"He bent over the table ... stretched out his white, white hand ... turned over the ace ... lifted his quizzing glass ... and stared down at the card. Then he dropped the glass and drew out his snuff-box.... It had Aphrodite enamelled on the lid. I remember it so distinctly.... I heard Tracy ask Milward to examine the ace. I wanted to spring up and strangle him.... I could scarce keep my hands still." Richard paused. He drew his hand across his eyes, shuddering.
"Milward saw the scratch. He cried out that the cards were marked! Suddenly everyone seemed to be gathered about our table—all talking! Jack had his hand on my shoulder; he and Dare were running through the pack. But all the while I could look at no one but Tracy—Andover. He seemed so sinister, so threatening, in those black clothes of his. His eyes were almost shut—his face so white. And he was looking at me! He seemed to be reading my very soul.... For an instant I thought he knew! I wanted to shout out that he was wrong! I wanted to shriek to him to take his eyes away! Heaven knows what I should have done!... but he looked away—at Jack, with that sneering smile on his damned mask of a face! I could have killed him for that smile! I think Jack understood it—he dropped the cards, staring at Tracy.
"Everyone was watching them ... no one looked at me. If they had they must surely have learnt the truth; but they were hanging on Andover's lips, looking from him to Jack and back again.... I remember Fitzgerald dropped his handkerchief—I was absurdly interested in that. I was wondering why he did not pick it up, when Andover spoke again.... 'And Carstares' luck turned...?' Like that, Warburton! With just that faint, questioning in his voice.
"Before Jack could speak there was an outcry. Dare cried 'Shame!' to Andover. They laughed at him, as well they might. But I saw them exchange glances—they were wondering.... It was suspicious that Jack should have had that run of luck—and that he should lose as soon as he left that table.
"Milward—poor, silly Milward—gaped at Tracy and stuttered that surely 'twas another pack we had used. I could hardly breathe! Then Andover corrected him—How did heknow? No one else remembered, or thought of noticing—only he!
"I can see Jack now, standing there so stiffly, with his head thrown up, and those blue eyes of his flashing.
"'Do I understand you to accuse me, Belmanoir?' he said. Oh, but he was furious!
"Tracy never said a word. Only his eyes just flickered to my face and away again.
"Jack's hand was gripping my shoulder hard. I could feel his anger.... Dare called out that the suggestion was preposterous. That John should cheat!
"Tracy asked him if the cards were his. Gad! I can hear his soft, mocking voice now!
"Dare went purple—you know his way, Warburton.
"'Opened in your presence on this table!' he cried.
"'By Carstares!' smiled Tracy.
"It was true. But why should Tracy remember it, and none other? They stared at him, amazed. Dare turned to Jack for corroboration. He nodded. I think he never looked haughtier....
"You know how fond of Jack Dare was? He tried to bluster it off—tried to get control over the affair. It was to no avail. We were puppets, worked by that devil, Belmanoir! One man managing that ghastly scene.... He pointed out that only three of us had used that pack: Jack, Milward and I.
"Jack laughed.
"'Next you will accuse Dick!' he snapped scornfully.
"'One of you, certainly,' smiled Andover. 'Or Milward.'
"Then everyone realised that one of us three must have marked the cards. Milward was upset, but no one suspected him. It was Jack—or me.
"As long as I live I shall never forget the horror of those moments. If I were exposed it meant the end of everything between Lavinia and me. I tell you, Warburton, I would have committed any sin at that moment! Nothing would have been too black—I could not bear to lose her. You don't know what she meant to me!"
"I can guess, sir," said the lawyer, gravely.
"No, no! No one could imagine the depths of my love for her! I think not even Jack.... I felt his hand leave my shoulder.... The truth had dawned on him. I heard the way the breath hissed between his teeth as he realised.... Somehow I got to my feet, clutching at the table, facing him. I don't excuse myself—I know my conduct was beyond words dastardly. I looked across at him—just said his name, as though I could scarce believe my ears. So all those watching thought. But Jack knew better. He knew I was imploring him to save me. He understood all that I was trying to convey to him. For an instant he stared at me. I thought—I thought—God forgive me, I prayed that he might take the blame on himself. Then he smiled. Coward though I was, when I saw that hurt, wistful little smile on his lips, I nearly blurted out the whole truth. Not quite.... I suppose I was too mean-spirited for that.
"Jack bowed to the room and again to Dare. He said: 'I owe you an apology, sir.'
"Dare sprang forward, catching him by the shoulder—crying out that it could not be true! When Jack laughed—he fell away from him as from the plague. And all of them! My God, to see them drawing away—not looking at Jack! And Jack's face—growing paler and harder ... every moment.... All his friends... turning their backs to him. Davenant—even Jim Davenant walked away to the fireplace with Evans.
"I could not look at Jack. I dared not. I could not go to him—stand by him! I had not the right. I had to leave him there—in the middle of the room—alone. The awful hurt in his eyes made me writhe. The room was whirling round—I felt sick—I know I fell back into my chair, hiding my face. I hardly cared whether they suspected me or not. But they did not. They knew how great was the love between us, and they were not surprised that I broke down.
"I heard Andover's soft voice ... he was telling some tale to Dare. Oh, they were well-bred those men! They skimmed over the unpleasant little episode—ignored Jack!
"Jack spoke again. I could guess how bravely he was keeping a proud front. I know word for word what he said: 'Mr. Dare, your Grace, Gentlemen—my apologies for being the cause of so unpleasant an incident. Pray give me leave.'
"They paid no heed. I heard him walk to the door—heard him open it. I could not look at him. He—he paused ... and said just one word: 'Dick!' quite softly. Heaven knows how I got to him! I know I overturned my chair. That drew Dare's attention. He said: 'You are not going, Dick?' I shouted 'Yes,' at him, and then Jack took my arm, leading me out.
"And—and all he said was: 'Poor old Dick!'... He—he had no word of blame for me. He would not allow me to go back and tell the truth—as I would have done. Ay, Warburton, when Jack called me to him, I could have cried it aloud—but—he would not have it.... He said: 'For Lavinia's sake.'..."
Warburton blew his nose violently. His fingers were trembling.
"You know what happened afterwards. You know how my father turned Jack out penniless—you know how his friends shunned him—you know my poor mother's grief. And you know that he went away—that we could not find him when—my mother died.... His last words to me—were: 'Make Lavinia-happy—and try to forget—all this.' Forget it! Heavens! Try as I might, I could hear nothing further of him until two months ago, when he—waylaid me. Then I was half-dazed at the suddenness of it. He—he grasped my hand—and—laughed! It was so dark, I could scarce see him. I only had time to demand his address, and then—he was off—galloping away over the heath. I think—even then—he bore no malice."
"He does not now!" said Warburton sharply. "But, Master Dick, if all this is true, why do you not even now clear him? Surely—"
Richard turned his head slowly.
"Now I may not drag my wife's name through the mud. By clearing him—I ruin her."
