CHAPTER V.OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
Adam Rustfailed, even in the intricacies of collecting violins and the pursuit of health for the old beef-eaters, to find the depths of forgetfulness she sought, but which could not come to a nature such as his had always been. Indeed seclusion, away from the gaiety of Court and his fellow-beings seemed rather to develop the old, half-forgotten memories in his brain, whereon had once been shadowed the sufferings of King Philip, his Indian foster-father, and all his race of hunted people.
The beef-eaters, also, were not absolutely contented, away from their own country and the haunts wherein they were wont to brag, to drink and to swagger. Yielding at last to their importunities, Adam returned with the pair to London.
Once in the foggy capital again, he was soon pounced upon, by old associates, with whom he found it exhilarating once again to consort. A treatise on rare violins and their makers, over which he had labored and pondered for months, or even years, was now neglected.
He sharpened his wits, had a look at his sword and brightened up his disused tinsel of conversation. He soon began to believe the greatest forgetfulness, after all, is where the Babel of tongues is loudest, and thatthe most absolute solitude is to be found in the midst of the largest throng.
The social functions of the new King were fewer, less brilliant and not to be compared, in point of popularity, with those of James. The Dukes, the Marchionesses and lesser lights were therefore constrained to make the more of their private parties. There was, in consequence, no stint of hunting, drinking and dancing—all as condiments poured about the omniprevalent piece de resistance—making love.
At the Duchess of Kindlen’s, Adam found the set he had known particularly well. He was welcomed back to their circle as a long-lost fixture without whose presence no one was at all able to explain how they had managed to go on existing. They fitted him back in his niche with a promptness which might have been flattering, had he not been aware that they wished merely to feed upon him as a new entertainer, or an old one refurbished.
He was not surprised to learn that Lady Violet had been married in his absence. He was duly informed of this event, which he described as an irreparable calamity in his life, by Lady Margaret, who was more of a brilliant blossom of feminine charm and enticements than even before.
“But you, my dear Lady Margaret,” he said, “you have been true to my memory? You have never learned to love another?”
“I never learned to love you, Adam,” she said.
“Then it must have been a matter of spontaneous combustion,” he concluded. “You always did manage your compliments adroitly.”
“Confirmed villain,” she answered, “a woman wouldbe mad who loved such a bubble of flattering reflections as you have always been.”
“I was not accusing you of sanity,” he told her frankly. “I was merely inquiring whether or not you have learned to love somebody else, in my absence.”
“And if I had, what then?”
“I should wish to pause for reflection, before determining whether I should be more sorry for the other fellow or for myself.”
“Fiend!” she said, mildly, “you shall never know.”
“Know what?—know where to place my sympathy?”
“You shall never know whether I have learned to love another, or not.”
“Well, neither will you—that one’s consolation.”
“But at least I shall know how I feel toward you, Adam Rust.”
“So shall I,” said the cheerful Adam. “I have always known. If you should say you were dying, I should know you were dying to run away with me, forthwith. It’s not your fault, you can’t help it.”
“I never dreamed of such a thing in my life!” she said.
“Then you ought at once to consult a physician for a bad case of insomnia. I thought your eyes looked a bit weary.”
“You vile thing!” she answered. “Ted never said such a thing as that in his life.”
“Then you have been trying to learn to love Ted? I thought you had a faithless look about you—all except about your eyes. Alas, from the way you talk I know you must be married already to this Ted.”
“I’m not!” she said, unguardedly. “I refused only to-night to set the day.”
“This was a thoughtfulness toward me I had not expected,” said Rust, complacently. “But you are betrothed, and this was unkind.”
“Unkind to whom?” she demanded.
“To Ted—and to me.”
“You will like Ted,” she told him, more artfully.
“At the other end of a duel, yes—immensely.”
“He’s a terrible swordsman,” she said, to urge him on.
“Yet how poorly he fenced with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You won. You got him—poor devil.”
“Wretch! Ted at least would never pick on a woman.”
“If it’s Ted Suffle,” said Rust, “I saw him pick on his teeth, to-night, and that is worse——in company.”
“His tooth aches terribly!” said Lady Margaret, defending poor Suffle gallantly.
“He indulges in too much sweets,” Adam remarked, unmoved. “Treat him the way you do me and he’ll soon be better.”
“I wish Ted could hear the way you talk to me,” she said.
“If he could hear the things you say to me, he would demand that duel quicker,” Rust responded. “Tell me something outrageous to say to the fellow, so that he will be obliged to challenge.”
“Nonsense,” she said, looking at him slyly, “don’t be silly. You wouldn’t fight a duel over me.”
“Ah, but think what a lot of ladies would think mea hero,” he replied with enthusiasm. “And I might also be banished from the country. You can never tell where luck and lightning will strike next.”
“Go away, Adam,” she said. “You are perfectly monstrous.”
“I’ll go and have a look at Ted,” he answered, calmly. “If he is a gentleman he will probably insult me without delay.”
To Lady Margaret’s utter dismay and astonishment, he sauntered off at once and actually went to where Suffle was standing, and had himself presented.
“I have asked for this honor,” he said, “the sooner to offer my best congratulations on your betrothal. Lady Margaret has told me a little about it. She is the happiest girl I have ever seen in all my life.”
“You are a good chap to say so,” said Suffle. “Do you know, I fancied I should like you, Mr. Rust, the moment I saw you.”
“I should like to give you my friendship as a wedding present,” Adam told him, honestly, knowing at once that Suffle was a fellow he could really somewhat like. Then he added, more equivocally: “I have known Lady Margaret so long that I shall take great happiness in seeing the consummation of this happy event.”