ere he had committed his money and his ridiculous desires to paper.That girlthe wife of her son! Truly, she had need be radiant with the glitter of gold before she could possess any attractions in the eyes of this proud and ambitious, yet narrow-minded, woman.
Many mothers are quite willing to think with some complacence of an ideal wife for their sons—a wife to be selected by themselves, perhaps: a creature of the imagination. But when it comes to be a matter of sober reality—when there is a real flesh-and-blood being, not a stone ideal, set before them—why, it is a very different affair.
Mrs. Desfrayne made her way to Lady Quaintree, and promised herself that she would arrange for a long chat on this absorbing subject, if she could persuade her good hostess to ask for her company in a drive round the park.
During the singing of some Italian duets by the artists who had been gathered together for the night, she contrived to learn a good deal.
One thing she accidentally ascertained which a little modified her vague schemes and speculations.
She discovered that hitherto Lady Quaintree had been in terror lest her son Gerald should fall in love with Miss Turquand. Now this would be the most desirable thing that could happen, even if the young girl were shorn of half her newly acquired fortune.
Lady Quaintree did not know she was betraying her secret wishes, but Mrs. Desfrayne was very quick-witted, and at the same time a pattern of tranquil discretion.
Frank Amberley did not leave the charmed precincts of the house until he could not stay any longer. The more the object of his passionate attachment was withdrawnfrom his reach, the more mad did his longing become to possess her. But he was an honorable man, and all should be fair in the fight.
He had closely watched Paul Desfrayne until that young man’s departure, and the feeling of deep mistrust against him had painfully intensified. It was with a profound sense of relief, however, that he found neither Captain Desfrayne nor Lois apparently disposed to cultivate any approach to acquaintanceship.
For some time before the hour fixed for supper, he had hovered about Lois, with the hope of being able to offer her his arm down-stairs. The sharp eyes of Lady Quaintree were on the alert, unfortunately for the success of his plans, and to his anger and mortification he saw Lois assigned to a stranger.
As he flung himself wearily into a hansom, and lighted his cigar for consolation during his journey homeward, Frank Amberley had ample subject-matter for meditation.
Although not so bitter or remorseful, his thoughts were scarcely more agreeable than those of Paul Desfrayne.