Warburton could find nothing to say. Only after some time did he clear his throat and say that he was honoured by Carstares' confidence.
"You—ah—you dwell on the part played by his Grace on that evening. Surely your—shall we say—overwrought imagination magnified that?"
Richard was disinterested.
"I suppose so. Mayhap 'twas his extraordinary personality dominating me. He cannot have pulled the wires as I thought he did. Not even Belmanoir could make me act as I did. But—but at the time I felt that he was pushing—pushing—compelling me to accuse Jack. Oh, doubtless I was mad!"
Warburton eyed the dejected figure compassionately. Then he seemed to harden himself and to regain some of his lost primness of manner.
"You—ah—you are determined not to accept the revenues, sir?"
"I have not yet sunk so low, Mr. Warburton."
"His lordship leaves Wyncham and all appertaining to it at your disposal. He would be grieved at your refusal."
"I will not touch it."
The lawyer nodded.
"I confess, Mr. Carstares, I am relieved to hear you say that. It will not be necessary again to communicate with his lordship. I think he does not desire any intercourse with—his family. He finds it too painful. But he wished to be remembered to you, sir. Also to her ladyship."
"Thank you.... You could—ascertain nothing of his situation? He did not confide in you?"
"He was very reticent, sir. I think he is not unhappy."
"And not—embittered?"
"Certainly not that, sir."
Mr. Warburton rose, plainly anxious to be gone.
Reluctantly Richard followed his example.
"You—have nothing further to tell me of him?"
"I regret, sir—nothing."
Richard went slowly to the door, and opened it.
"You must allow me to thank you, sir, for your goodness in undertaking what I know must have been a painful task. I am very grateful."
Mr. Warburton bowed low.
"I beg you will not mention it, sir. Nothing I might do for the Carstares could be aught but a pleasure."
Again he bowed, and the next instant was gone.
Richard went slowly back to his chair. After a moment he sat down, staring blankly out of the window, his hands loosely clasped on the desk before him. So he remained for a long while, immobile. At last, with the faintest of sighs, he moved and picked up a quill. He dipped it in the ink, and, with his other hand, drew towards him a sheaf of papers. Presently he was writing steadily.
For perhaps twenty minutes the quill travelled to and fro across the pages; then it paused, and Richard looked up towards the door.
It opened to admit Lady Lavinia. She came rustling into the room with her embroidery in her hand. She dropped her husband a mock curtsey and went over to a high-backed armchair, stretching out a dimpled hand to draw it forward. But even as her fingers touched it she had changed her mind, and fluttered over to the couch, there to seat herself with much swirling of brocades and arrangement of skirts. She then proceeded to occupy herself with her work, plying her needle hurriedly and jerkily.
Richard watched her in silence, following each turn of the pretty hand and each movement of her fair head.
The silence was evidently not to my lady's taste, for she presently began to beat an impatient tattoo on the floor with one slender foot. Still he said nothing, and she raised her pure china-blue eyes to his face.
"Why so glum, Dick? Why do you not talk to me?" Her voice was rather high-pitched and childish, and she had a curious way of ending each sentence with an upward lilt and a long drawn-out accent, very fascinating to listen to.
Richard smiled with an obvious effort.
"Am I, my dear? I crave your pardon. Warburton has just been."
Her face clouded over instantly, and the full-lipped mouth drooped petulantly.
"He has seen him."
"Oh?" She made the word twice its length, and filled it with disinterest.
"Yes. Jack will have none of it. He asks me to be his steward and to use Wyncham as I will. He is very generous."
"Yes, oh yes. And you will, Richard?"
He ignored the question.
"He—Warburton—says he is not much changed."
"Oh?" Again the long-drawn monosyllable, accompanied by a tiny yawn.
"He says he does not think—Jack—bears me ill-will—" He paused, as if expecting her to speak, but she was absorbed in arranging two flowers—culled from a bowl at her side—at her breast, and took no notice. Carstares turned his head away wearily.
"If it were not for you, my dear, I would tell the truth. I believe I shall go crazed an I do not."
"Dick!" ... She dropped the flowers on the floor and thought no more about them. "Dick!"
"Oh, you need have no fear! I do not suppose," bitterly, "that I have the courage to face them all now—after six years."
Lavinia moved restlessly, brushing her hand along the couch.
"You will not do it, Richard? Promise! Youwillnot? I could not bear the disgrace of it; promise me you will never do it?"
"No," he said slowly, not looking at her. "No, I cannot promise that."
She sprang to her feet, flinging her broidery from her carelessly, and waved fierce, agitated little hands.
"That means you will do it. Youwantto disgrace me! You do notcarehow you hurt me by holding this threat over my head so cruelly! You—"
"Lavinia, for heaven's sake!" he implored, pushing back his chair. "Calm yourself!" He knew she was about to fly into one of her sudden passions, and frowned with acute vexation.
"I will not! Oh yes, yes! You think me a shrew! I know! I know! But you need not frown on me, sir, for you are worse! No, I will not hush. I am a horrid woman, yes, but you are a cheat—a cheat—a cheat!"
Carstares strode over to her.
"Lavinia!"
"No—no! Leave me alone! You make me miserable! You refuse me everything that I want most, and then you threaten to disgrace me—"
"That is untrue!" cried Richard, goaded into replying. "I will not promise, that is all. What have I refused you that was within my means to give you? God knows you try your best to ruin me—"
"There! There! 'TisIwho am to blame! Pray, did you not induce my lord to leave his money to John when you knew he would have willed it all to you an you had kept silence? You took no thought to me—"
"For heaven's sake, Lavinia, be still! You do not know what you are saying!"
She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks.
"No—I am unreasonable! I know it, but don'ttellme so, for I cannot bear it! And don't look reproach at me, Richard! You drive me mad, I tell you!" She was sweeping up and down the room like some caged animal, lashing herself to a worse fury.
"Say something, Richard!Dosomething! Don't stand there so quietly! Oh, you should never have married me! I displease you, and you make me worse; and you do not see how 'tis that I cannot live without pleasure, and money! I am despicable? Yes, yes, but what are you? Oh, why did you tell me you cheatedafteryou had wedded me?" Angry sobs escaped her; her handkerchief was in shreds upon the floor.
Carstares turned his back to her, that she might not see how she had contrived to hurt him, and the movement drove her to fresh fury.
"Don't do that! Don't! Don't! You make me worse by your dreadful silence! Oh, if you really loved me!"
"You cannot doubt that!" he cried out, wheeling suddenly round. "You know how I love you! Don't you?" He gripped her by the shoulders and swung her to face him.
She trembled and gave a sobbing little laugh. As suddenly as it had come, her anger left her.
"Oh, yes, yes! You do love me, Dicky?" She twined her arms about his neck and shrank closer.
"God help me, yes!" he groaned, thrusting her away. "And you—you care for no one save yourself!"
"No! No!" she cried, pressing up to him again. "Do not say that, Dick. Indeed, I love you, but I cannot live without gaiety—you know I cannot. Oh, I do not doubt but what I am very selfish, but 'tis the way I am fashioned, and I cannot change my nature. And now I have hurt you, and I did not mean to! I did not mean to!"
"My dear, I know you did not; but try to be less a child, I beg of you! You are so uncontrolled, so—"
"I knew you would say that," she answered in a dead voice. "You do not understand me. You expect me to be good, and patient, and forbearing, and I tell you 'tis not in my nature."
"But, Lavinia, you can control your passions," he said gently.
"No! I cannot! We Belmanoirs—as God made us, so we are—and He made us spendthrift, and pleasure-loving, and mad!" She walked slowly to the door. "But you do not understand, and you try to make me staid, and thoughtful, and a good mother, when I am dying forlife, and excitement, and care not that for housewifery!" She opened the door slowly. "And now my head aches, and you look grave and say 'tis my wicked temper, when I want you to be sorry, and to be ready to do anything to comfort me. Why can you not take me to London, when you know how I long to be there, instead of in this gloomy house with nought to do, save mind my child and my needle? I am so tired of it all! So very tired of it all!"
She would have left the room then, but he detained her.
"Wait, Lavinia! You say you are unhappy?"
She released the door handle and fluttered her hands expressively.
"Unhappy? No, I am dull. I am ill-tempered. I am discontented. I am aught you please, so do not be sad, Richard. I cannot bear you to be solemn. Oh, why do we quarrel?" With one of her impulsive movements she was again at his side, with her beautiful face upturned. "Love me, Richard! Take me to London and never mind an Idosquander your money. Say you do not care! Say that nothing matters so long as I am happy! Why do you not say it? Does anything matter? Don't be prudent, Dicky! Be wild! Be reckless! Be anything rather than grave and old!" Her arms crept up to his coaxingly. "Take me to London!"
Carstares smoothed the soft hair back from her forehead, very tenderly, but his eyes were worried.
"My dear, I will take you, but not just yet. There is so much to be done here. If you will wait a little longer—"
"Ah, if I will wait! If I will be patient and good! But I cannot! Oh, you don't understand, Dicky—you don't understand!"
"I am sorry, dear. I promise I will take you as soon as possible, and we will stay as long as you please."
Her arms fell away.
"I want to go now!"
"Dear—"
"Very well—very well. We will go presently. Only don't reason with me."
He looked at her concernedly.
"You are overwrought, my love—and tired."
"Yes," she agreed listlessly. "Oh yes; I will go now and rest. Forgive me, Dick!" She kissed her finger-tips and extended them to him. "I will be good one day." She turned and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, leaving the door open behind her.
Richard stayed for a moment looking round at the signs of her late presence. Mechanically he stooped to pick up her embroidery and the pieces of her handkerchief. The two flowers were broken off short, and he threw them away. Then he left the room and went out on to the sunny terrace, gazing across the beautiful gardens into the blue distance.
Across the lawn came a child of four or five, waving a grimy hand.
"Father!"
Richard looked down at him and smiled.
"Well, John?"
The boy climbed up the terrace steps, calling his news all the way.
"'Tis Uncle Andrew, sir. He has rid over to see you, and is coming through the garden to find you."
"Is he? Has he left his horse at the stables?"
"Ay, sir. So I came to tell you."
"Quite right. Will you come with me to meet him?"
The little rosy face lighted up with pleasure.
"Oh, may I?" he cried and slipped his hand in Richard's.
Together they descended the steps and made their way across the lawn.
"I have run away from Betty," announced John with some pride. "There's Uncle Andrew, sir!" He bounded away towards the approaching figure.
Lord Andrew Belmanoir was Richard's brother-in-law, brother to the present Duke. He came up with John in his arms and tumbled him to the ground.
"Good day, Dick! 'Tis a spoilt child you have here!"
"Ay. He is but now escaped from his nurse."
"Splendid! Come, John, you shall walk with us, and we'll confound fat Betty!" He slipped his arm through Richard's as he spoke. "Come, Dick! There's a deal I have to say to you." He grimaced ruefully.
The child ran on ahead towards the woods, a great bull-mastiff at his heels.
"What's to do now?" asked Richard, looking round into the mobile, dissipated countenance.
"The devil's in it this time, and no mistake," answered his lordship with a rueful shake of his head.
"Debts?"
"Lord, yes! I was at Delaby's last night, and the stakes were high. Altogether I've lost about three thousand—counting what I owe Carew. And devil take me an I know where 'tis to come from! Here's Tracy turned saint and swears he'll see me damned before he hands me another penny. I doubt he means it, too."
Tracy was the Duke. Richard smiled a little cynically; he had already had to lend his Grace a thousand guineas to pay off some "trifling debt."
"He means it right enough. I believe it would puzzle him to find it."
"Do you say so? Why, 'tis impossible man! Tracy was in town scarce a fortnight since, and he had a run of the devil's own luck. I tell you Dick, I saw him walk off with a cool five thousand one night! And then he denies me a paltry three! Lord, what a brother! And all with the air of an angel, as ifhehad never lost at dice. And a homily thrown in! Anyone would think I had cheated, instead of—ahem!... Dick, I'm confoundedly sorry! Damned thoughtless of me—never thought about Jo—about what I was saying—I'm a fool!" For Richard had winced.
"You cannot help that," he said, forcing a laugh. "Have done with your apologies, and continue."
They had come to the stream by now, and crossed the little bridge into the wood.
"Oh, there's not much more. 'Tis only that something must be done, for Carew won't wait, and stap me if I'd ask him, the lean-faced scarecrow!—so I came to you, Dick."
He let go Richard's arm and flung himself down on a fallen tree-trunk, regardless of velvet and laces.
"You're a good fellow, and you don't lecture a man as Tracy does, devil take him! And you play high yourself, or you did, though 'tis an age since I saw you win or lose enough to wink at. And, after all, you're Lavvy's husband, and—oh, damn it all, Dick, 'tis monstrous hard to ask you!"
Carstares, leaning against a tree, surveyed the youthful rake amusedly.
"'Tush, Andrew!" he reassured him. "You're welcome to ask, but the Lord knows where I'm to find it! Gad, what a life! Here's Lavinia keeps buying silks, and I don't know what all, and—"
"She was ever a spendthrift jade," said Andrew with a mighty frown.
Richard laughed at him.
"You're a thrifty fellow yourself, of course!"
Andrew looked round for something to throw at him, and finding nothing, relapsed once more into deepest despondency.
"You're in the right of't. We're a worthless lot. 'Tis the old man's blood in us, I doubt not, with a smattering of her Grace. You never knew my mother, Richard. She was French—Lavvy's the spit of her. There's Tracy—stap me, but Tracy's the very devil! Have you ever seen a face like his? No, I'll swear you've not! What with his sneering mouth and his green eyes—oh, 'tis enough to make a fellow go to the dogs to have a brother like it, 'pon my soul it is! Ay, you laugh, but I tell you 'tis serious!"
"Ay, go on!"
"Well next there's Bob—damn it all, but I'm sorry for Bob! 'Tis a beggarly pittance they give one in the army, and he was never one to pinch and scrape. Well, as I say, there's Bob, and I never see him, but what it's: 'Lend me a hundred, Andy!' or the like. And all to buy his mistress some gewgaw. That's what sickens me! Why, Bob's for ever in some scrape with a petticoat, and as for Tracy! Gad, how they can! Then there's Lavinia, but I should think you know her by now, and lastly, there's your humble servant. And I tell you, Dick, what with the racing, and the cards, and the bottle, I shall be a ruined man before you can turn round! And the pother is I'll never be any different. 'Tis in the blood, so where's the use in trying?" He made a rueful grimace, and rose. "Come on, young rip! We're going back."
John, engaged in the task of hunting for tadpoles in the water some yards distant, nodded and ran on.
"I fear my lady is indisposed," said Richard hesitatingly. "You wished to see her?"
Andrew winked knowingly.
"Tantrums, eh? Oh, I know her. No, I do not care an I do not see her; 'tis little enough she cares for me, though she's as thick as thieves with Tracy—oh, ay, I'll be dumb."
They walked slowly back to the house, Andrew, silent for once, twirling his gold-mounted cane.
"You shall have the money, of course. When do you want it?" said Richard presently.
"'Pon honour, you're a devilish good fellow, Dick! But if 'tis like to put you to any—"
"Nonsense. When do you need it?"
"I should pay Carew as soon as may be. Markham can wait over if—"
"No, no! Wednesday?"
"'Twill do excellently well. Dick, you're a—"
"Oh, pshaw! 'Tis nought. I want your opinion on the bay mare I bought last week. You'll maybe think her a trifle long in the leg, but she's a fine animal."
John had run indoors, and the two men proceeded to the stables alone, Andrew discoursing all the way, recounting for his brother-in-law's benefit the choicest morsels of scandal that were circulating town at the moment. That his auditor but attended with half an ear affected him not at all; he never paused for an answer, and, in any case, was far too good-natured to care if he received none.
By the time they had duly inspected the mare and walked back to the house, it was nearly four o'clock, and, not altogether to Carstares' surprise, Lavinia was awaiting them on the terrace, clad in a totally different gown, and with her hair freshly arranged and curled.
"'Twould appear that Lavinia has recovered," remarked Andrew as they mounted the steps. "She was ever thus—not two minutes the same. Well, Lavvy?"
"Well, Andrew?" She gave him a careless hand to kiss, but smiled sweetly up at her husband. "My headache is so much better," she told him, "and they said that Andrew was come to see you. So I came downstairs." She turned eagerly to her brother. "Tell me, Andrew, is Tracy at home?"
"Lord, yes! He arrived yesterday, devil take him! Do you want him?"
"Oh, yes," she nodded. "I want to see him again. I've not set eyes on him for an age. I want you to take me back with you."
"Surely, my dear, 'tis a trifle late in the day for such a drive?" demurred Richard, trying to conceal his annoyance. "Can you not wait until to-morrow?"
"Faith, you'll have to, Lavvy, for I'll not take you to-day, that's certain. I'm riding to Fletcher's when I leave here. Tracy can visit you to-morrow an he chooses."
"Will he?" she asked doubtfully.
Andrew clapped his hand to his vest pocket. "If I had not forgot!" he exclaimed. "I've a letter from him for you. He intends waiting on you to-morrow, in any case. Lord, what it is to have a scatter brain like mine!" He pulled a handful of papers from his pocket and selected one, sealed, and addressed in a sloping Italian handwriting.
Lavinia pounced upon it joyfully, and tore it open. Andrew restored the rest of the documents to his pocket with yet another rueful laugh.
"Duns, Richard! Duns!"
"Give them to me," answered the other, holding out his hand.
"Oh, no! But many thanks, Dick. These are quite unimportant."
"Why not pay them all, and start afresh?" urged Carstares.
"Lord, no! Why, I should be so damned elated that before the day was out there'd be a score of fresh debts staring me in the face!"
"Let me lend you a thousand to begin on? Could you not keep out of debt?"
"I keep out of debt? Impossible! Don't look so solemn, Dick; I told you 'twas in the blood. We never have a penny to bless ourselves with, but what's the odds? I shall have a run of luck soon—a man can't always lose. Then I shall be able to repay you, but, of course, I shan't. It'll all go at the next table.Iknow!" He spoke so ingenuously that Richard could not be angry with him. There was a certain frankness about him that pleased, and though he might be spendthrift and heedless, and colossally selfish, Richard felt a genuine affection for him. He would have liked to argue the point further, but Lavinia came forward, refolding her letter.
"Tracy is coming to-morrow afternoon," she told her husband. "'Twill be prodigiously agreeable, will it not?"
He assented, but with a lack of warmth that did not fail to strike her ears.
"And he will stay to dine with us!" she cried challengingly.
"Certainly, my love."
"Look pleased, Dicky, look pleased! Why don't you like Tracy? He is my own brother; youmustlike him!"
"Of course I like him, Lavinia. Pray, do not be foolish."
"Oh, I am not! Don't be cross, Dicky dear!"
"Well, if you like him, I'm surprised," broke in Andrew. "I can't bear him! Ay, flash your eyes at me, Lavvy; I don't mind."
Lavinia opened her mouth to retaliate, but Richard hastily interposed. Their bickering was more than he could bear, and he never understood how Lavinia could stoop to quarrel with the boisterous youth, who tried so palpably to rouse her.
He bore them both off to the house, feeling much like a nursemaid with two recalcitrant children.
Lady Lavinia dressed herself with even more than her usual care next afternoon, and well-nigh drove her maid distracted by her flashes of temper and impatient, contradictory orders. So lengthy was the toilet that she was only just in her boudoir when his Grace of Andover was announced. She had no time to tell the footman that she would receive his Grace, for almost before the words were out of James' mouth, he stood bowing in the doorway, sure of his welcome.
He was curiously like his sister, this man, and at the same time curiously unlike. Hers were the high cheek-bones and pinched, aristocratic nostrils, but the mouth with its thin lips, and the heavy-lidded green eyes, were totally different. His Grace's brows slanted up at the corners, and his eyes, though piercing and bright, were constantly veiled by the black-lashed lids. He wore his own black hair, unpowdered, and that, together with the black and silver garments that he always affected, greatly enhanced the natural pallor of his countenance. Altogether it was a very striking figure that stood just before the closed white door and bowed to my lady.
Lavinia took an eager step towards him, swinging her pearl-grey brocades.
"Oh, Tracy!" she cooed, holding out both hands.
His Grace advanced into the room and bent low over them.
"I rejoice to find you within, Lavinia," he said, a faint tinge of sarcasm running through his smooth tones. "As you perceive, I rode over." He made a gesture towards his high boots with their wicked-looking spurs. "No doubt Andrew forgot to give you my letter?"
"No," she said, slipping her hand in his arm. "He remembered in time, and—oh, Tracy, I was so vastly delighted to have it!"
"I am indeed honoured," he replied. "I am come on a sufficiently important matter."
"Oh!" She pulled her hand away disappointedly. "Money!"
"You are really wonderful, my dear. As you so crudely remark—money! Will you not be seated?"
She sank down on the couch dejectedly and watched him take a chair opposite her.
"Your most noble lord and master lent me a trifling sum the other day, but very trifling. I am, as usual, hard-pressed. And that young fool Andrew must needs fall into debt."
My lady opened wide her eyes in surprise.
"Do you tell me you need money from Richard to pay Andrew's debts?" she asked, frankly incredulous.
"I do not. Is it likely? The remark was purely by the way."
"Well, in any case, Andrew borrowed three thousand from poor Dick only yesterday. I know, because I heard him speak of it."
His Grace raised his black brows in patient exasperation.
"How unnecessary of Andrew! And how typical! So 'poor Dick' has been squeezed already?"
"Don't speak like that, Tracy!" she cried. "Dicky is good to me!" She met his piercing look unflinchingly.
"Now this becomes interesting," drawled the Duke. "Since when have you come to that conclusion? And why this sudden loyalty?"
"I havealwaysbeen loyal to him, Tracy! You know I have! I worry him—and indeed he is very forbearing."
"But how charming of him!"
"No, do not sneer, Tracy! He has promised to take me to London for the whole winter—"
His Grace leant back in his chair again.
"Now I understand," he said placidly. "I was at a loss before."
"'Tis not that, Tracy! Indeed I realise how kind he is to me. And we have quarrelled again. We are always quarrelling, and I know 'tis all my fault."
"What a comfortable conviction, my dear!"
"No, no! 'Tis not comfortable, Tracy! For somehow I cannot change my disposition, though Imeanto be patient and sweet. Tracy, I hate Wyncham!"
"You hate Wyncham? There was a time—"
"I know, I know! But I never meant to live here always like this! I want to go to London!"
"I thought you said you were going?"
"Yes, I am! But I want to go with someone who is gay-not—not—"
"In fact, you want distraction, and not with the amiable Richard? Well, I can conceive that life with him might prove uninspiring. Safe, my dear, but not exciting."
"I knew you would understand! You see, he does not like me to play at cards, because I cannot stop! And he cannot see how 'tis that I care nought for what he calls 'home-life' when there are routs, and the play, andreallife. He—he is so—so—sostaid,Tracy, and careful!"
"A good trait in a husband, Lavinia," replied his Grace cynically. "'Tis because I do not possess it that I am single now."
Her lips curled scornfully at this, for well she knew her brother.
"No, Tracy, that is not so! It is because you are a devil! No woman would marry you!"
"That is most interesting, my dear," purred his Grace. "But pray strive to be a little more original. Continue your analysis of Richard's sterling character."
"'Tis only that we are so different," she sighed. "I always desire to do things quickly—if I think of something, I want it at once—at once! You know, Tracy! And he likes to wait and think on it, and—oh, 'tis so tiresome, and it puts me in a bad humour, and I behave like a hysterical bourgeoise!" She got up swiftly, clasping her nervous little hands. "When he speaks to me in that gentle, reasoning way, I could scream, Tracy! Do you think I am mad?" She laughed unmusically.
"No," he replied, "but the next thing to it: a Belmanoir. Perhaps it was a pity you ever married Richard. But there is always the money."
"There is not," she cried out sharply.
"Not? What mean you?"
"Tracy, 'tis of this that I wanted to speak! You think my lord left his money to Dick?"
"Certainly. He should be stupendously wealthy."
"He is not!"
"But, my good girl, the revenue must be enormous. He has the land, surely?"
"No! No! He has not the land! Oh, but I am angry whenever I think on it! He induced my lord to leave it to John.Hehas but his younger son's portion!"
"I still fail to understand. You informed me that the Earl left all to Richard?"
"He changed his will, Tracy!"
"He—changed—his—will! Then, my dear, must you have played your cards very badly!"
"'Twas not my fault, Tracy—indeed 'twas not! I knew nought until the will was read. Richard never spoke a word to me about it! And now we are comparatively poor!" Her voice trembled with indignation, but his Grace only whistled beneath his breath.
"I always knew, of course, that Dick was a fool, but I never guessed how much so till now!"
At that she flared up.
"He is not a fool! He is an honest man, and 'tis we—we, I tell you—who are mean and despicable and mercenary!"
"Undoubtedly, Lavinia, but pray do not excite yourself over it. I suppose he is still devoted to that young hothead?"
"Yes, yes—'tis all Jack, Jack, Jack, until I am sick to death of the sound of his name—and—" She broke off, biting her lip.
"And what?"
"Oh, nought! But 'tis all so disagreeable, Tracy!"
"It certainly is slightly disturbing. You had better have chosen John, in spite of all, it seems."
She stamped angrily.
"Oh, where's the good in being flippant?"
"My dear Lavinia, where's the good in being anything else? The situation strikes me as rather amusing. To think of the worthy Richard so neatly overturning all my plans!"
"If it had not been for you, I might never have married him. Why did you throw them both in my way? Why did I ever set eyes on either?"
"It should have been a good match, my dear, and, if I remember rightly, no one was more alive to that fact than yourself."
She pouted angrily and turned her shoulder to him.
"Still," he continued reflectively, "I admit that for the smart lot we are, we do seem rather to have bungled the affair."
Lavinia swept round upon him.
"Oh, do you care no more than that? How can you be so casual! Does it affect you not at all?"
He wrinkled his thin nose expressively.
"I shall not weep over it, Lavinia, but 'tis a plaguey nuisance. But we must see what can be done. And that brings me back to the original subject. Despite these upsetting revelations, I still require that money."
"Oh, dear! How much must you have, Tracy?"
"Five hundred might suffice."
"Tracy, do not the estates bring in anything?" she asked petulantly. "And Andrew told us you had a run of marvellous luck not a fortnight since?"
"Since then, my dear, I have had three runs of marvellous ill-luck. As to the estates, they are mortgaged up to the hilt, as you very well know. What little there is is between three. And Robert is extravagant."
"I hate Robert!"
"I am not partial to him myself, but it makes no odds."
"I wish he might die!—oh no, no! Now I am become ill-natured again—I don't wish it—only I am so tired of everything. You shall have that money as soon as possible; but be careful, Tracy—please be careful! 'Tis not easy to get money from Dick!"
"No, I should imagine not. However, we have managed rather well up to the present, take it all in all."
"Up to the present he has had all the money he wanted. My lord denied him nought!"
"Well, 'tis unfortunate, as I said before, but it must be endured. Where is Dick?"
"I know not. You will stay to dinner, Tracy?"
"Thank you. I shall be charmed."
"Yes, yes—oh, how prodigiously pleasant it is to see you again! Soon I shall come to Andover. Will you let me stay a few days?"
"The question is, will Richard allow you to stay so long in my contaminating presence?"
"Richard would never keep me away, Tracy!" she replied proudly. "Hecouldnot. Oh, why is it that I don't love him more? Why do I not care for him as much as I care for you even?"
"My dear Lavinia, like all Belmanoirs, you care first for yourself and secondly for the man who masters you. That, alas! Richard has not yet succeeded in doing."
"But Idolove Richard. I do, I do, yet—"
"Exactly. 'Yet!' The 'grand passion' has not yet touched you, my dear, and you are quite self-absorbed."
"Self-absorbed! Those are hard words."
"But not too hard for the case. You think solely of yourself, your own pleasure, your own character, your own feelings. If you could cast yourself into the background a little, you would be less excitable and considerably less discontented."
"How dare you, Tracy! Pray, what of you? Are you so selfless?"
"Not at all. I am precisely the same. I was merely suggesting that you might be happier an you could depose 'self.'"
"You had best do the same yourself!"
"My dear Lavinia, when I feel the need of greater happiness, I most undoubtedly shall. At present I am quite content."
"You are unkind!" she protested. "And you sneer at me."
"Pray, accept my heartfelt apologies! You shall come to Andover if the worthy Richard permits."
Her face cleared as by magic.
"Oh, Tracy! Oh, I am so desirous to be gay once more! I cannot even receive now, on account of this mourning! But when I am at Andover—oh, we will not worry over anything, and I can be bad-tempered without feeling that someone is being hurt by me! Oh, come to Dicky at once—at once!"
He rose leisurely.
"I can imagine that you try Richard's patience somewhat," he remarked. "Happily, your impetuosity in no way disturbs me. We will go in search of Richard."
Half-way down the great staircase she perceived her husband, and flew to meet him.
"Richard, I was coming in search of you! Tracy has invited me to Andover for a week—he purposes to ask several people to stay, and there will be parties—and entertainment! You will let me go? Say yes, Dicky—say yes, quickly!"
Carstares bowed to his Grace, who stood watching them from the stairs. The bow was returned with exaggerated flourish. Carstares looked down at his wife.
"So soon, Lavinia?" he remonstrated, and indicated her mourning. She shook his hand off impatiently.
"Oh, Dicky, does it matter? What can it signify? I do not ask you to come—"
"No," he said half-sadly, half-amusedly. "I notice that, my dear."
"No, no! I did not mean to be unkind—you must not think that! Youdon'tthink it, do you, Dick?"
"Oh, no," he sighed.
"Good Dicky!" She patted his cheek coaxingly. "Then you will allow me to go—ah, but yes, yes, you must listen! You know how dull I am, and how silly—'tis because I need a change, and Iwantto go to Andover. Iwantto go!"
"Yes, dear, I know. But my father is not yet dead six weeks, and I cannot think it seemly—"
"Please, Dick, please! Please do not say no! 'Twill make me so unhappy! Oh, you will not be so unkind? You will not forbid me to go?"
"I ask you not to, Lavinia. If you need a change, I will take you quietly to Bath, or where you will. Do not pain me by going to Andover just now."
"Bath! Bath! What do I want with Bath at this time of the year? Oh, 'tis kind in you to offer, but I want to go to Andover! I want to see all the old friends again. And I want to get away from everything here—'tis all so gloomy—after—after my lord's death!"
"Dearest, of course you shall go away—but if only you would remember that you are in mourning—"
"But 'tis what I wish to forget! Oh, Dicky, don't, don't, don't be unkind."
"Very well, dear. If you must go—go."
She clapped her hands joyfully.
"Oh thank you, Dicky! And you are not angry with me?"
"No, dear, of course not."
"Ah! Now I am happy! 'Tis sweet of you, Dicky, but confess you are secretly thankful to be rid of me for a week! Now are you not?" She spread out her fan in the highest good-humour and coquetted behind it. Richard was induced to smile.
"I fear I shall miss you too sadly, dear."
"Oh!" She dropped the fan. "But think how you will look forward to seeing me again, and I you. Why, I shall be so thankful to be back after a week away, that I shall be good for months!"
His face lightened, and he caught her hands in his.
"Darling, if I thought you would miss me—"
"But of course I shall miss you, Dick—oh,pray, mind my frock! Shall I not miss him, Tracy?"
Richard suddenly remembered his brother-in-law's presence. He turned and went to the foot of the stairs.
"So you are determined to wrest my wife from me?" he smiled.
Tracy descended leisurely, opening his snuff-box.
"Yes, I require a hostess," he said. "And I have"—he paused—"induced her to honour Andover with her presence. Shall we have the felicity of seeing you at any time?"
"I thank you, no. I am not, you will understand, in the mood for the gaiety for which my poor Lavinia craves."
The Duke bowed slightly, and they all three went out on to the terrace, Lavinia laughing and talking as Richard had not heard her laugh or talk for days. She was the life and soul of the little dinner-party, flirting prettily with her husband and exerting herself to please him in every way. She had won her point; therefore she was in excellent spirits with all the world, and not even the spilling of some wine on her new silk served to discompose her.
The autumn and the winter passed smoothly, and April found the Carstares installed at Bath, whither Lady Lavinia had teased her husband into going, despite his desire to return to Wyncham and John. She herself did not care to be with the child, and was perfectly content that Richard should journey occasionally to Wyncham to see that all was well with him.
On the whole, she had enjoyed the winter, for she had induced Richard to open Wyncham House, Mayfair, the Earl's town residence, where she had been able to hold several entirely successful routs, and many select little card-parties. Admirers she had a-many, and nothing so pleased her vain little heart as masculine adulation. Carstares never entered his home without stumbling against some fresh flame of hers, but as they mostly consisted of what he rudely termed the lap-dog type, he was conscious of no jealous qualms, and patiently submitted to their inundation of his house. He was satisfied that Lavinia was happy, and, as he assured himself at times when he was most tried, nothing else signified.
The only flaw to Lavinia's content was the need of money. Not that she was stinted, or ever refused anything that he could in reason give her; but her wants were never reasonable. She would demand a new town chariot, upholstered in pale blue, not because her own was worn or shabby, but because she was tired of its crimson cushions. Or she would suddenly take a fancy to some new, and usually fabulously expensive toy, and having acquired it, weary of it in a week.
Without a murmur, Richard gave her lap-dogs (of the real kind), black pages, jewels, and innumerable kickshaws, for which she rewarded him with her brightest smiles and tenderest caresses. But when she required him to refurnish Wyncham House in the style of the French Court, throwing away all the present Queen Anne furniture, the tapestries, and the countless old trappings that were one and all so beautiful and so valuable, he put his foot down with a firmness that surprised her. Not for any whim of hers was Jack's house to be spoiled. Neither her coaxing nor her tears had any effect upon Richard, and when she reverted to sulks, he scolded her so harshly that she was frightened, and in consequence silenced.
For a week she thought and dreamt of nothing but gilded French chairs, and then abruptly, as all else, the fancy left her, and she forgot all about it. Her mantua-maker's bills were enormous, and caused Richard many a sleepless night, but she was always so charmingly penitent that he could not find it in his heart to be angry; and, after all, he reflected, he would rather have his money squandered on her adornment than on that of her brothers. She was by turns passionate and cold to him: one day enrapturing him by some pretty blandishment, the next snapping peevishly when he spoke to her.
At the beginning of the season he dutifully conducted her to routs andbals masqués, but soon she began to go always with either Andrew or Robert, both of whom were in town, and whose casual chaperonage she much preferred to Richard's solicitous care. Tracy was rarely in London for more than a few days at a time, and the Carstares, greatly to Richard's relief, saw but little of him. Carstares disliked Colonel Lord Robert Belmanoir, but the Duke he detested, not only for his habitual sneer towards him, but for the influence that he undoubtedly held over Lavinia. Richard was intensely jealous of this, and could sometimes hardly bring himself to be civil when his Grace visited my lady. Whether justly or not, he inwardly blamed Tracy for all Lavinia's crazy whims and periodical fits of ill-temper. It did not take his astute Grace long to discover this, and with amused devilry he played upon it, encouraging Lavinia in her extravagance, and making a point of calling on her whenever he was in town.
Carstares never knew when not to expect to find him there; he came and went to and from London with no warning whatsoever. No one ever knew where he was for more than a day at a time, and no one was in the least surprised if he happened to be seen in London when he should, according to all accounts, have been in Paris. They merely shrugged their shoulders, and exchanged glances, murmuring: "Devil Belmanoir!" and wondering what fresh intrigue he was in.
So altogether Richard was not sorry when my lady grew suddenly sick of town and was seized with a longing for Bath. He had secretly hoped that she might return to Wyncham, but when she expressed no such wish, he stifled his own longing for home, shut up the London house, and took her and all her baggage to Bath, installing her in Queen Square in one of the most elegantly furnished houses in the place.
Lady Lavinia was at first charmed to be there again; delighted with the house, and transported over the excellencies of the new French milliner she had discovered.
But the milliner's bills proved monstrous, and the drawing-room of her house not large enough for the routs she contemplated giving. The air was too relaxing for her, and she was subject to constant attacks of the vapours that were as distressing to her household as they were to herself. The late hours made her head ache as it never ached in London, and the damp gave her a cold. Furthermore, the advent of an attractive and exceedingly wealthy little widow caused her many a bitter hour, to the considerable detriment of her good-temper.
She was lying on a couch in her white and gilt drawing room one afternoon—alas! the craze for French furniture was o'er-smelling-bottle in hand and abona fideache in her head, when the door opened and Tracy walked into the room.
"Good heavens!" she said faintly, and uncorked her salts.
It was his Grace's first appearance since she had come to Bath, and the fact that he had politely declined an invitation that she had sent to him still rankled in her mind. He bowed over the limp hand that she extended, and looked her up and down.
"I regret to find you thus indisposed, my dear sister," he said smoothly.
"'Tis nought. Only one of my stupid headaches. I am never well here, and this house is stuffy," she answered fretfully.
"You should take the waters," he said, scrutinising, through his eyeglass, the chair to which she had waved him. "It has an unstable appearance, my dear; I believe I prefer the couch." He moved to a smaller sofa and sat down.
"Pray, how long have you been in Bath?" she demanded.
"I arrived last Tuesday week."
Lady Lavinia started up.
"Last Tuesday week? Then you have been here ten days and not visited me until now!"
He appeared to be examining the whiteness of his hands through the folds of black lace that drooped over them.
"I believe I had other things to do," he said coolly.
A book of sermons that she had been trying to peruse slid to the ground as Lavinia jerked a cushion into place.
"And you come to me when it suits you? How could you be so unkind as to refuse my invitation?"
There was a rising, querulous note in her voice which gave warning of anger.
"My dear Lavinia, if you exhibit your deplorable temper to me, I shall leave you, so have a care. I thought you would understand that your good husband's society, improving though it may be, would be altogether too oppressive for my taste. In fact, I was surprised at your letter."
"You might have come for my sake," she answered peevishly, sinking back again. "I suppose you have been dancing attendance on the Molesly woman? Lud! but I think you men have gone crazed."
Understanding came to his Grace, and he smiled provokingly.
"Is that what upsets you? I wondered."
"No, 'tis not!" she flashed. "And I do not see why you should think so! For my part, I cannot see that she is even tolerable, and the way the men rave about her is disgusting! Disgusting! But 'tis always the same when a woman is unattached and wealthy. Well! Well! Why do you not say something? Do you find her so lovely?"
"To tell the truth, my dear, I have barely set eyes on the lady. I have been otherwise engaged, and I have done with all women, for the time, save one."
"So I have heard you say before. Do you contemplate marriage? Lud! but I pity the girl." She gave a jeering little laugh, but it was evident that she was interested.
His Grace was not in the least degree ruffled.
"I do not contemplate marriage, Lavinia, so your sympathies are wasted. I have met a girl—a mere child, for sure—and I will not rest until I have her."
"Lord! Another farmer's chit?"
"No, my dear sister, not another farmer's chit. A lady."
"God help her! Who is she? Where does she live?"
"She lives in Sussex. Her name I shall not tell you."
Her ladyship kicked an offending cushion on to the floor, and snapped at him.
"Oh, as you please! I shall not die of curiosity!"
"Ah!" The cynical lips curled annoyingly, and Lady Lavinia was seized with a mad desire to hurl her smelling-bottle at him. But she knew that it was worse than useless to be angry with Tracy, so she yawned ostentatiously, and hoped that she irritated him. If she did, she got no satisfaction from it, for he continued, quite imperturbably:
"She is the daintiest piece ever a man saw, and I'll swear there's blood and fire beneath the ice!"
"Is it possible the girl will have none of your Grace?" wondered Lavinia in mock amazement, and had the pleasure of seeing him frown.
The thin brows met over his arched nose, and the eyes glinted a little, while she caught a glimpse of cruel white teeth closing on a sensual under-lip. She watched his hand clench on his snuff-box, and exulted silently at having roused him. It was a very brief joy, however, for the next moment the frown had disappeared, the hand unclenched, and he was smiling again.
"At present she is cold," he admitted, "but I hope that in time she will become more plastic. I think, Lavinia, I have some experience with your charming, if capricious sex."
"I don't doubt you have. Where did you meet this perverse beauty?"
"In the Pump Room."
"Lud! Pray, describe her."
"I shall be delighted. She is taller than yourself, and dark. Her hair is like a dusky cloud of black, and it ripples off her brow and over her little ears in a most damnably alluring fashion. Her eyes are brown, but there are lights in them that are purest amber, and yet they are dark and velvety—"
My lady had recourse to the smelling-bottle.
"But I perceive I weary you. A man in love, my dear Lavinia—"
She was up again at that.
"In love? You? Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense! You do not know what the word means. You are like a—like a fish, with no more of love in you than a fish, and no more heart than a fish, and—"
"Spare me the rest, I beg. I am very clammy, I make no doubt, but you will at least accord me more brain than a fish?"
"Oh, you have brain enough!" she raged. "Brain for evil! I grant you that!"
"It is really very kind of you—"
"The passion you feel now is notlove. It is—it is—"
"Your pardon, my dear, but at the present moment I am singularly devoid of all strenuous emotions, so your remark is—"
"Oh, Tracy, Tracy, I am even quarrelling with you!" she cried wretchedly. "Oh, why?—why?"
"You are entirely mistaken, my dear. This is but the interchange of compliments. Pray, do not let me hinder you in the contribution of your share!"
Her lip trembled.
"Go on, Tracy, go on."
"Very well. I had described her eyes, I think?"
"Very tediously."
"I will strive to be brief. Her lips are the most kissable that I have ever seen—"
"And, as you remarked, you have experience," she murmured. He bowed ironically.
"Altogether she's as spirited a filly as you could wish for. All she needs is bringing to heel."
"Does one bring a filly to heel? I rather thought—"
"As usual, my dear Lavinia, you are right: one does not. One breaks in a filly. I beg leave to thank you for correcting my mixed metaphor."
"Oh, pray do not mention it."
"I will cease to do so. She needs breaking in. It should be amusing to tame her."
"Should it?" She looked curiously at him.
"Vastly. And I am persuaded it can be done. I will have her."
"But what if she'll none of you?"
Suddenly the heavy lids were raised.
"She will have no choice."
Lady Lavinia shivered and sat up.
"La, Tracy! Will you have no sense of decency?" she cried. "I suppose," she sneered, "you think to kidnap the girl?"
"Exactly," he nodded.
She gasped at the effrontery of it.
"Heavens, are you mad? Kidnap a lady! This is no peasant girl, remember. Tracy, Tracy, pray do not be foolish! Howcanyou kidnap her?"
"That, my dear, is a point which I have not yet decided. But I do not anticipate much trouble."
"But goodness gracious me! has the child no protectors? No brothers? No father?"
"There is a father," said Tracy slowly. "He was here at the beginning of their stay. He does not signify, and, which is important, he is of those that truckle. WereIto make myself known to him, I believe I might marry the girl within an hour. But I do not want that. At least—not yet."
"Good God, Tracy! do you think you are living in the Dark Ages? One cannot do these things now, I tell you! Will you not at least remember that you represent our house? 'Twill be a pretty thing an there is a scandal!" She broke off hopelessly and watched him flick a remnant of snuff from his cravat.
"Oh, Tracy! 'Tis indeed a dangerous game you play. Pray consider!"
"Really, Lavinia, you are most entertaining. I trust I am capable of caring for myself and mine own honour."
"Oh, don't sneer—don't sneer!" she cried. "Sometimes I think I quite hate you!"
"You would be the more amusing, my dear."
She swept the back of her hand across her eyes in a characteristic movement.
"How cross I am!" she said, and laughed waveringly. "You must bear with me, Tracy. Indeed, I am not well."
"You should take the waters," he repeated.
"Oh, I do!—I do! And that reminds me that I must look for your beauty."
"She is not like to be there," he answered. "'Tis only very seldom that she appears."
"What! Is she thenreligieuse?"
"Religieuse! Why, in heaven's name?"
"But not to walk in the Rooms—!"
"She is staying here with her aunt, who has been ill. They do not mix much in society."
"How very dreadful! Yet she used to walk in the Rooms, for you met her there?"
"Yes," he admitted coolly. "'Tis for that reason that she now avoids them."
"Oh, Tracy, the poor child!" exclaimed his sister in a sudden fit of pity. "How can you persecute her, if she dislikes you?"
"She does not."
"Not! Then—"
"Rather, she fears me. But she is intrigued, for all that. I persecute her, as you call it, for her own (and my) ultimate good. But they quit Bath in a few days, and then,nous verrons!" He rose. "What of Honest Dick?"
"Don't call him by that odious name! I will not have it!"
"Odious, my dear? Odious? You would have reason an I called himDishonest Dick."
"Don't! Don't!" she cried, covering her ears. His Grace laughed softly.
"Oh, Lavinia, you must get the better of these megrims of yours, for there is nought that sickens a man sooner, believe me."
"Oh, go away!—go away!" she implored. "You tease me and tease me until I cannot bear it, and indeed I do notmeanto be shrewish! Please go!"
"I am on the point of doing so, my dear. I trust you will have in a measure recovered when next I see you. Pray bear my respects to Hon—to the Honourable Richard."
She stretched out her hand.
"Come again soon!" she begged. "I shall be better to-morrow! 'Tis only to-day that my head aches till I could shriek with the worry and the pain of it! Come again!"
"Unfortunately I anticipate leaving Bath within a day or two. But nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to comply with your wishes." He kissed her hand punctiliously, and took his leave. At the door he paused, and looked back mockingly. "By the way—her name is—Diana." He bowed again and swept out, as Lavinia buried her face in the cushions and burst into tears.
It was thus that Richard found her, twenty minutes later, and his concern was so great that it in part restored her spirits, and she spent a quiet and, for him, blissful evening, playing at piquet.
In the middle of a game she suddenly flung down her hand and caught at his wrist.
"Dicky, Dicky—I will go home!"
"Go home? What do you mean? Not—"
"Yes, yes—Wyncham! Why not?"
"My dear, do you mean it?" His voice quivered with joyful surprise, and the cards slipped from his hands.
"Yes, I mean it! But take me quickly before I change my mind! I can sleep at Wyncham, and here I lie awake all night, and my head aches. Take me home and I will try to be a better wife! Oh, Dicky, have I been tiresome and exacting? I did not mean to be! Why do you let me?" She came quickly round the table and knelt at his side, giving no heed to the crumpling of her billowing silks. "I have been a wicked, selfish woman!" she said vehemently. "But indeed I will be better. You must notletme be bad—youmustnot, I tell you!"
He flung his arm about her plump shoulders and drew her tightly to him.
"When I get you home at Wyncham, I promise you I will finely hector you, sweetheart," he said, laughing to conceal his deeper feelings. "I shall make you into a capital housewife!"
"And I will learn to make butter," she nodded. "Then I must wear a dimity gown with a muslin apron and cap. Oh, yes, yes-a dimity gown!" She sprang up and danced to the middle of the room. "Shall I not be charming, Richard?"